Why am I glad my ex abused me? Before you get your panties in a bunch, pause a moment to let me explain.
He didn't start out as an asshole. Chances are I wouldn't have stayed with him at all, let alone married him, if he had been, well, maybe I would have.
On the contrary, he was very sweet at first; a good listener, compassionate, and truly seemed to be the perfect guy, my true love. Moreover, he was an old friend from my younger days. Days of endless blue skies wiling the hours away at coffee shops, running amok through the town with him and the other boys as only young adults can. A real life "Elaine Benes" I was indeed. To this day, the taste of coffee on my tongue, not merely a physical addiction, but one that evokes an emotional recall.
He was, when all is said and one, my first love. He was intense, passionate, darkly intelligent, and dangerous in a way that I first found attractive. But back then, I didn't know just how dark that danger would lead.
He was a suffering soul; he played that part well and I fell for it, coming to his rescue as only my Savior-Complex, Co-Dependent complex knew how.
He came back into my life, after a 6 year absence, and it was all I had been dreaming of, hoping for, praying for, during that separation. At that time, he was the only man with whom I had ever been in love. Our courtship was a whirl-wind passionate affair and our marriage was a fairy-tale experience! He was my tall, dark, and handsome prince come to woo me away from my lonely existence. Away we went to live happily ever after...
As we began our lives together, he quickly started spiraling downward, which at first I persuaded myself wasn't happening. I wanted to believe that his delusions and conspiracy theories were somehow true, when they failed to be, I found it increasingly difficult to smile and pretend everything was all right. His distrust and emotional violence towards me began escalating rapidly from that point forward. What once was a dream became more and more a nightmare!
I was constantly praying for deliverance, strength, protection; calling friends and family in tears, lost in confusion and fear.
The night before Oscar Sunday 2013, I found myself in driveway of a friends' house with another friend, bemoaning to him all my trials and tribulations once again. He astutely pointed out that my entire life I had been a victim of some form of abuse. This was oddly comforting and inspiring.
The next day I gave the performance which, if filmed, should have awarded me the Academy; I tearfully kicked the love of my life out and lived to tell the story.
Thus began my new life. As I began to pick up the pieces, with the help of the love and laughter of some new friends and old, I grew stronger and my life began to expand exponentially. My dreams and passions became a real life pursuit, the only thing that mattered.
As my friend had pointed out that fateful night, I began to look back on my life at the other forms of abuse I had once experienced and was finally able to release my anger and denial. I learned about the kind of child abuse I had incurred, the youthful abuse from my class-mates in middle school, discovered a name for the turmoil I'd experienced at Calvary, spiritual abuse, and lastly realized the violence I had inflicted upon myself as a result. As I said, this didn't spur on more anger but came as a sort of release.
I was able to finally forgive and heal, not just the wounds of others but those of myself as well. I chose no longer to allow negativity, abuse, and control from others and to follow my own path as per my destiny. I was able, then, to offer love to all, both friend and foe, and also myself. I was finally free to be me, to accept myself fully, to see beauty in every part of myself, faults notwithstanding. I was able to see the reasons for the years of suffering, to see how it connected to my true path.
"I made it through the wilderness, somehow I made it through", as Madonna croons, "I became shiny and new."
I found my way out. I found freedom. At Last.
