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Shattered

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Your love is a dirty little drug
Seeping, flowing through my veins
Leaving me frozen and numb
To feel none of the pains

It was one of those times that I thought I had met my one. The match. The person I’m going to spend the rest of my life with. No, I wasn’t in the bloom of first crush, I was passed that. I already had a broken engagement behind me. I thought I knew what I was getting into. I thought this was going to be it.

He was kind and sweet, as well as interested in me out of all the other girls, or should I say women. He would single me out to talk to. He asked for my number. I said yes without hesitation, and thus handed it over. He called me later that day. After talking he sent me goodnight text. My heart was sold that this was a good guy. This one cares, he’s different. I can see this going far.

We would talk every day to every other day. Getting to know each other. Our pasts, what’s going on now, and what we hope to accomplish later. The habits and likes of each other. What talents the others had, and what they lacked in that the other excelled in. Learning from him what it’s like living in a different country and then moving here. Religion. Wishing each other a good night and hope that the day was good or will be good to them.

Things looked good. Things felt amazing. He was ok with the fact that I was raped and was pregnant, even though I lost the baby, which is something I had not told my ex fiance as I was in a state of denial until the past few years. I was shocked that was ok with this because here’s a kicker, he’s Iraqi. Goes against their cultural beliefs of purity with women or something like that (yes, I’m not always politically correct, but this is what I think/thought at the time).

You made me feel alive
To forget the fear raging inside
Covering my world in shadows
Urging me to run and hide

It wasn’t hard to move into a relationship. It just happened without us noticing, or at least without myself noticing. He would stop by where I was working to say and then wait until I was done working to say goodnight and see me to my car. One night I left work to find flowers and a card on my windshield. My manager said it was creepy, I thought it was sweet. I should have listed to the manager, but I was in love and wouldn’t realize until later he was right.

He told me once that he wanted to see me jealous, so he checks out other girls, talks to them. Then he would tell me how they all look at him as he is walking down the street, but all he wanted was me. I didn’t think any of this at the time, as he told me jealousy showed him that I liked him, and like him I did. He filled that hole that was left of being unloved, unwanted. I felt protected, wanted, cared for, loved.

Then things gradually changed, and I didn’t see this happening.

I remember I was growing my hair out from a pixie cut, so when I met him I had my hair just about chin length, maybe a little longer. He said he liked long hair, he liked seeing  me growing my hair and seeing me with long hair and hoped that I would never cut it.

It was normal to let him know where I was and who I was with. If he didn’t like the person, he’d tell me to either not go, or to leave and go home. If I didn’t tell him where I was or whom I was with, I was lying and cheating on him. I was no longer allowed to have guy friends. He didn’t have issues with it before, but now, I was cheating on him with all of them. I liked them more than I liked him. He had to approve my friends. Even being with family members or people I’ve known since I was little, became an issue to him.

I remember when I went on vacation with my family. Things started to get weird. He wanted to know what I was doing almost constantly, and if I didn’t respond, he would get irritated and upset, saying I was cheating on him. Yes, I’m cheating on you with my family. It started to bother me. I started thinking he was trying to be controlling. I told him this, and he told me it’s only because he worried about me. He knew about my past, and was ok with it, and said he worried though that it would happen again. I accepted this and put it behind us. He cares and worries about me, that’s not a bad thing at all I would think.

Holding on to my dark addiction
Obsession that overrides sanity
I need the love you hurt me with
I crave the desire that tortures me

Then I was being pressured about sex. (This is harder to talk about for me, so I am briefly covering it.) I was brought up religious, still have religious values and thoughts, just not a part of the religion right now, so to me, sex before marriage was a no no. That’s how I felt. I was a virgin when I was raped and I wasn’t giving what I still considered virginity (as it was taken from me, not given before) to just anyone even if they were a boyfriend. I didn’t have sex with the fiance, I’m not having sex with this one either unless I’m married. It’s how I felt. Not how he felt. Constant pressure, constant reasons why I should. It will show how much I love him, it will make our relationship stronger, he won’t love me if I don’t. There are other girls out there that would in a heartbeat.The arguments and reasons kept coming. He would try to force me, and eventually he won. I couldn’t take it anymore.

