I didn’t call the police.
That’s what you’re supposed to do if you’re abused. And if you wait a millisecond after the deed to figure out what the hell just happened, it’s game over. Wait a day or a month or a year to heal before you tell someone? Forget about it. No one will believe you. And even if you do call, there’s no guarantee.
People always want to know why I didn’t call the police. I didn’t even know what abuse or domestic violence was. The only person that I’d ever heard of being abused at that time, was Nicole Brown Simpson, and her face was black and blue. Mine wasn’t.
The shock over my X’s personality change that went from being a quirky, loner, hippy to a bizarre, paranoid, lunatic, possibly affected my decision-making skills. Also, living a couple miles up a four-wheel-drive road in the middle of the jungle, the nearest city forty minutes away, could’ve had something to do with it. And the progression of the abuse was so subtle. And then it was not. He’d been grooming me to be obedient without me even having a clue.
In the beginning, he was jealous and possessive which was disguised as sugary sweet concern and attentiveness. I thought he was romantic. His negative comments about my body were always there to encourage me to look better. When he put all of my money in his bank account, I thought how beautiful it was that we shared everything. And our twenty-two-year age difference made it that I was always young and naïve and he was always older and wiser.
When his abuse evolved into something incomprehensible and scary as fuck, I still hoped that we could go back to what we used to be. I went to Canada for a family visit, and had every opportunity for help. But I wondered how I could tell anyone what was going on. I had bragged about how good my life was in Hawaii. I had convinced my parents that even though my X was much, much older than me, he was a good man. A provider for our family with his stunning organic farm in paradise. I felt like I’d told a big doozey of a lie.
Then I came up with the worst idea ever. I would have to work harder on our relationship. Maybe if I communicated my needs better and took on more responsibilities, my X would chill out.
Do you have a similar story? I would love to hear from you. Comment below or mail me a letter at PO Box 3331 Mission B.C. V2V 4J5 Canada