Victim To Villain

They sometimes say, “you dodged a bullet.” In reality, you feel like you’ve been hit. Repeatedly. Painfully. Shot down little by little. Eventually there will be nothing left. The bullets will fly through the air, passing you by. There is only so much destruction you can take. 

Look at you. You’re the one acting crazy. He gestures with his hands, looking you up and down, his face twisted in a scowl. He baits a reaction out of you. This is when the criminal commits his crime and blames the victim for fighting back. He’s drowning you, pulling you under, and when you try to breathe, he villainizes you for trying to survive.​

It’s an experience like many others you’ve faced with him before: you endure his jabs, gaslighting, and minimization, then finally you reach your breaking point. By then, all sense of logic is gone. Before that, you've tried resolving this calmly without any success. Pointless. Please explain what’s going on. What’s wrong? You’re begging, overcome with confusion and fear. I don't know, why don't you tell me what’s going on? His response was devoid of any real answers. It blindsides you, like a current pulling you under.  There is no surviving this riptide.

You remember feeling devastated and confused. What the fuck is happening? you think, and even say out loud. Just before this, you were both laughing, kissing, and smiling. You had your arms around each other, making inside jokes and being silly together.

Then the rug got pulled out from under you. Eventually, you were falling into an abyss, arms flailing, fighting for dear life. He watches you struggle and lets you fall.

You went to an NFL game to support his favorite team. That morning, you had run your first half-marathon in two years, then rushed to L.A. for the game because it was important to him, a late birthday celebration. Even though you don’t like football, you wanted to share something new together. You were open-minded, despite feeling tired from running 13 miles earlier. You thought, It’s important to him, so I want to do this. You realized you were pushing yourself for him right after pushing yourself for you. You gave more than you got, often putting yourself last in this relationship. He wasn't present at your race that morning. There you were, in a loud football stadium, wearing his team’s colors, showing support for him when earlier that day he didn’t show support for you.

You were honestly having a good time, just like he asked you to. But then, suddenly, you weren’t.

You noticed a change in him when his team started losing. You tried to comfort him by rubbing his back, but it was too late. He had already pulled away, and you didn’t see it coming.

The first blow came when he mocked the “$20 sweatshirt you got off Amazon” at the last minute in his team’s colors. You were crushed. A gesture you made to make him happy, to show you cared, to show you were trying to acknowledge something that is important to him. Hearing his comment made your heart sink. 

You: Why would you say that? 

Him: Maybe I should just keep my phone face down like you.

You: What?

Him: You know what I’m talking about?

You: I'm sorry, but I’m really confused. What are you saying?

Him: You know.

You: No, I really don't know. What’s going on?

Him: I don't know, you tell me.

His stare is cold. He’s pulled away from you, punishing you for a crime you don't know you’ve committed.

Your heart rate increases. You feel tightness in your chest. You look away, then down at your hands; defeat begins to swallow you whole.

You: What’s going on?

Him: You tell me. Are we even together?​

You’re stunned, eyes widened. That’s it. Your heart stops. You know you’re facing his wrath, and the road out of this will be tumultuous at best.

​You: Why would you ask that? Of course, we’re together. You’re almost laughing at this point at a ridiculous suggestion.

Him: Are we?

Frantic now, you scramble for anything—any words or action—to turn this around.

You: What’s going on? Please. What happened? Did something happen? What did I do?

He’s silent now, ignoring you. He looks away.

You feel small, like a child being punished. For what, you still have no idea.

When you finally decide to leave your seat and wait for him at the concessions for the final few minutes of the game, he accuses you of being dramatic. Crowd noise. Neon lights. No answers. By the time he emerges from his seat, he’s almost acting like the exchange didn't occur, as if you imagined this interaction all on your own. Blurred faces. Confused steps. People walking by. You're still in shock, disoriented and confused, searching for answers.

You: What’s going on? What did I do? Tell me what I did wrong.

He’s silent, hardly looking at or acknowledging you.

Your anxiety increases.

You: Why are you acting like this? Why are you mad?

Then, he turns slowly, seeming all put together. Someone walking by might notice an emotional girl and a stoic guy. She appears crazy and irrational, while he seems calm and logical. This is just the tip of the iceberg. They wouldn't see what floats dangerously beneath, how, before this moment, you thought everything was fine until a sudden impact began to drag you under. Now, you are sinking. 

​He finally responds, eyes gazing over you head to toe: Look at you. You’re the one who’s mad. Look at how you’re acting.

​The world stops. Your limbs lose feeling; your hands go numb. Frozen in place—for an instant, at least. Then, you abruptly turn and walk away. Shaking and grasping for air, you walk amongst the sea of people out of the stadium and into the surrounding crowded streets of L.A. Where even am I? 

The next morning is painful. You hardly slept. Your voice is raspy from begging and pleading for answers: What happened? What is happening? What did I do? Please tell me what I did! Only to be met with: All you care about is you, you, you. You’re so selfish. You’re self-centered. You. You. You. ​

It doesn't make sense. You went out of your way for him—finding the hotel, spending a week together, planning for the relationship. How does wanting to be with him make you selfish?

​While you’re packing your things to leave the next morning, he’s begging you to stay. Please just come back to bed and talk to me. Just a few hours before, in the middle of the night, he was telling you he’s done, and you should leave. Now he’s using false remorse to manipulate you to stay.

​He apologizes, saying he drank too much and acted like a jerk, and that his comment about the sweatshirt was “just a joke.” He watches you cry, tears and snot running down your face as you tell him how awful it felt and how unnecessary it was to pull the rug out from under you. Do you have any idea what that feels like? To do a complete 180 like that! I don't deserve it—I really don't! I thought I was the love of your life–why would you treat me like that?! Now he’s gentle, trying to comfort you and hug you while you cry. Arms wrapping around you softly, he holds you carefully while you shrink into a ball and let out shivering, loud and uncontrollable sobs. You’re a mess, deeply hurt, and he’s trying to scoop up the pieces of you that he shattered.

You’re not sure if you’re crying out of sadness or hurt, or a mixture of sheer exhaustion. Probably all of the above. You feel life and energy drain from you. You hear his apologies and promises to never drink again. You know his words hold no weight; they are empty of meaning and remorse. But he thinks his fake “I’m sorry’s” will do the trick, keep you tethered to him.

That’s when the pattern resets.

When someone shows you who they are, believe them.