It's a small scar,
cutting across my right side about 5-6 inches. At an inch wide, it
looks like a harmless reminder of some accident. Maybe I fell off a
horse, or snagged myself on a rock. If only it were that simple. The
scar on my side resides among many that I received during my time in
an abusive lesbian relationship. I'm almost certain that my friends
knew. There's no way that they didn't. I may not have had bruises,
but her modus operandi was cutting. She would lay me down and carve
into me. Not in a Hannibal Lecter sort of way, but she told me she
liked to watch the blood. Which, in hindsight, that's still pretty
creepy.
I don't remember
how it got to that point-how it escalated there. Everything about
that time period was a blur. Usually, I was fairly level-headed. But,
as I began to hold everything inside my head, I started having angry
outbursts. Looking back, I think they were a desperate call for help,
but all I knew then was that I was scared. I was angry. I didn't
understand why all this was happening to me. It was bad enough coming
out of the closet before all this started. When you combine the
abuse, my general desperation, and the fact that I grew up in the
rural south and was beat up/harassed on a pretty regular basis, I was
a ticking time bomb of a break down.
I started cutting
in high school. I don't remember the reason it started. I don't
remember the first day I cut. I just remember the feeling, the sound
the razor made. When the abuse started getting to me, the cutting got
worse. Much worse. I'm not really sure if I was ever that hellbent on
killing myself, but for whatever reason cutting myself made the abuse
she dished out seem less. It seems counter-intuitive, I know.
Regardless, that was my means of coping.
I
never sought help out of this situation. It never occurred to me. In
fact, I stayed for almost 2 years. It was on and off, for the most
part. When it was off, I felt lost...almost sick with the feeling.
Which is where the emotional and psychological abuse comes into play.
I completely fell
for every single line she fed me. “You can't do this without me.”
Or the classic “You'll always be the only one I ever love, but I
need to see other people.” The last one was particularly haunting.
I still remember what it was like to see her kissing someone else. It
was like the wind was sucked out of my lungs. She saw me leave the
room, she saw me crying. The look on her face when she caught up to
me was one I couldn't recognize. Hurt? Sympathy? Anger, maybe. Angry
that she got caught. That's where the phrase was born. “You're
always my number one. Never forget that.” I was a fool for
believing her, but I couldn't help myself. What choice did I have? I
was already well-trained. I wasn't good enough, smart enough, or
pretty enough for someone else to love. These are the phrases that
would start to echo in my dreams (nightmares) the loudest.
The nightmares
were a gradual addition to my inner battle. They started out fairly
tame: her face in a crowd of faceless shadows, a single comment, a
small gesture of holding her hand out to me. The more and more I
suppressed everything, the worse they got. They escalated to
full-blown night terrors. I would wake up gasping for air, crying.
Someone I dated a few years after informed me that I had been sleep
walking. I didn't remember those dreams, but she made it a point to
tell me how terrified I looked-wandering around the room like a
zombie.
Eventually, things
got better. I learned coping mechanisms outside of self-inflicted
wounds, though I still struggle with the notion at times. I can
honestly say the only thing that makes any of this any easier is
knowing that I got out. Fortunately for me, we just started drifting
apart. It helped, in some ways, to know that not being around her on
a regular basis could help me heal.
I
got lucky, some people aren't. Some people don't get an easy out. No
one ever really wants to talk about it. Maybe it's a silent
acceptance of the situation. Maybe it's the overwhelming feeling that
there is no help, no way out. Unfortunately, it does happen. Often.
Domestic violence
among LGBT couples is almost like a silent killer. Among gay men,
it's often ignored or over-looked because domestic abuse is typically
something that only women go through, right? Wrong. The same
imbalance can exist in homo/bi/transsexual relationships that exists
amongst heterosexual couples. It's just harder to look at it. But
why?
"In many ways intimate partner violence in the GLBT community looks very much like partner violence in other communities. And there is every reason to believe that domestic violence occurs in GLBT relationships at the same rate it occurs in heterosexual relationships. The ways in which GLBT domestic violence differs often combine to make access to effective services extremely challenging for GLBT victims of violence. Some factors are as follows:
-The threat to reveal the partner's orientation to family/friends/co-workers. For a victim on domestic violence who is not out, these threats can be insurmountable.
-The historic homo/bi/transphobia and heterosexism of our law enforcement institutions can leave GLBT victims of violence believing that police will not help them secure safety. Moreover, if a victim feels that calling police means that the partner, however abusive, will be brutalized by a homo phobic police officer, calling the police may be difficult or impossible.-Even though certain rights of GLBT people are protected by law, the court system does not necessarily enforce these laws uniformly. Knowing this, many GLBT people hesitate to turn to the legal system for protection from abuse." (Independence House Service Training Book ch. 6, pg. 4)
I've
seen first hand what kind of damage the legal system can do to
someone who isn't heterosexual, or “normal.” That doesn't mean
that there aren't resources out there that can help. There are
plenty. Generally, there are more places geared towards helping women
out of domestic situations. However, the folks over at the Gay Men's Domestic Violence Project cater specifically to gay men (obviously). There is also the National Domestic Violence Hotline, which covers everyone. For those of you that have access to a "safe" computer, Loveisrespect.org has 24/7 chat available.
I never had the courage to get out sooner. I wish that I had, but at the same time, I know that telling my story can help at least one person out there. I'm thankful. I'm thankful that I'm here, healthy, and wiser. I still have the nightmares. There may never be a time that I don't have them, but at least I know I'm not stuck in a pit that I can't get out. I'm happy. I'm healthy. I'm safe.
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