… but don’t stay in a relationship that makes it necessary
Something has shifted inside of me. The change was gradual, spanning the course of some two years. But all along I felt it. At times, I had to really focus to even be aware something was changing.
I gave it many names, none of which accurately described what was happening to me. I tried accepting what those close to me understood it to be.
I thought it was one thing. Then it was another. I both applauded and cursed myself.
That shifting has settled. The cycle ended. Without much thought, I seemed to have relaxed. I had not really expected to identify what that was. I took it for some aftershock resembling a post mid-life crisis.
Today, the answer finally came to me.
I have healed. In the same manner that a bone mends itself, my body has been healed. A bone from a clean break heals in a few months; my recovery spans many years. The injury I sustained I have periodically blocked out by ignoring it or through a dose of self-condemnation. Those two approaches enabled me to push on and have a productive life.
A level of sternness was required. I became somewhat of the man in the wheelchair who no longer has use of his lower extremities but has over-developed his upper body, allowing him to maneuver.
I have struggled with post-traumatic stress disorder a very long time. No, I’m kidding. I lost that battle.
It really is a cruel affliction. The heart and the mind are so involved. It took quite a bit of time to admit it was a problem, time that allowed a level of malignancy to settle in. Understanding the emotional trauma was the easy part. That allowed me to fixate on getting the demons out. I did do that. If anyone can cure themselves from PTSD through this approach, I commend them. It certainly relieves the suffering. But it is not a cure.
I incurred this disorder due to physical violence in a relationship. I fell in love with a man who almost immediately displayed an intense level of rage that he directed towards me. I experienced head trauma and bruising, although none of it too severe. But the blunt, everyday objects that were weaponized against me truly threw me off center. Those, like the actual acts of violence, I never saw coming.
Between the violent outbursts I would gaze around the apartment, trying to figure out what could possibly become a lethal weapon. I was never able to predict that any better than I could figure out when or why he would attack. To be clear, the incidents were extremely violent. Each time I resolved that I would be murdered.
The physical wounds healed quickly; however, after one bout, I had to go to my job with my face shredded by scratches. I waited tables with a bunch of women. They didn’t even ask; they knew. So that kind of humiliation was added to much more of the same. It became emotional baggage that, at another point in my life, I would unload.
In time, the physical violence ended. He, like every perpetrator, would have done well in a profession that involved breaking horses. Like a horse, he broke me completely on every possible level.
It is often assumed that victims are weak individuals. Thus, they are easy targets. That is so far from the truth. Perpetrators are extremely selective. They choose the most independent and spirited as targets. It is an extreme thrill for them to break someone that was strong.
The torture to the mind and spirit I have had the good fortune to address. I am clear about those things. I thought that gaining an accurate perspective would resolve the issue. It did not. It has deeply affected my emotional and family life.
I’ve had a partner the last 25 years who has created a new life and a home for me. His return is small; he has received little from me emotionally.
While I am close, in a sense, to my siblings I am aloof. I have few friends. I have perfected the art of superficiality. There just wasn’t much of me to share after my abuser died.
Most of all, I did not understand that my body was unable to process the trauma he had inflicted. It remained closed off and guarded. That was how it rewired itself to survive. My body insured I was safe by guaranteeing nothing would touch me on an intimate level. Nothing I could do could change that basic instinctual response.
That need for protection is what has been shifting during the past couple of years. My body no longer has the need for the armor it created.
Slowly, springtime has been returning. During this time, I’ve made some bad missteps. All the movement has led me to today.
I just never comprehended the effect trauma plays in PTSD. My injuries were mild; however, the body remembers. The trauma and shock I experienced during the violence never disappeared — until now.
I know now that every story has an ending. The good, when it ends, saddens us. The bad, when its ends finally arrives, brings happiness. Yin meets Yang.
I am a survivor of family violence. I am told the average readership of Dallas Voice is a young demographic. It is the young that are the most at risk for partner violence. Young perpetrators are just beginning to perfect their skill. Their intact hormones fuel their need to control. They are extremely dangerous.
Please listen to me if you are in a situation similar to what mine was: It never ends well. If you are not murdered, it may still take years to mend.
It did for me. Thirty-five years ago, the physical abuse ended for me. Will you have the same fortune to survive that long?
If you are allowed that time, can you survive as a near empty shell that tries to pass as human?
Staying in that environment only benefits the perpetrator. There is nothing good for you there. Get out now.
I know how tough that can be, but it is your only solution. Figure out a plan to leave. Contact your local shelters. Every agency in the field of domestic violence welcomes and helps members of the LGBT community. I know this is a fact. I have worked with all of them. They can all be trusted.
Gary Bellomy is a longtime Dallas activist working on issues of LGBT equality, HIV/AIDS services and family violence prevention. He is a war resister and a Trump resister.
