Leaving

Domestic Abuse

Many people think domestic abuse happens only to women. Although that is very often the case, it does not always play out that way. One in ten men in the United States have experienced abuse from an intimate partner at some point in their lives (Heru, 2008). Domestic abuse is a pattern of coercive, controlling, and often life-threatening behavior that can take the form of physical aggression, sexual abuse, psychological and emotional manipulation, verbal abuse, or economic intimidation, among other things (Villines, 2018). It can happen at the hands of a spouse, boyfriend, girlfriend, or sexual partner, regardless of gender, sexual orientation, age, social class, or education (Smith et al, 2019). Long-term exposure to domestic abuse can lead to devastating consequences, sometimes even as extreme as death. Victims are often reluctant to end the relationship, sometimes because they believe the abuser is too powerful and will prevent them from leaving, sometimes because they idolize the abuser, sometimes because they believe they deserve the abuse, always because they've been manipulated into believing some falsehood that makes them afraid to leave. When they finally do leave, they often find a world that seems like it doesn't care, a world with little support and almost no understanding of what they are going through or how they are feeling. At the same time, they experience a flood of negative emotions that quickly overwhelms them and leaves them feeling desperate and alone. This may cause them to go back to the abuser, and if they do, the manipulation and abuse will be far worse than before and it will be almost impossible for them to leave a second time.

I know this first-hand because I experienced it when I let a guy move in with me as a roommate.

The Worst Decision of My Life

Before I begin this story, you should know that for most of my life, I have been a very optimistic and trusting person, to the point of nativity. No matter the situation, I always wanted to believe it would have a positive outcome. Because of this, I would basically believe whatever anyone told me unless is was outrageous or extreme. I had traveled to faraway places, experienced foreign lands, and had gotten fucked up and fucked in more places than I cared to remember, but I really had never met anyone who was altogether different than myself. Sure, they may have been from another country, they may have looked different, they may have had a funny accent, but I've always been drawn to people who are generally like myself. The older I've gotten, the more that has begun to work against my best interest. The point of life is to experience what the world has to offer, good and bad. I've always been a good person. I have never fucked anyone over, cheated anyone out of anything, or done anything that wasn't the fair and decent thing to do, and for the most part, I assumed most people in the world were the same way because I had never met anyone who was too different than that. So, when the relationship with my new roommate went bad, I was altogether completely unprepared for it.

I had lived by myself in that apartment for fifteen years. My rent was good by San Francisco standards, but I wanted a roommate who could help me pay the rent so I'd have more money to spend on the things that made life fun. The apartment was large enough for two people, but the configuration left no private space, which made sharing it more than a little tricky. I happened to meet a guy one night. We hit it off immediately. He was intelligent, down to earth, and more than a little attractive. By all accounts, he was downright charming, and he seemed normal enough. He was sharing an apartment with some guy but was looking for a better roommate situation. It seemed to me that the Universe had answered my prayers. He seemed to like me, too. We spent the next few nights together, and on the third or fourth night, he popped the question, "Hey, are you possibly looking for a roommate?" I said, "Why, yes I am." I didn't know it at the time, but that conversation would lead to me making the worst decision of my entire life. I let him move in without asking him any pertinent questions, not even one. I was so optimistic and so trusting that it had never occurred to me that someone would move in to a shared space unless they knew they could afford it. After all, roommates see one another all the time and doesn't everyone want a stress free living environment?

On some level, I knew that I was about to create a bad situation. I know this because my intuition tried to convince me to make a different decision. Unfortunately for me, it was a little too little a little too late. I remember sitting on my sofa the night before he moved in when the voice in my head said to me, "There is no way this situation will turn out well".
....."Yes it will. No problem", I replied.
....."How? You've only known him for a few days, and you know nothing about him", my inner voice reminded me.
....."I know enough," I said, although I knew he was right.
....."You didn't even ask him how he would pay the rent. Does he even have a job?"
....."He must. Why would he move in if he can't pay the rent?" A flood of thoughts and emotions raced through my mind making me anxious. It took only a few seconds to feel the familiar feeling that I always felt whenever my optimism was challenged, like I was a bad person for doubting that he was anything other than honest and trustworthy.
.....My inner voice, obviously knowing how I was feeling, jumped on the opportunity, "Call it off now. Tell him that he can't move in, and it was a mistake for you to agree to let him."
....."He has given me no reason to question his suitability as a reliable roommate. I'm going through with it."
....."Idiot!"
I dismissed the warnings of my inner voice just like I always did when it was telling me something I didn't want to hear.

