For 14 years, I thought it was normal.
I thought it was normal when I was 17 you told me he couldn’t be in a relationship without sex. We started dating, because I wouldn’t do anything sexually until we were. And two weeks into dating, I lost my virginity.
I thought sacrifices were needed when you told me I couldn’t have male friends, so I stopped texting back. I thought it was normal when my car broke but my childhood friend couldn’t give me a ride to school in the mornings because you said. I thought it was normal when you yelled at me for telling my friendI loved him on a Facebook comment… and then doing spin outs in the gravel driveway that night. I wouldn’t make the same mistake again. When we got in that fight at Ingles, you said you might not even want my ass anymore when you came back from bootcamp. Normal, I’m sure I messed up somehow. I made you angry. I deserved it.
I messed up too. I went to a movie with a kid, C, and other friends. We worked together. He’d bring me energy drinks when he came into work as I was getting off an 16 hr shift. He was nice. He came to my youth group sometimes. He told me not to marry you, probably because he didn’t think things were normal. And, I’d spend an eternity lying to you about that movie when you came home from bootcamp, watching 2/3rds of Juno before going home at 9pm to get ready for work.
You see, at 17, I was in love. I’d do anything for you. What I didn’t know at the time was that even meant I’d lose myself for you. I’d get lost and I’d forget about that carefree girl who liked to sing in the car, dance around, and laugh endlessly. I would grow to be more conscious and alter my behavior so in attempt to reduce fighting.
At 18, we were married. We went to marriage counseling with our church, which indoctrinated that the man is the head of the household. Women were subservient, which was mostly a learned behavior.
I thought it was normal when you’d go through my phone. I thought it was normal when you went through my Facebook and downloaded the data to read everything line by line. I had a post that said: The Secret isn’t a Secret Anymore, which referred to me telling our parents we were getting married. I thought it was normal when you yelled at me for it – because it clearly meant I was having sex another dude and I should have understood what I was putting on Facebook. I thought it was normal when you told me I was a slut for messaging a male friend from highschool at 18 about how we were getting married and that what my dress looked like.
When I wrecked my car, I thought it was normal when you yelled at me for being a pregnant idiot who doesn’t pay attention, as you exclaimed you’d never be able to trust me with our child and you’d constantly be worried on your deployment because I didn’t know how to think. It was my stupid decision that caused that wreck. I thought your reaction was normal.
I thought it was normal when I wasn’t allowed to Facebook message my high-school buddy, when he deployed and was dating my best friend. I believed it when you said I just needed all the male attention, that I had personality flaws. Something was wrong with me. I wasn’t normal.
At 19, our baby was born. I thought it was normal when you yelled at me for getting frustrated with my breathing in labor so I took off my headset that I used to Skype the delivery since you were in Iraq. I thought it was normal when you bet me for nine months that I wasn’t ‘strong enough’ to deliver our baby without an epidural. I did it. I was strong enough, all 8.5 lbs.
And at 22, I thought it was normal when I wasn’t allowed to talk back if a male from my class said ‘hi’ at college. I thought it was normal when my classmate P said “hey girl, how you doing?” at the park and I was told for hours that I shouldn’t have responded, he shouldn’t have talked to me that way, and his behavior clearly meant we were secretly seeing each other. I was a whore who needed attention and would continue to seek it out, you said. I was disrespectful and didn’t act like a married woman. I should know better. I realized this was normal, I was in the wrong for how someone addressed me. I thought it was normal when you brought this incident up in nearly every fight until I was 30… because I hurt you when this happened.
At my first professional job at 24, I was yelled at for riding in a car to court with a man from work, S, because I didn’t know where to go. I answered the phone when you called and told you I was in the car with him. I further angered you the time I locked my keys in the car at a client’s house and coworker M sat with me, even gave me a ride to get the spare key from you. I was a worthless whore. I shouldn’t have been so stupid to lock my keys in the car. I need to think. These were brought up in nearly every fight until I was 30, but I thought it was normal.
