Nothing New Under the Sun

I wrote this months ago. Before Tom went full on crazy and threatened me. I hadn't published it yet because I was revising and not sure I wanted to share some of this. But anyway:

I've been grabbed and shaken. I've had a man go nose to nose with me and scream in my face. I've had a man cock his fist back and act like he was going to punch me, only to make me flinch. I've had a man throw and break stuff. My car has a dent in the dashboard that a man made with his fist.

And those are instances with three different men.

I'm feisty and I can be an instigator. I can argue you up and down the room. But I'm all talk and tough exterior. I will ask for a pause in an argument. I will back off and I will ask a man to back off when I'm frightened. Because I frighten easily. I want to stand up for myself, but most occasions, (first dates, fights with a boyfriend, giving a bad performance review to a male employee) I'm sizing them up. Can I escape this room if things get bad? Is my phone within reach? How quickly can I dial 911? Will anyone hear me if I scream?

And sure, I'm an anxious person and this line of thinking isn't really logical or necessary. But given the experiences I've had? The thoughts happen anyways. The thoughts catch me by surprise. Several times I've been kissing a man I like and he grabs my wrist or neck in what is supposed to be a playful, sexy way. But I ruin the moment by bursting into tears.

And I worry its my fault. Why has this happened with three different men? It must be my fault. I must make them so mad that they just want to hurt me. Or something is wrong with me that I keep picking men who want to hurt me. The world is a scary place if you can't even trust the men you like or love to not hurt you.

I try and be blase about it. I don't have it as bad as other women, its not a big deal. I've never had a black eye. I've had scratches and marks but not really bruises. I've never called the police. I've only told my parents about one incident because I don't think they'll care very much. And since nothing extremely bad happened, who cares right?

Is what happened to me even abuse? Depends on your definition I guess. All those incidents I listed rattled me but I'm lucky I guess. I don't have any broken bones or restraining orders or scars. It's like nothing really happened to me. In a sick way, I'm glad for that dent in my car's dashboard.  That dent is something real that I can point to and say, "These things really happened to me. I'm not misremembering. My worries aren't without a basis in reality."

I think that's what I need some days. To know that it was real. That my life now is my own. That I have distance and perspective on those incidents. That I know better now.  That if I let a man into my life, he'll be worth it.