RIDING IN CARS WITH NARCISSIST ABUSERS
As the fog clears away, I've been looking back, remembering, the things that have been said and done. They're buried things. Things I couldn't grasp while they were happening, things that were too painful to manage back then ... They are peeking through my conscious now ... and as I'm able, I look at them.
Within a few months, I started building my business and gaining a bigger customer base. I started to travel more often, which I really enjoyed. I was used to driving, using local transportation, flying, for business. I would schedule my days, coordinate routes, meet with clients. I enjoyed the freedom of my work.
In particular is the memory of being in the car with the narcissist ex. At the start of the relationship, we found that we loved taking drives. We'd hop in the car and just go. Wherever. We rode everywhere together; it was our thing. We talked easily and laughed freely. But could also sit in comfort and silence, hold hands, and ride. We played good music, enjoyed views that sped us by. Something as simple as going to the grocery store just felt really good. It was our thing.
Within a few months, I started building my business and gaining a bigger customer base. I started to travel more often, which I really enjoyed. I was used to driving, using local transportation, flying, for business. I would schedule my days, coordinate routes, meet with clients. I enjoyed the freedom of my work.
As I got busier, the ex made it so that he was driving me around more. He would ask that I let him be there for me. Because he was a provider and a protector, and because he loved me, he wanted to do these types of things for me. He enjoyed seeing me throughout my workday, and really wanted the extra time with me. The sentiment felt sweet, loving. I felt cared for. Initially, it was nice.
He wanted to drop me off and pick me up from work. If I had several clients to meet with throughout the day, he would leave his job during the day to take me to those appointments. This was a bit much, I felt, leaving his job just to drive me around. When I would bring it up to him, he'd get indignant and say it wasn't an issue, that I didn't need to use public transportation when I had him.
It started to become a requirement. Where he was once offering to take me to work, he was now insisting, then demanding. If I didn't allow it, he grew angry. He made up countless reasons for why I didn't want him to drive me around. He accused me of not really having to work, but instead going to meet other men, and wanting to hide it from him. He'd say that I was so independent that I didn't even need a man, and that I was clearly the woman and the man in the relationship. To stop the barrage of insults and attacks, to prove that I had no ill-motives, I would reluctantly agree to let him drive me whenever he asked.
It would seem a simple thing, riding in the car with someone. It's something we don't think about. Routine, a non-issue for most. But so many key and terrifying things took place in the confines of the car, riding with this abuser. It was his domain. He could say what he wanted, do whatever he wanted, and it had the most impact because we were physically so close. Once I got in the car, there was literally no escape. And he took complete control.
Picking me up from my home or from work, he assured me he could do it, he had the time, it was no problem. He would tell me what time he'd be there, but show up half an hour earlier. He'd then rage at me because I wasn't ready to go when he arrived. He would say that I was inconsiderate of him and his time, and that I was using him. Stunned silence was often my response to these drastic shifts and outbursts. When I gathered myself, I would remind him that he said he would pick me up at a certain time, but had come half an hour early, without telling me. He would ignore my words and continue to tear into me.
If my schedule changed, he'd get angry because he couldn't accommodate the change and drive me. Even though it was my work and my schedule, and I was able to accommodate the change and get myself around, he would be irate. The accusations of me cheating, and lying about what I was doing, would fly. And if he picked me up afterwards, the anger and accusations could not be appeased.
It started to become a requirement. Where he was once offering to take me to work, he was now insisting, then demanding. If I didn't allow it, he grew angry. He made up countless reasons for why I didn't want him to drive me around. He accused me of not really having to work, but instead going to meet other men, and wanting to hide it from him. He'd say that I was so independent that I didn't even need a man, and that I was clearly the woman and the man in the relationship. To stop the barrage of insults and attacks, to prove that I had no ill-motives, I would reluctantly agree to let him drive me whenever he asked.
It would seem a simple thing, riding in the car with someone. It's something we don't think about. Routine, a non-issue for most. But so many key and terrifying things took place in the confines of the car, riding with this abuser. It was his domain. He could say what he wanted, do whatever he wanted, and it had the most impact because we were physically so close. Once I got in the car, there was literally no escape. And he took complete control.