Once you “tossed a phone” which resulted in my eye bleeding and crying. Your dad chastised you. You yelled at me and called me names until I apologized and fell asleep crying to myself, cuddled up against my child. I thought it was normal. I shouldn’t have made such a big deal about it. I had ruined your night, you said.
Our fights always ended the same way. I went to bed crying and apologizing for things I didn’t do or didn’t happen. I thought it was normal – everyone else would treat me the same. I was unworthy. I caused this. It’s my fault.
At 25, I came home from work with no incline that anything was wrong. You asked me if I had to tell you anything about other men. I had never been with another male – I said no. You said you’d still love me, we’d make it through. You said you’d know soon enough because while I was at work you DNA tested our child. I cried. I told you that you would see Noah was yours, there had never been anyone else, and you could use the results when we ended up filing for divorce one day to prove your paternity. I felt damaged, immensely sad. I didn’t say anything else about it. I buried it.
At 26, I googled a male and female friend to find their Facebook, as I didn’t have social media. Social media was only good for hooking up with people, and you convinced me it was normal. You saw their names when reviewing the browser history. You called me at work. You yelled and yelled. I immediately started crying in my office, and had to leave for the day. There was no reason for me to google anyone. I was an embarrassment. I don’t think. You said you weren’t enough for me. I clearly was trying to find him to hookup with him, to cheat.
A couple weeks later, you called me out of the blue at work. Screaming. I was panicked, confused. I hadn’t done anything wrong. You said you tracked down C from youth group. He told you everything. I was a whore. A liar. A terrible human. I didn’t deserve anyone, especially not you. Hours and hours through the day and into the night, I listened to you. I told you nothing happened. I lied again, as I did countless times before knowing I had watched a movie with him. I kept saying I never hungout with him, hyperventilating into the phone. You calmed down, you said I passed the test. You never talked to C and now you finally believed me. I retreated to my moms with my child in tow. While I was at mom’s, you texted me a picture of a bonfire. Inside that fire was every letter you wrote to me in bootcamp and 96 hallmark cards that you had written before you left for bootcamp, one for every day you were gone. You calmly told me I wasn’t worth it. I didn’t deserve them. And that you wished you didn’t marry me.
I made steps to leave. I opened up my own bank account, but that didn’t last long. I eventually went home, but I slept on my couch for the next 6 months. I had no where to go. And I thought this was normal. It was my fault.
We slept separate. I was told not to talk about work. You did not want to talk about work. We stopped really talking. You didn’t call or want me to call when you were on shift. You started retreating. If you were home, I shouldn’t be going out with my friends or doing anything other than spending time with you. If I went to bed early, it wasn’t because I was tired… I was told I didn’t want to spend time with you, I didn’t value you. There was rarely physical connection without sex. If I did not want to have sex, for the most part we had sex anyways because you said you couldn’t stop thinking about it, it was my fault for how attractive I was, you wouldn’t be able to sleep, I must not be attracted to you, the list went on and on until I gave in. Having sex at times was easier than listening to you beg until I gave in. If I was asleep, you didn’t mind. If I was sick or on my period, I was told I still had a mouth. If I said no, you’d pressure me, and I’d give in. There were so many times I’d stare at the imperfections in the wall, waiting for it to be over. I said no. You didn’t listen. I said no, but I’d give in. You knew that. I’d say it was okay because I didn’t want to hear that I didn’t love you. I did love you, more than myself.
At 27, we still were sleeping separately. I was working all that I could, but had to make sure no transports were placing me in the car with a male. I was told not to talk about work still, and you did the same. I couldn’t confide in you. I didn’t feel safe with you.
I was recently promoted. Work was harder than ever. People thought I didn’t deserve the job because I was young and hadn’t been there long. It was unfair. My own friends at work told me people who had been there longer should have got the job instead.
I made a mistake. I downloaded Snapchat. I talked to J. 2 weeks, like 500 messages. 1 picture of underwear I was wearing. (You still don’t know about that picture though.) J was the only human I worked with that treated me nice – it sounds lame now but to have someone just be nice for no reason was intoxicating. He wasn’t flirtatious at first. Normal conversation – kids, hiking, work, people we worked with. There was one conversation about my orientation, followed by one picture of my tattoo on my hip in underwear. Those conversations slowed as we ran out of things to talk about.