As it turned out, I really should have listened to him.

The Fighting Begins

There was an initial period of peace and tranquility after he moved in that lasted for about twenty-four hours. The day after he moved in, we had our first disagreement, and I got my first dose of the abuse I would become all too familiar with over the next nine months. I don't remember what that disagreement was about. I never quite knew what any of our disagreements were about. We'd be getting along splendidly until all of a sudden we were arguing with each other. We argued a lot over the nine months we lived together in that apartment. It was about 50/50, meaning that about 50% of the time we spent together were positive experiences, and about 50% of the time were negative experiences. Definitely, the biggest trigger was when I told him no. It didn't matter what he wanted. It didn't matter if he was being reasonable in requesting it or if I was even able to do it for him. The moment I would tell him no, all Hell would break loose. I didn't realize until a several months after I finally left and the ordeal was over that the fights were a part of the manipulation. In fact, the fighting was an integral part of it. He is super smart, brilliant even, but he had an over-inflated ego that gave him a false sense of entitlement. He could never be satisfied because he always wanted more. This was not sustainable over the long-term, and it would eventually lead us to the same place, a situation in which I'd grown tired of giving him what he wanted and him being completely unreasonable about not getting it. He told me that his mom died when he was eight and that his father was a meth addict who took no responsibility for him, so he was basically left to raise himself. Looking back on all that happened, I'm sure it's not true because, as I eventually learned, pretty much everything he told me the entire time I knew him was a lie. He used this story as a way to convince me that he had had a rough childhood, and I began to view him exactly how he wanted me to view him, as an overgrown eight year old who needed a break in life. In other words, he was a victim of life, and I should feel sorry for him and excuse his bad behavior because it wasn't really his fault.

Manipulation Capitulation

Over the next several months, he convinced me of many things, such as (1) he couldn't get a job because managers were always threatened by his intelligence and eventually fired him, (2) we were absolutely not a couple but if worse came to worse we could always move in with his brother in Southern California, it would be a tight squeeze but at least we'd be together, or (3) he should control the checking account not because he had contributed even one dollar to it but because I always spent all the money. That part is true, I spent the money on rent, on groceries, on the thousands of dollars of crap he wanted and I bought for him. At the same time, he slowly convinced me that I was a bad person because I couldn't provide him with a stable home. That part is also true. I couldn't provide him with a stable home because he was so unstable. He thrived on chaos. If he wasn't upset with me for this or for that, he constantly reminded me that he was smarter than me, more attractive then me, hotter than me, everything more and better than me and that I was lucky he even hung out with me. Before I knew it, I began to believe him.

His most valuable skill was an ability to present himself as the boyfriend I never had but always wanted. We had long, intimate talks about our ideal mates, the man each of us wanted to spend our lives with, our beloved. To me, these talks were opportunities to get closer to him as my feelings for him grew stronger. To him, they were opportunities to get information from me. As my infatuation with him grew, he began to embody many of the characteristics I'd described in my ideal mate. Although I realized what he was doing, I allowed my feelings to grow. Before I knew it, I was hopelessly in love with him. This came in handy because we had a child together. The day after he moved in, he bought a puppy, an eight-week old Bichon Frise. He was such an adorable little puppy. I could literally hold him in one hand when he joined our household. As we raised our puppy together, he constantly told me I had no say in the dog's upbringing, I was not allowed to punish him, I didn't punish him enough, I needed to play with him more, I play with him too much, and so on and so on. Whatever I did, I did wrong. And that was even before my feelings were strong enough for him to know he could abuse me, and I would take it from him.