Picking me up from my home or from work, he assured me he could do it, he had the time, it was no problem. He would tell me what time he'd be there, but show up half an hour earlier. He'd then rage at me because I wasn't ready to go when he arrived. He would say that I was inconsiderate of him and his time, and that I was using him. Stunned silence was often my response to these drastic shifts and outbursts. When I gathered myself, I would remind him that he said he would pick me up at a certain time, but had come half an hour early, without telling me. He would ignore my words and continue to tear into me.
If my schedule changed, he'd get angry because he couldn't accommodate the change and drive me. Even though it was my work and my schedule, and I was able to accommodate the change and get myself around, he would be irate. The accusations of me cheating, and lying about what I was doing, would fly. And if he picked me up afterwards, the anger and accusations could not be appeased.
Whether he was angry at me before I got in, or became angry after we started the ride, he would go through any number of moods: stony silence, sarcasm, antagonizing, stonewalling, baiting, interrogating, intimidating, mocking, coldness, demeaning, belittling. So much more.
He would rage at me for getting to the car late, or making him late. He would curse me out, call me foul names, accuse me of wild, false things. He would list all the reasons I wasn't a good woman, why he didn't like me, why he would never marry me. He'd tell me that who I was and how I was was the reason our relationship was destroyed. He'd say he couldn't stand who I was, and couldn't stand to be with me.
He would rage at me for getting to the car late, or making him late. He would curse me out, call me foul names, accuse me of wild, false things. He would list all the reasons I wasn't a good woman, why he didn't like me, why he would never marry me. He'd tell me that who I was and how I was was the reason our relationship was destroyed. He'd say he couldn't stand who I was, and couldn't stand to be with me.
He was yelling, red-faced, threatening, lunging, punching the steering wheel and dashboard with his fists. Quite, quite often.
He would give me ultimatums. Demand that I do things his way, or he'd leave. He would mock my tears and pleas. Would repeatedly say he didn't give a f**k about me crying or about my feelings. If I tried to talk with him, he would turn the radio up full-blast, to drown me out. He would leave it turned all the way up. If I asked him to turn it down, he'd tell me to shut the f**k up talking to him. If I reached to turn it down myself, he'd snarl not to touch his property, or he'd shove my hand and arm away.
He would grab me by the front of my coat or shirt, and hold me in place while he yelled. Or he'd grab the front of me and pull me towards him to yell in my face.
If I sat in silence during his rages, he would speed up the car, to get some response from me. Zigzagging across lanes, between cars, he would wrench the wheel hard, to the right or left, making the car swerve suddenly and sharply. He would drive at high-speeds, then slam on the brakes just inches from the car ahead of us.
If we were ever pulled over, he showed his badge, and he was let go, without issue.
He headbutted me. He fractured my ribs.
All of this, in the car.
It was a way to control me, and keep surveillance on me. To drive me everywhere. See me going into, and coming out of, buildings, to know for sure where I was. To take me to each of my appointments and on each errand to make sure I was going where I said ...
It was a way to keep me very close to him, for a large part of the day. To see how I was dressing, how often I was on my phone, who I interacted with ... To have me there to be sweet to, or to blow up at, however he felt like being in the moment ... His frenzied paranoia and suspicion, the seething anger and rages if anything changed, was brutal.
I felt out of my mind with terror.
I am so glad to have escaped that. Especially that. Those were some of my most fear-filled times while with him. They are sobering memories. My hope is that anyone in this situation will see their path out and take it, whenever they can. My thoughts and prayers are with you.
All of this, in the car.
It was a way to control me, and keep surveillance on me. To drive me everywhere. See me going into, and coming out of, buildings, to know for sure where I was. To take me to each of my appointments and on each errand to make sure I was going where I said ...
It was a way to keep me very close to him, for a large part of the day. To see how I was dressing, how often I was on my phone, who I interacted with ... To have me there to be sweet to, or to blow up at, however he felt like being in the moment ... His frenzied paranoia and suspicion, the seething anger and rages if anything changed, was brutal.
I felt out of my mind with terror.
I am so glad to have escaped that. Especially that. Those were some of my most fear-filled times while with him. They are sobering memories. My hope is that anyone in this situation will see their path out and take it, whenever they can. My thoughts and prayers are with you.
Comments
Post a Comment