Bruises & Black Eyes?

I bet when you read bruises and black eyes, you thought it was me with them. It wasn’t though. I’m not going to sit here and act like I was innocent or always the victim either. Well, maybe I was a victim, and that caused me to act out. Either way, I can’t not take any of the blame. I was a monster too.

It hurts to admit this. It’s so embarrassing to even say.

The reason why he’s covering his eye in the photograph is because I unleashed the crazy & I gave him a black eye. Why? Who knows. I don’t even remember what started half the fights. They were usually around other girls or infidelity. If I gave him a black eye, why don’t I remember? Well, because it happened more than once. More than twice. Hell I don’t even remember how many times I did that. It was a lot though. He didn’t deserve that. We aren’t animals. There’s no reason for people to put hands on each other, ever. Unless it’s to save your life.

I grew up fighting though. I don’t even remember how old I was when my cousins would “teach me to box.” I grew up watching fights at the bus stops. I grew up seeing fights in school like all the time. It was normal. Fighting was normal. Punching people in the face was normal.

But it’s not. It’s actually quite atrocious. I had to learn that. I had to learn that hitting is not ok. I didn’t always know this. I used to literally say, “don’t start a fight with me because I’m not going to argue, I’m just going to punch you in the face.” Like literally. I meant every word every time too.

So if I’ve ever punched you in the face, or threatened to punch you in the face, I apologize. I sincerely apologize.

Violence is not ok. I was violent. He was verbally and mentally abusive. I was the violent one. Usually. So I can’t sit here & act like I was the only one getting hurt. I was hurting him too.

We would fight, he would scream, I would cry. He would say the most hurtful things he could think of. Things tied to secrets I told him about. I would lose control. I would lose myself. I would literally black out. I would punch this grown man in the face over & over again until I saw blood gushing out. Why? Because I wasn’t stable. He triggered me over & over again. I recall times when he would scream, “hit me, do it!” So then I would. I couldn’t stop. Until the blood came. Then it was like I would wake up. I would snap back into reality. I would then cry and beg for forgiveness. Each and every time.

There was one time he choked me and threw me. I keyed him in the neck that night. He never choked me again after that. He made a promise to himself and to me that he would never put his hands on me to harm me. He never did it again.

It took me awhile to stop though. It took both my therapist and psychiatrist saying to me, “if you hit him one more time, we can’t see you anymore.” So I stopped. I made a promise to myself to stop hitting him in the face. So I stopped. I’m not proud of the fact that I would do that. Im not proud of the fact that I wasn’t satisfied until I saw blood. That’s horrifying to even think! I have to be honest though. I have to be open. I claim to be authentic, so I need to accept some of the blame too.

I always felt so horrible after the fact. When I would stare at his beautiful face then see what I did, it would kill me a little inside. I loved this man so much so how could I hurt him? That’s what happens when you trigger someone that’s not stable. It took him awhile to understand that.

I made a promise to myself, that I wouldn’t punch people in the face again unless it was to save or protect myself. I refuse to be the person I was molded to be.

It doesn’t matter where you come from. It doesn’t matter how you grew up. What matters, is what you make of what you have. What matters, is that despite whatever you’ve been through, you still choose to be the light.

I no longer want to be the reason why someone is trying to hide bruises with sunglasses. I no longer want to be the person that does something so bad, then cries and begs for forgiveness. I never want to sink that low ever again.

Our relationship was toxic. It was violent. It was all around bad. So two years may seem like a long time, and it is. But when you’re coming back from that? Coming back from being in a toxic and violent relationship with a narcissist, two years still isn’t long enough time to fully recover.

One of the last times we fought, he almost ran my leg over. All because I was blocking him from calling the mail order bride. He claimed I was blocking him from “making a really important business call.”Bullshit. It was all bullshit. Then he threw me off the truck onto the concrete driveway. I had to move my leg quickly out of the way so he wouldn’t run me over. He was a complete maniac that night. He never admitted to it though. It was such a huge fight! All because he wanted to talk to his stupid little mail order bride overseas. He didn’t want her to know that I was there with him, in his house, like normal. He could’ve and would’ve broken my leg, had I not rolled it out the way in time. All over a lie. If he would’ve just been honest, I would’ve walked out of that house and went home.

Instead of telling the truth, he lied. He lied a lot. He said it was to “save him time.” He just “wasn’t ready to face it yet.” He would always cheat on me with so many girls. He denied them all. He would be caught red handed and still denied it all. I believed him though, when he said he loved me. I believed him, even over my friends who saw him with their own eyes, I still believed him.

He thought he wouldn’t ever find a girl that was able to fully love him and remain faithful to him. He claimed all the girls before were so horrible. He claimed they cheated on him in the worst ways. He had what he wanted though. He had a girl that literally dropped everything for him. A girl so infatuated with eyes only for him. A girl willing to do whatever he wanted, because she loved him that much. He had that. He had that & he let it go. He took it for granted. He had that, yet he still screamed the worst, most hurtful things at me in my face at the top of his lungs. He had a girl that loved him, and he pushed her to be the scariest monster out for blood.

Love is scary. Being mentally ill is scary. Two & two together, that’s a scary combination.

It doesn’t have to be scary though. Don’t forget, it can also be the complete opposite.

Loving someone who is mentally ill can be absolutely beautiful. Loving someone who is mentally ill, can teach you what it really means to have a passionate love. They can teach you about passion. About depth.

I know I might’ve made it sound scary, and it was. When I was in that relationship, it was extremely scary. It doesn’t have to be though. If he hadn’t said and done so many damaging & hurtful things, I probably would’ve never given him a scratch.

When I say I’ve grown and I’ve learned so much. I mean it in all aspects. I’ll elaborate more on my childhood later, but just know, it wasn’t the greatest. There’s a lot of things I learned in childhood that I had to unlearn as an adult. Knowing that it’s not ok to hit people is one huge one that I had to learn. Learning that it’s ok to feel anger, but it’s not ok to act on it, took awhile. I learned though. I’m learning everyday.

I’m also learning to own up to your own mistakes. So here’s me owning up to something so atrocious that I haven’t talked about in a long time. Here’s me probably scaring potential lovers away. Lol. But also, being honest and transparent. Nobody ever talks about women abusing men. It happens all the time. I abused him. I’m not proud of it. I did it to him because of how he was making me feel. That’s not ok. It’s kind of understandable but still not ok. So here’s me learning from my past mistakes. Owning up to them, and moving on.

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