Theres a Wolf In My Bed

Theres a Wolf In My Bed

“A kiss with a fist is better than none.” Florence + the Machine

Do you ever reflect back on periods of you life and think of them in fairy tale mode?  I do.  Sometimes, even now, it is hard for me to recount some of the things I have experienced as truth.  It makes it easier if I look back on it as more of a, albeit dark and twisted, fable.  Once upon a time, there was a lost soul of a woman…

He could have spotted her a mile away.  Like a shark in the water, the freshness of her wounds drew him to her.  His sly, wicked tongue spoke the words she so desperately longed to hear.

“I can see you are in pain.”  “I want to walk through it with you.”  “I know I can’t take your pain away, but I want to share it with you.”

The vulnerable little girl cloaked within her grown woman body clung to him immediately.  He enticed her with music that spoke to her soul, and he wooed her with recounts of his own pain and suffering.  Together in the pain, they could suffer together.  And through their suffering, they could heal, he would say.  

Slowly, as he peeled back his layers, claws and fangs began to show through where once a man had laid.  The wolf in a mans suit and tie had her right where he wanted her.  She was addicted to the pain he brought; she was addicted to him.  She had showed him her ugly parts and he had not run away.  How could she leave her injured wolf?  Besides, she thought, his claws could only scratch her surface.

If only she knew how deep they could go.

As he stood in her living room one evening, loading shells in his shotgun before visiting a former boyfriend and ensure he never call her again, she threw herself at his feet, clutching to him like a feeble child, begging, screaming.  In that moment, he had her right where he wanted her.  The wolf had come out to play rough, and was not leaving any time soon.  He scared her into submission with tales of ties to underground extremist groups and introduced her on a first name basis to his alter ego, which he would use to sign emails to her when she had been bad.

Frozen by fear, both of him and of failure, she still on some level convinced herself they could save each other, living in the light and leaving their dark gruesome pasts behind. 

 He drove her wild.  He drove her crazy.  He drove her to drink.  He drove her to close to death.  Each time he drove her to the brink of some far recess of her mind, he would sweep in at the last minute, wrapping her tightly up in him, claws withdrawn for a moment, and would bring her just far enough back to help her remember why she needed him.  He was all she had left at this point.  She was lost in him, and she was lost without him.

And so she followed him west, across long stretches of flat land, across rolling hills and rivers, until they settled into the desert.  

Now in a place where no one knew them and she had no place to escape, things went from bad to worse. A lamp to the head.  A slap in the face.  A threat of something worse to come.  Broken glass and blood stained tears.  Rabid attempts to mend something not worth the repair.  Sadism.  Tears.  Apologies.  Flying objects.  Holes in walls.  I hate you.  Get out.  Don’t leave me.  I love you.  I can’t breathe without you.  Going to a safe place.  Receiving pictures of her car parked there and images of him covered in his own blood.  More apologies.  Promises.  Broken promises.  More broken glass.  So many tears.  So many fucking tears.  Insanity.

She never really loved him.  But she loved he how he loved to hate her.  He validated everything she thought of herself.  She couldn’t get enough; no matter how much she tried to get away, she always went back.

Then, one day, two words broke through the walls of denial she’d been living behind: marry me.

As badly as she wanted to stay and allow herself to implode within the chaos and disappear completely, something inside her stirred when she thought of for better or for worse with the wolf by her side.  It wasn’t much more than a flitter of life somewhere within.  It was like a weak pulse - barely there, but a sign of life no less.  With a lie wrapped in just enough truth to make her story seem real, she convinced the wolf to release her from his clutches.  And, acting as a predator who had simply been playing with its prey, he seemingly began to see the final signs of life draining from her, and with that, he let her go.  Eastward she went, on nothing more than a draining bank account and a foxhole prayer, until she hit the January beaches of the eastern seaboard.  She was back where everything had started to go wrong.  Where everything had once been so right.  It was up to her now: sink or swim.

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I know, I know, as you read this, if you’ve read any of my previous posts, you probably wanted to hunt me down and slap me silly.  Believe me - if I could I would have already done it for you.

Yes.  I have been in and stayed in more than one abusive relationship.  All on different levels, and all at different times and phases of my life.  What I want to convey to you is that I was not totally unaware to the red flags that were so obviously present.  I saw them.  I just gave a little nod of “Okay, yea I see you but, I’m going to pretend I didn’t” and kept on.  See, once you set out on a path to self destruction, once you can’t stand the sight of your own face in the mirror, once you hate yourself SO BADLY that you really don’t care most days whether you live or die - red flags and mean partners are just par for the course.  Their actions were a direct reflection of how I saw myself.  

People often have misconceptions that people who stay in or repeatedly end up in abusive relationships (typically because we didn’t get the necessary help after the first time) are gluttons for punishment, are weak, or must have some type of personality disorder.  The truth is… the truth is that is bullshit.  Whether we stay out of fear, out of love, out of thinking things will change “if only,” we stay because or minds have been trained into thinking its the right, or the safest, thing to do.  You can’t honestly look upon someone with judgement in your eyes until you have walked in their shoes.  Whether on the inside or the outside, we have been battered and broken, and the last question we need to be asked is “why did you stay.”  

If you know someone who has been in or is currently in an abusive relationship, please don’t give up on them.  It is so hard to watch someone you know and love suffer, but it is even harder to look back and ask “is there something else I could have done.”  

Sidenote: For further information on how you can help your loved one, please see How Can You Help A Friend or Family Member at the National Domestic Abuse Hotline.