Recovering From Abuse

Hello, this is going to be a long post. But after realizing the support of this page, I realized I am at home to finally vent these things and to tell MY story. My full story with the monster that had nearly taken my life and still torments my thoughts. I’m finally taking the steps to recovery. Please no hateful comments. I’ve dealt with enough hate when this happened.

I met my abuser in April of 2012. He seemed very sweet, charming, interesting, caring, loving, etc. I was hesitant to get too close but he comforted me into the idea of falling in love. We moved fast, within months we got a house together with a few friends and I felt like it was a dream come true. He became friends with all of my friends and constantly loved and thrived on their attention. 
I would catch him falsifying stories, he would tell me something about when he lived in California, then tell the same story to another person, but with twisted bits. I started to notice little white lies but saw no harm, it seemed innocent. We started getting very heavily into drinking and doing uppers together. We would stay up for days at a time getting fucked up together, which lead to him getting upset with me over silly things. He began monitoring who I talked to. Would get upset if he saw a guy comment on photos of me and start accusing me. At the time, I thought it was just him showing he loves me and was afraid to lose me.
Things starting to really go negative, and fast. He no longer wanted to sleep next to me. I would cry alone in our bed some nights and he would tell me to find someone else to vent to, he couldn’t always be there. Instead he would be off drinking elsewhere in our house. My dad got very sick that fall and I became a mess. I hardly wanted to leave my bed or stay sober. He then didn’t want to be near me. If I would ask for him to at least lay with me, I would get screamed at. I started putting on weight from all the drinking and laying in bed. I have a past of eating disorders and I confided that in him. I was in recovery for a few months at that point. He told me I look good when I puked. That I kept my figure when I had an eating disorder.
On thanksgiving, I tried to leave him. I got sick of it and wanted to go see my family. He would not let me leave. He guilted me and made me feel like a scum bag for even trying to leave. I was helpless. I loved him so much, but he hurt me. I wanted to leave, but I couldn’t. Two days before New Year’s Eve, he raped me. I was trying to sleep and he had been up for days doing speed and drinking. He started touching me and I asked him to stop. He would for a few minutes, then try again. He was persistent and I couldn’t stop him. He anally raped me as I cried. Afterwards, I silently walked to the bathroom and he began to freak out. He acted as if he didn’t know I didn’t want it. He told me he was sure I wanted him to do that. My tears dripping from my face should have told him otherwise. Still… Somehow… He charmed me back. I stayed.
In February, things seemed calmer. I was still unhappy, so I decided to throw a party at our house. I spent most of the night chugging tequila with my best friend at the time. She started to get too drunk so I put her in my bed and left the room to go back to party. Hours later, I went to check on her and walked in on him raping her. She was passed out, and he was inside of her. I got her out of my bed and saw red. I was wasted and couldn’t see straight, but all I wanted to do was murder him. I will admit, I did hit him and throw him down the stairs that night. It was too much. I couldn’t take that. That crossed the last line. That was the end (I thought). After destroying our home and trying to slit my wrists with broken glass, I finally passed out. The next morning I woke up to HIM breaking up with ME. Nobody in my house would speak to me. I don’t know what he had said to them while I slept, but I was obviously the monster.
I didn’t leave my room after. I had nowhere to go, so I stayed in the house. I locked myself in my room for weeks with bottles of rum. I started talking to somebody I met, a new guy. I felt lonely and needed validation. The monster found out about him and told me he was happy. I thought things were calm in the house. I knew I was living with a rapist, my rapist, who had mentally abused me. But I stayed drunk and dealt with what I could. I lost my job after I called in while drunk through days at a time. When I lost my job, I got a bottle of cheap rum and invited over a friend to watch movies. The monster decided to invite himself. It was fine at first, he acted like nothing was wrong. Then the booze started to hit him and I began getting verbally attacked. I was a slut for having a new boyfriend. I was a cheating whore. I was worthless. I got up and tried to leave the room. He blocked my exit and was screaming in my face. I couldn’t get away. I sat and let him scream until I finally bolted to my room when his guard was down. He ran after me and came into my room still screaming. After he felt he had said his piece, he punched me in the face and left. This was the first time he had laid his hands on me and the last time. I again said that was the final straw. I tried to take my keys to leave, and noticed they were missing. He took my car and had rammed it into our garage and left. I couldn’t find the keys do I called somebody to pick me up and finally take me from that house. I went back days later and got my car and all the clothing I could fit in it. I left everything I owned in that house. I had to get away, and nothing was worth spending any amount of time packing it.
