I'm Not Special

Dark Days

I had an average childhood with two loving parents. I had a stable home and never went without needs or wants. I had an older sister, that for the most part I always got along with.

Then at age 19 two big things happened. The first thing, my parents separated. I remember being in my room putting away some DVDs me and my best friend Sam had stolen. My parents ask me and my sister downstairs to talk. I thought, oh shit they know I'm shoplifting. Instead, they said my mother was moving out. I was 19, I wasn't a child, but it was still hard, and I still didn't understand.

My parents never fought in front of me and my sister. I don't think they really fought much even if we weren't around. My mom was lost and needed to find herself, but it still hurt. I felt like I lost my stability. I was cruel to my mother during this time. I'm not one for regrets, I would rather learn from a situation. At that time, I took her leaving as abandonment.

So, I leaned on lean on Max. Bad choice. That was the second thing that happened at 19, I got a new boyfriend, Max. While securing a yearlong job at a portrait studio I had tried working at a Halloween store. It was fun, but I did not last long. That is where I met Max. He was over six feet tall with a muscular build and blonde hair.

What to say about Max? Well, he was the first person I met with a drinking problem. Both his parents had died years ago, and he had been using hard drugs before he moved to my state and met me. He was a messed-up kid, he had been through a lot. When we first started dating, he was living on his friend's couch. He was a DJ that went by the name "Mainackila". Yeah, looking back that red flag couldn't have been brighter.

Did he hurt me? Yes. Did I hurt him? I sure tried to. I wanted to hurt him until the day I finally kicked him out of my dad's house three years later. He gaslighted me, he stole my medicine, he chocked and threatened me. I thought it was young love, it wasn't. It was an abusive relationship.

It didn't start out that way, abusive relationship rarely do. He was sweet and brought me gifts for no reason. He was kind and helpful to my friends and family. But then we would drink, and things got out of control. The fights were brutal, yelling, and breaking things. We both participated, we both kept going. Then the next day everything would be fine. He would make me food and tell me how much he loved me. I would feel guilty, l felt like it must have been me that brought out that side of him.

While I was now full time at the mall portrait studio, Max's Halloween job ended. He struggled to find a new job. I had moved in with him, and we shared a rundown house  that had a hole in the celling with a tarp over it. We had three other roommates. I became finically responsible for both of us. I worked as much as I could, but I was only making minimum wage.

This only lasted a few months before I moved back into my dad's house, but I continued to pay Max's rent. That also only lasted a few months before he moved in with me and my dad rent free.

After a year and a half of dating I was in a dark head space. I remember fantasizing about being kidnapped while I walk to my car at night after work. Some serial killer making me his victim. I know that sounds twisted, but Max's outbursts left me drained. I found myself always trying to keep him calm and happy. He was using drugs and drinking, no amount of loved could change him. I always felt like everything was my fault. We get in an argument, and he threaten to leave. I didn't want him to leave, I'd loved him. I forgot who I was without him.

When writing this I decide to leave out most of the details of the actual abuse. I'll share this one to help show the instability I was living in. One morning Max and I woke up and watched 'Thor', we had rented it from Redbox. He was so happy and loving that morning. I drove him to the Halloween store, because it was that time of year. When I returned to get him a few hours later he was acting strange. I said something, I can't recall what and he lost it. He started yelling and tried to jump out of the car. I pulled the car over and begged for him to get back in. He was screaming at me on the side of the road, I was scared the cops would be called. At the time I didn't know he was back on drugs and high. We finally got back into the car, when we got home, he went upstairs and throw our mattress across the room. I just cried and apologized.

Unfortunately, I would take these behaviors into my following relationships. I would get drunk and throw fits. That what relationships were to me; dysfunctional and abusive. I mirrored what I had learned from Max.

The next few months were the holidays, so it was all hands-on deck at the portrait studio. I worked almost every day; all the employees did. This was the busy season. My coworkers became my family and the time away from Max cleared me head. I didn't want to do this anymore, I wanted more. What? How? I don't know. Most the time I just wanted to die, embarrassed about the abuse I was enduring. Worst, I wasn't sure it was abuse. I thought I deserved it, I would 'misbehave' in Max's eyes and need to be punished.

There are details, there are stories, there is a lot of traumas. But I would spend years trying to work that out, so I'll skip ahead to the college years.

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