Survivor Voices: C's Story
/This story is shared as part of our “Survivor Voices” project.
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Trigger warnings: references to sexual abuse and gaslighting of a minor, childhood abuse, ableism.
I was attending Scotts Valley High and my first year at UCSC during my abusive relationship, which was back in the 2000s. It started with a boy who had a crush on me and he decided that meant I owed him “just a chance,” regardless of my own opinion at the time. “Just a chance” became a few years, and anytime I tried to leave, he’d start crying about how much he cared about me, and how could I do this to him?
I don’t like going into details much, but his tactics were never what most people consider “actual violence” - that is, the kind of physical violence that I used to believe was the only kind of abuse. (I know now that abuse is about coercion and power, but back then, I thought it wasn’t ‘real’ abuse because it ‘could’ve been worse.’) He’d whine, plead, ask over and over until I just gave in because it seemed easier to just get it over with than keep fighting. He’d guilt-trip me or give me the silent treatment until I apologized, even if I hadn’t done anything wrong. I had an undiagnosed cognitive disability at the time and people already treated me like I was crazy, so it was easy for him to gaslight me around my emotions and reactions, calling me ‘too sensitive.’ In some ways, I feel like the lack of bruises made it harder because there was nothing I could really point to and say, “See? See? Will you hear me now?” and have people take me seriously.
I’ve forgotten some of the finer details, but the one thing that stands out is a confrontation we had on the day we finally broke up. I said that I felt like he treated me like I was just a trophy, and he actually admitted that, yes, that’s what I had been to him. I’d been something for him to use, covet, and be possessive over rather than an actual person in my own right.
Even now, more than ten years afterwards, I’ll still get caught unawares by random triggers, even a couple of specific memes or TV shows. When they pop up, I’ll feel the burst of adrenaline and the freezing of my breath. It’s not nearly as bad now as it used to be (practicing safe coping like mindfulness and breathing techniques, and finding a therapist I actually liked and trusted after several bad starts, has all helped with that) but it still happens, all these years later. It took a long time, but I eventually learned not to judge myself for it anymore, though, and focus on what I need in the moment to de-escalate myself and feel safe again.
He doesn’t live in the country anymore, and I don’t think about him most days until I randomly run into a trigger. I still don’t talk about that time period in more than just the broad strokes.
I think what’s stuck with me the longest since then is the shame around blaming myself for “not fighting back.” I grew up in a household with a parent who was pretty…overbearing, let’s say, and in a lot of ways I feel like I was primed to learn not to fight, just to go passive and dissociate until whatever harm was happening finally ended and I could run away and hide somewhere. I had been taught that trying to defend or protect myself just escalated a conflict and made it worse. (Writing this paragraph is making me emotional, and it’s been years.)
I often wonder why no one saw what was happening, or, if they did, why they never said a word. I wish someone had told me that I’m not responsible for someone else’s emotions, no matter how much they have a crush on me. I wish my parent had gotten therapy for their own childhood abuse so that they didn’t pass that on to me by teaching me that I wasn’t allowed to stand up for my own self.
I chose a crow perched high on a tree as the graphic for my story because corvids has strong meaning for me in my pagan faith, meanings which I aspire to and which have provided me with safe coping strategies over the years, including a reason to get up in the morning on days when simply not existing feels like the preferred option.
I’ve been sitting here for a while now trying to figure out how to wrap this up on a positive note, but I’m wondering if that’s my own sense of trying to caretake other people’s emotions? So maybe I don’t need to. I hope other folks have a lovely day, and that maybe something about my story has been helpful in some small way.
- C