I left the city. Everyone in the area had this idea that I was a “crazy bitch”. That everything I had said that he did to me or my friend was a lie. He had brainwashed my friends and turned them against me. I had nothing. I had my car to sleep in and that’s it. I hopped between people’s houses for a few months until I could restore contact and a relationship with my family to move in with them. It took a while, but they let me in. I had cut ties after they tried to get me away from him. I had stupidly believed his love was all the love I needed.
I didn’t come back to the area for a few months. I finally returned and started dating somebody new. We dated for a few weeks, but I couldn’t maintain a relationship. I was so damaged and so drunk. I was destroying all I could. I went to a party with said boyfriend and the monster was there. He was being civil, so for the sake of keeping the peace, I kept my mouth shut. Somehow, I missed him. Or I missed the charming guy he pretended to be. That night we ended up kissing and he begged for me back. I was so weakened by him. I let him do these things. We dated for a few days, all of which was a constant fight. He ended things and tore those wounds back open. He told me he “couldn’t forgive me for all I had done”. I took the weight of the abuse and accepted that I deserved it for being so wrong in some way. I was destroyed.
Days go by, another party. He is there again, as is the guy I was dating when I got back with the monster. But somehow, they were bonding. Bonding over their hatred for me. I sat alone and drank a fifth of rum. By the end of the night, I was crying over how much he had hurt me. I couldn’t believe he was so cold. I was so weak, so broken down, so ostracized from my friends. I had nothing. I left the party and called him when I got home. I was crying and very drunk. He told me coldly that I should kill myself. He agreed that my end would be best. I grabbed the bag my father keeps his medications in- over 500 pain pills, muscle relaxers, various medications for anxiety and depression, and I swallowed bottle after bottle, flushed down with rum. Somehow, I called the guy I had left for the monster and said goodbye. I told him I was sorry and that i will be gone by morning.
I woke up 3 days later in the hospital. Pumps and tubes connected to me. I had no idea where I was or why I felt so shitty. I was still so fucked up I could hardly talk. It took a while, but I connected that the ex I had called made sure an ambulance had gotten to my house before I passed. My brother walked into my room after a phone call from him to find me not moving. I was moments away from dying. That phone call saved my life.
I had tried a couple times while hospitalized to call the monster. Today, I am shocked at how I still tried to get him back. He was far gone. He was not the person I met by the lake. The person I met was an act. He lured me in as his victim. And he ultimately nearly succeeded in having me end my life.

It took months for any of my old friends to talk to me still after all of it. They were lured in by him as well. He was good at swooning people (car salesman, go figure). He ended up setting a few of my friends to be robbed at gunpoint and left town. That’s what it took for them to see that I was not lying. That he really was a terrible person. I still hold my resentments. Their disbelief for what happened to me instilled fear in me speaking up. I did not tell anybody the story of what happened to me until I met my current boyfriend and felt what it was like to be truly cared for. I opened up to him about the truth after the monster contacted him to “warn him” that I’m crazy. Nah, almost a year later and still no craziness at all towards him. I got sober in January and finally faced my inner demons. Writing this and admitting these things is finally the release I needed to move forward with my life and continue rebuilding the person that monster had destroyed. I almost lost my life to him. But I made it, and I won’t let any person push me to that point again.

Sorry for my poor writing and lack of details. I’m tired and these things are easy to deal with.
Goodnight

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