There was no physical abuse. He never hit me. He threatened me on many occasions. He got in my face, over and over. He scared me and made me call out for help exactly twelve times in the nine months he lived with me. I know that because that was the number of times the neighbors called the police. That never bothered him. The police could come as often as my neighbors called him. He didn't care. He was exceptionally skilled at manipulating policemen. The moment he realized they were there, he'd run into the bathroom, splash water on his face, collect his thoughts, and calm himself. So when he interacted with the police, he was calm and peaceful. Meanwhile, I was excited and scared. The police took his side every time, on a few occasions, they told ME I had to leave even though MY name was on the lease and I had paid the rent. I quickly realized that policemen are the absolute worse people to assist in that type of situation. A couple of times, the cop acknowledged that he knew I was being abused, then simply walked away, with absolutely no concern for what would happen to me when they left. I'm not bad mouthing cops here. I'm simply acknowledging that they are not trained to be psychologists and don't have the time to get to know both people and help them work out the issues between them. They are there to de-escalate the situation, and as soon as it has been de-escalated, they're off to the next disturbance. Some tried the best they could. Some didn't. Either way, it wasn't their fault if we were still arguing when they left.

Nowhere to Turn

He told me once, very late one night not long after he moved in, that if he wanted to completely control someone's life, all he had to do was break down their social support, scare off their friends, prevent them from making new friends. Eventually, he'd get them to the point where they have no friends left, leaving them nowhere to turn when they needed help. He smiled when said that part, like he was reveling in the idea of doing it, as if it brought him great joy. This was very early in the ordeal, before I admitted to myself that he was a sociopath and that he had someone else's best interest in his mind, his own. He made it sound like it was something that just happened, like there was nothing wrong with it. Over the next several months, he put his plan into action...on me. He always made such a big deal when my friends would come over. He always made an even bigger deal when I wanted to hang out with my friends away from the apartment, without him. He constantly manipulated me out of money, to the point where the rent started to not be paid, yet I was always broke. He, of course, always seemed to have money, my money.

The Solution

I am including this paragraph for those who might one day find themselves in the situation where they are sharing their living space with someone like this guy. If your name is on the lease and his name isn't, there is a simple solution. About three months into the ordeal, I found this solution. The problem was that I was so stressed out, so out of sorts, so stretched to the absolute maximum that I didn't recognize it as a solution. It is most logical to address this type of situation from the perspective that he needed to be evicted, after all, that is what you are told by everyone you ask and everything you read. You must evict them. In California, anyone being evicted can find pro bono legal support to help them fight the eviction. Meanwhile, the landlord, or in my case the master tenant, had to pay for their legal support. It was never for free. It would have cost me thousands of dollars to evict him properly. It was simply too cost prohibitive. One night when the police were called, two cars responded, with four police officers. Three of them said the same thing I always heard, that I had to let him into the apartment because he had established his tenancy, but one of the officers was singing a different tune. He was telling me something altogether different than anyone else had said to me. He very deliberately explained to me that the situation was a civil matter, not a criminal matter, and that they could order me to let him into the apartment, but they had no jurisdiction to tell me that I had to give him a key or that he could stay after they left. He further explained that if I refused to give him a key, there was nothing they could do about it, and if he wanted to fix the situation, he'd have to sue me, making him the plaintiff, disqualifying him from any kind of pro bono legal support. In other words, he'd have to pay an attorney if he wanted to continue to live there without my permission simply because he did not have a key. Looking back on that conversation, all I can think is how the fuck did I completely miss his point? I had no idea why he was telling me those things. In my mind, I was thinking that he was just making conversation. That's how out of it I was.

A Decade Since

It's been a decade since all of that played out. Walking away from that relationship took a great deal of courage on my part, and when I finally did, my life completely fell apart. Nobody helped me. I was left by myself to fight a fight many people can't win, even with the help of friends. I lost everything. I was literally down to the clothes I was wearing. I had no money, no place to live, nowhere to go, and I was absolutely terrified. The months that followed were the darkest time of my life. Every day was a struggle. I was incredibly vulnerable, and everywhere I went seeking help I was taken advantage of in one way or another. Help always cost me something, whether it was money, sex, dignity. Everybody always wanted something, and it was never cheap.