I felt god awful and dirty afterwards. There was a feeling of guiltiness and worthlessness that took over. I felt used and cheap. Almost like I was going through the rape again.

I’m done. I cannot take this anymore. I needed to get out.

I told him I’m done. I told him that this is it, I can’t do it anymore. I heard a bunch of accusations against me. I’m cheating on him, I’m not good enough for him anyways, there are better girls out there, and on and on. I said that’s fine. I’m done.

Then the apologies came. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to, you just turn me on when you’re around me. I love being with you. I won’t do it again. After several days of it, I believed it. I forgave him. I went back. He said that he wouldn’t do it again. I believed him.

Things were fine for a while, but after a couple of weeks, it started again. He was controlling. I wasn’t allowed to speak or do anything unless he was with me. If he wasn’t with me, he would call or text and check on me, and I better answer or accusations were flying in my direction. My life became a constant. Work, Home, Him. I did nothing else. I wasn’t allowed. If I did, I was cheating. If I wasn’t were I was suppose to be at a certain time, I was lying and cheating. I had to text when I would leave work, and text when I was home from work. Nothing else was allowed.

I was in prison. A prison I allowed to be created.

I am now a patchwork quilt
Just pieces of torn fabric
Emotions stitched together
With ragged melancholy seams

He had told me that he could have any girl he wanted, but he chose me. That use to make me feel like special, made me feel as if he saw me and wanted me, then it became a threat. A threat that I was replaceable. He would replace me in a heartbeat if I didn’t listen to him, didn’t obey him, didn’t worship him. I went from being someone I thought was cherished, to being an object, almost as if I was a pet that was suppose to adore him, or be punished if I did not.

Then one day there was a discussion that tipped me over the edge. He told me he wanted to marry me, but there were conditions. I wasn’t to tell anyone about the rape, I needed to stop taking depression medications, and I needed to have surgery to become a virgin again. He wanted me to have surgery to repair my hymen so it could be broken again. The last time it was broken, was when that ass stole my virginity with rape. Now that I was overcoming all the problems I held within that whole time, he wants me to cover it back up, and then to take me off of the medications that were keeping me sane enough to not want to kill myself again. Where did this monster come from?

I told him no, that nothing was worth hiding a part of pass and trying to put a bandage on it, pretending nothing happened. He told me I didn’t love him then, had no respect for him. No, I guess I do not then, since I’ve only given in to your every whim and let you dictate my life for the time you’ve known me. I told him it was over and walked away.

I was allowed peace for a short period of time. Then the phone would start ringing in the middle of the night. 2, 3, 4 in the morning trying to get me to talk to him. He’d leave voicemails and texts saying he was sorry and he loved me. I would try to ignore them, erase them as they would come in. He didn’t give up. It was as if I’d acquired a stalker now on top of everything else he put me through. I continued to ignore him, not telling anyone about this. When he kept getting persistent, calling at all hours and texting nonstop, I remember what he said about my hair, that if I cut it we were done for good. I made an appointment the next day and got myself a cute little bob. Goodbye hair.

The next time he saw me, a few days later at church, he stalked over to me, asked what the hell did I do, and then walked away. I haven’t heard back from him again.

All I wanted was to be loved, and it seems it will forever be out of reach.

With your skin like Iron and mine like Glass
Saying you love me and want to set me free
Reaching ever closer and closer
you lean in and shatter me

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10 thoughts on “Shattered

  1. Holy hell, dear. Scary on so many levels, but I get that need in the moment to have that love, no matter what. ((HUGS))

    • Thanks hun. You know, until I was trying to end it, and then again when I was writing this, I had no idea how scary it really was. I didn’t think it was abuse at all. Sometimes we will do anything for love I guess. I knew I was.

  2. My first sexual experience was a rape too. I’m sorry you have to deal with that as well. I know that pain, that “unsure”, that confusion of the life afterward all too well.

    I really hate sometimes thst these shitty things happen to us as humans. I wish I could just grab us all up & hug us & tyen go beat the shit out of all of the evil out there. But, sadly, I’m not a superhero.
    If it helps at all, I understand, dear. ♥️

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