THE SPACE IN BETWEEN

This is the first holiday season I'm spending without my abuser. It's been 28 days since I last spoke to him . I found that as those days passed, my sadness deepened. This was not what I'd wanted for us. I didn't see myself being without him.

I'd always looked forward to us spending Holidays together. I wanted to spend regular days together. I enjoyed being with him, enjoyed who he was. When he wasn't raging. I wanted him to be with me, with my family. Become a part of us. Become a part of me.

As much as I wanted those things, the unpredictable, uncontrolled mood changes and rages were too destructive. It was an ever-widening chasm being dug between us.The raging. The anger. The dirty names and looks. The threats. Fear-mongering. Suspicions and accusations. Interrogations. The layers started to fall away, the tactics and mechanisms unleashed. My happy anticipation of our time together turned to hopeful anticipation. That hope sidled into anxiousness. Which then became fear.

How could I integrate him when he was not only violently hurting me, but had either hurt, or shown himself to be hurtful, to those closest to me? After much effort over several years to accept and include him, my family and those close to me closed the door to him. They would only take so much. And rightly so.

I was pulled between my family and him.  I kept them apart, for safety.  But I was really hurting over not being able to all be together. And worse: He knew this. He knew what he'd done to them, what he was doing to me. And still he demanded that I make it work. That I fit him in. And that no one show displeasure about him being there. If I couldn't make that happen, that meant I didnt want it to. That I was trying to hide him, and have a secret relationship.

No matter how much I explained that I did want him with us, but that I didn't want anyone knowing about the abuse, it was swept aside. I was continually blamed of ill intentions. Of purposely excluding him for some personal gain or pleasure. It hurt that I couldn't get him to understand. 

I can hear him now, laughing, saying that he's starting the new year off right. In a new home, nicer part of town, and without the complication of me. That things are finally coming together for him, most likely because he got rid of me. Sadly, it's funny that, even at his worst, I didn't think that way about him. I wanted us to find a way to resolve the issues, heal, and move forward. But because I wouldn't ignore the issues, because I started talking to him about them and seeking help, for the abuse, I became someone he no longer wanted to deal with.

I think about the things he said and did as he was preparing to leave. Hurtful, demoralizing. I remember with a heavy heart deciding to end his spew of words. Hanging up, and knowing I wouldn't call him again. At all. But I'm able to think and remember and sort things out now because I made that decision. There's peace. No interrogations, surveillance, accounting for every action, expression, tone. I've spent time with my family, fully engaged. Without feeling anxious or being afraid of what he would say or do once I left them.

It's been hard, I've felt deep pain and sadness. But I'm no longer being abused. The terror is gone. As broken as I feel, I know that the end of the abuse is good.

My 2017.