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bear by san

March 2017



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criminal minds hotch save your life

I want to fucking tear you apart.

This is what domestic abuse is like.

It's like this.

And this is why you don't leave.

I worked as a counselor at a domestic violence shelter back in the 90's. Until you have talked to somebody who has lived through it, please don't assume you know what it's like. And if you are living through it now?

There are ways to get help. Please, please. Find help.

Your life is worth more than your abuser's ego.


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Men like this bring out very homicidal impulses in me. Ironic.
I could tell you stories.....


Isn't it amazing how even the stories of other survivors seems so insurmountable.
We made it.

That in itself is an act of heroism.
I live with excruciating pain everyday caused by loneliness. I know that I will spend the rest of my life alone. Stories like this really make me wonder how to change society so that such abuse doesn't happen. What is it about our culture that rewards such behaviour? Why do we let it go to such extremes?

I guess I just have too many thoughts about life and death going through my mind this evening.
Hey. Breathe.

And don't invent forevers. It's unhealthy ideation. Okay?

I think it's deeper than culture. and it's something I have no answers to, though it's part of why I wrote Carnival.
Reading this makes me shudder.

I almost ended up in a relationship like that. Broke it off before it became anything more than an engagement.

Even at that, it took me two years to get free of him. He stalked me, stalked my parents, and generally had me looking around corners.

Fortunately, a move across the state seemed to finish that off. Either that or something happened to him and I never heard about it.
Yeah. I've got an ex-fiance from Hell as well, 20-something years ago. Actually took 18 months to have him leave me alone; that and passing word back, via the people who I'd found out had given him my unlisted, unpublished phone #, that I was getting a gun and a concealed carry permit. (Didn't actually need to get the gun and learn to use it, but I would have.)

why you don't leave

I had a minor insight, which is perhaps much too obvious to be called an insight, when reading one of the several comments by someone who is sure they would leave the first time something bad happened. I think that too, though it's never been tested. But I think that when women say that, they mean, "if I had dated your abuser, I would have left the first time he hit me."

The real question is, if their own husband, that real person whom they know and love, if he hit them, what would they do? Because it means nothing at all when it's a thought experiment about a hypothetical abuser. You have to imagine your own real, named lover, your own best friend, whom you know up and down and who would never, ever do that to you, because your judgment is so good that you got one of the good ones, one of the best ones, who would never because he could never. If he hits you, that particular guy, not if he were to, hypothetically, but if he does, in the real future, tomorrow, next week what will you (I) do?

I mean, my first reaction to my own suggestion is to say, well, that won't ever happen, because he just wouldn't, I have to make it a hypothetical abuser because that's the only way to realistically imagine it. And of course it's like that for everybody, for everybody's boyfriend, until the first time. I know it's blindingly obvious, but thinking about it that way helped me to not just sympathize but understand, a little.

Re: why you don't leave


And not all abusers are male.

Mine was not.
Thank you, so much, for linking to this.
Every time we dare to break silence helps, right?

I am sad in many ways now.

Could you ruthlessly pick up and take your stuff, maybe even just the clothes on your back, and abandon your entire life?

And this... well, and many other things... but mainly this... is why it took me over 20 years.

A lot of people I'm around seem to understand these days. Probably because I'm on the liberal west coast. But I still run into people who say "Oh yeah? Well, I would never have been weak or stupid like you."


Someone else also once told me that we should put all the abused wives and children into jail, because they will only perpetuate the cycle. So of course putting THEM in jail is, like, the best solution.


The really awful part is that... hah... I'm either still being stalked or not. Someday I may come home and find out that someone's waiting on my porch with a gun. And no one can prevent that from happening.

My version of being hit by a bus.

On the upside of things, it's AMAZING how that amount of experience of pain, self-doubt, torture, fear, terror (not to be confused with fear), random betrayal, and (high point!) strangulation is very helpful to writing.

And this is why I drink my special tea.

I think I'll go make a large pot now.

(No, it's got nothing illegal in it. I wish it did, some days.)

Re: I am sad in many ways now.


Just yeah.

Hey there. You're not alone, kay?
Thank you for these links.
Is it a coincidence that this comes up on Valentines Day? I think not. I think bloody martyrdoms and human sacrifices and the depths of our depravity as a species through which we persist while keeping the ravens fed is exactly appropriate to this time of year.
My mom left an abusive marriage. Ten years later, I turned around and picked a guy exactly like him. He systematically tore down my self-esteem, told me I was ugly, brought other girls home and eventually cheated on me and confessed to it with a smile and the expectation I'd accept the new paradigm because I had nothing left except approval and love that would never come (though at the time, I hoped.)

It took four years, but I eventually told him to go fuck himself. Best moment of my life.

And the above commentor is correct...sometimes all it takes are words. His weapons were all verbal, and very effective. I am so, so glad I got out.
Sometimes people don't leave because the person who gave them an out changed their mind. And if your friend won't give you a space on their couch, then who will?

(Not talking about myself.)
Sometimes they don't leave because they are sixteen and pregnant and already have two babies, and no skills.*

And where the FUCK are they gonna go?

*true story, as witnessed by author
I left 22 years ago this coming May. I was lucky, I never wound up in the hospital, and by a lot of measures his abuse was mild -- not by psychological measures, but still. Six years was more than enough.

It wasn't until after I moved out that he went completely nuts. I'm here to tell you that restraining orders aren't worth the paper they're printed on. I'm also here to tell you that a friend willing to lean on a shotgun and drawl about Deliverance wasn't nearly as funny at the time as it is in hindsight, but it worked better than the paperwork. After that he just did things like steal my cat (I eventually got her back, unharmed) and break into my car. But at least he didn't try to confront me face-to-face anymore.

I learned how to disappear in December, 1986. It was, finally, the only thing left to do after being stalked for seven months. 1200 miles and no paper trail and I lost him. I'm 99% sure he's dead now (and I'm pretty sure I could tell you the day he died, or close to it, even though I have no proof), and I'm grateful.

I learned who my real friends were. I don't recommend the method, however.



I am glad you are alive. I, too, have had to bolt quickly. I know, God, I know. You were brave and strong to leave. Happy, Happy Rebirthday.

What is there to say? Twenty years later and I'm still not convinced I ever really escaped.



You did.
And sometimes you don't leave because, deep down, you don't really believe that anybody else would treat you any differently. That's a hard one to fight.

I'm coming to this discussion late, and we don't know each other at all and I feel like I'm intruding on your life, but I wanted to tell you that reading what you wrote, yes, I know you, and you know me, because that feeling is one I know very well. Very well.

This is never easy and it's something I think that (unfortunately) you can never truly know unless you've had to live through it. I have.
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