3am: You found out about Snapchat. You threw my phone. You threw the coffee table at the living room, windows, in my direction. I grabbed my phone. I locked myself in the bathroom. I rapidly texted my coworker girlfriends that I was scared. You broke the door down, you got my phone.
For two months I listened to how I was a whore, I was damaged, I was lucky you could love me or want to even be with me. I was a liar. I was a pathetic excuse for an individual. I was trash. No one would ever love me. I’d die alone. I was flawed. I was a psycho who needed daily therapy. Nothing could heal me. I was a lost cause. You were too good for me, shouldn’t have married me, hated me even. I listened to this daily. I thought it was normal.
Without my knowledge, you downloaded a location tracker and a tracker that monitored and sent screenshots to a third party location every thirty seconds my phone was actively being used. I thought it was normal, I justified this. After weeks of this, you told me you trusted me.. you knew I wasn’t doing anything wrong. I thought it was normal. I didn’t ask for permission with Snapchat. I was in the wrong. Your reaction was normal.
You would lock me out of my work computer and phone from typing in wrong passwords. You ran J through your portal to get his drivers license. You showed up at his house. You’d sit outside of our house while you were on shift. At minimum you and your friends would circle the block several times on shift. You demanded to take my phone or the battery when you went to work, I wouldn’t let you. I couldn’t be trusted, I thought it was normal.
I left the house and went to my moms, but I came back. I was a 27 year old who had made mistakes. I thought no one would love me, no one could love me. I didn’t want to give up half of the time with my child, my home, my gym. I didn’t want to start over. I thought it was normal.
I had safe words with two friends at work so they could check on me throughout my time at home. They’d text fruit, I’d respond apple if I was ok. If I didn’t respond quick enough, they’d call. This was nightly after I went home. One friend bought me a domestic violence button for my keychain.
Things seemingly settled for a bit. At least they were bearable. We bought a bigger house, a nicer car. I got a promotion, you moved to investigations. We traveled to Ireland, Scotland, England. We hiked some.
And in 2021 – I still thought everything was normal. You brought a female friend home to clean guns. Despite not liking her the first time we met, I started to develop feelings for her because she could see something good in me that I no longer could.
You refused to listen when I tried to communicate. You shut me down. I hurt you. I made you angry. You were losing control. You weren’t getting the actions you normally would – me crying and apologizing. You shot your duty weapon through the window to make me think you killed yourself. I couldn’t get my phone unlocked. Yelling. Paralyzing pain in my legs. I couldn’t open the door to where you were. I couldn’t bare to think of what happened… to see what happened. I ran our child to the truck. You ran after us. You hugged child, you said sometimes parents fight. You told our child it was fucking normal.
I went to my moms. I talked to an attorney about divorce. I got put on a waiting list for an apartment. But, I went back again. Somehow, I rationalized it was normal. I thought it was fucking normal.
For months following, I started struggling with symptoms of PTSD but I didn’t know what they were. Binge drinking. I didn’t care if I lived or died. I wrecked my car. You said you’d change. You said the problem was me now. I thought it was normal. I begged you to stop calling me names. I got so desperate that I begged you to just tell me something good about myself. You said you couldn’t, there was nothing. “Horrible person with garbage for a soul” you said. I was worthless and felt it in every action. You did not value me. I did not value me. And, I thought it was normal.
And finally after being choked and yelled at for five hours when you were at a work conference, because a man at the bar asked me what I did for work and talked to me for two minutes, I realized I had to leave. I had to leave or I wasn’t going to make it out. You were an alcoholic. You were using steroids illegally ordered from China. You were abusive.
I made a plan to leave. I rented the smallest house I had ever been in. I didn’t tell you until deposits were paid. I left everything but my clothes and five pieces of furniture. I started therapy and I learned that it wasn’t normal. It was domestic violence. And, the violence continued for months with stalking, a restraining order, and a whole lot of fear.
But it wasn’t normal.