But I slowly began to put my life together and regain what I had lost. Everything about my life is different today: my job, my home, my friends, my worldview. Before it happened, I was optimistic, positive, trusting, relaxed, friendly. One might think the process of rebuilding my life would leave me more optimistic, more positive, more trusting, more relaxed, friendlier, but instead, it has left me feeling sad, lonely, cynical, and very very angry. I'm almost always by myself, having lost the desire to socialize or even be around other people for any length of time. I've looked back on that experience too many times to count. There are so many unresolved emotions. I know what I need to do. I've always known what I've needed to do. I just don't want to do it. I know that, for me to move on, I need to forgive him. After a decade, I am no closer to forgiving than I was the day I left. This is having a detrimental effect on my life. My emotions are exposed and raw. If anyone even comes close to me emotionally, I become angry and defensive.

Acknowledgement

I want to acknowledge that the experiences described on this page were, from a big picture point of view, comparatively rather minimal. Although it was a traumatic series of events that caused me a great deal of physical, emotional, and psychological pain, it is nothing compared to others in similar situations have experienced. Firstly, it lasted for nine months. Oftentimes, women are stuck in this type of relationship for years. Remember that the longer the relationship, the more difficult it is for the victim to leave. Second, what I think is a somewhat unusual circumstance is that I was the one who brought in the money. He never stole from me, but he was so good an manipulating me that I very often handed it over to him, thinking something good was about to come of it but then was disappointed when he would turn on me once again. I don't wish to diminish the experiences of other people who may have been abused by someone close to them. My purpose here is to call attention to the topic of domestic abuse and hopefully communicate how awful it is. I experienced it for nine months, while some people have experienced it for years, even decades. The abuse I experienced was relatively mild, compared to the horrific physical and sexual abuse many women have experienced. My point here is that those nine months were the lowest of my life. I can't imagine how one might feel after suffering through years of abuse. I'll leave you with this one thought because I've heard this whispered about people I've known throughout my life who it was suspected that they were victims of domestic abuse. "Why don't they just leave?" Leaving is the thing you want most in life because it is the thing that is hardest to do.

Optimism Dies

I was born into a life of optimism. For as far back as I can remember, even when I was a little kid, all the way back to the earliest memories of my life, I remember being optimistic about life. Optimism is something most humans learn, but in me, it was natural born. I entered the world with my eyes already looking for the silver lining in every cloud. No matter the problem, no matter the challenge, no matter how unlikely it might have seemed that I would succeed, I always thought that I would, that I'd be able to bring about a positive outcome from whatever situation I found myself in. I admit, I was happy as an optimist. Yeah, my friends all laughed at me, the pie-eyed optimist who refused to see reality. They basically thought I was delusional. What they didn't understand was that I did see reality, and when I didn't like what I saw, I chose to see something good about it; you know, the silver lining. I didn't ignore the bad things that happened in life. I just focused on the positive things. I didn't let the bad things get me down or hold me back in anyway. Nothing ever defeated my optimism. If a situation didn't end up the way I expected it to, I simply believed it would get better. It was simple. I was happy living my life of optimism until one day I wasn't. I'm not saying that I stopped being happy to be an optimist. No, that's not what I'm saying at all. I'm saying one day, out of nowhere, with no warning what so ever, I was no longer optimistic about the future. It all came crashing down at once. It happened so fast, I didn't even realize my entire worldview was in a nose dive, spinning out of control, taking me to depths I'd never experienced before. As pie-eyed as I was, the happy, delusional man I had become, almost overnight began to see the negative side of life...and I was not ready for it.

Of all things he took from me, my optimism is what hurt the most because along with that eternal hope for a better future, when he took that, he also took my happiness from me.

Works Cited

Heru, A. M. (2008). "Intimate Partner Violence: Practical Issues for Psychiatrists" Retrieved from https://www.psychiatrictimes.com/view/intimate-partner-violence-practical-issues-psychiatrists

Patra P, Prakash J, Patra B, & Khanna P. (2018). Intimate partner violence: Wounds are deeper. Indian Journal of Psychiatry, 40(4), 494-498.

Smith, S., Zhang, X., Basile, K., Merrick, M., Wang, J., Kresnow, M., and Chen, J. (2018). The National Intimate Partner and Sexual Violence Survey (NISVS): 2015 Data brief—updated release. Retrieved from https://www.cdc.gov/violenceprevention/datasources/nisvs/summaryreports.html

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