Patterns

It seems counter-intuitive. You would think that someone who grew up in the midst of domestic violence would avoid getting in relationships with abusive or corrosive people. Yet, I seem to gravitate to these people. I always find the partner that is unsafe. I don’t do this on purpose – it seems to just happen, no matter how badly I wish to avoid these people. As odd as it seems, those of us who grew up in an abusive environment know how to live in that environment. We gained the skills needed to survive. We are more comfortable in the environment where we have those skills. Not having been in a healthy family / relationships, I have never gained the skills needed to thrive in a healthy environment. The loving, healthy environment I so deeply desire is an environment that scares me, so I continue to repeat a pattern.

I look back at all my relationships and there have been several constants. I now know I tend to ignore many of these signs. I have an issue with being alone. It is something I have recently came to terms with. Some of my bad decisions I believe are rooted in this. My other habit is always trying to rescue someone. I started this behavior in secondary school. I look back at a good majority of the people I dated back then – they were horrible people. They treated me badly but I stayed. I didn’t learn.

Enter my second spouse.

My divorce had just been signed off by the judge – it was complete. I was alone. Then suddenly I found out an acquittance of mine was going through a horrible and very public divorce. We started to bond over a shared experience of being the victims of unfaithful spouses. My heart went out to them – knowing the pain first hand. I set about to rescue them. When their divorce was over, we began to date. Along the way, I knew it wasn’t going to work. But I simply couldn’t bring more pain into their life. They had been hurt enough already. I didn’t want to be the source of more pain – so I stayed when I should have not. Eventually, we married.

It wasn’t long after, I started to see a change. Or maybe I started to see reality. What was always there. Doors began to be slammed, counters began to be hit, walls began to be punched, things began to be thrown. Never directly at me – but thrown in anger. My spouse told me they just needed an outlet for their anger.

Eventually, I slipped into a deep depression. My spouse became offended by my depression, as if it was something I purposely did against them. Repeatedly, I was told I simply needed to snap out of it. Arguments would go in circles and would never end. My spouse would hold my sleep hostage. Every night as I would try to go to sleep, my spouse would start in on me again. It was a cycle that wouldn’t stop. My spouse would never leave me alone. I would be followed from room to room. I started to stay at work longer and longer to try to get the time alone an introvert must have.

This was the first time I started to seek help. I saw my first therapist. It didn’t help. This began a long string of therapists that didn’t understand trauma and couldn’t figure out a way to help. Nothing was getting better.

An opportunity to work in Africa for six months came up – I took it. I found myself happier alone in a foreign country than at home with my spouse. On my way out of Africa, I had my spouse meet me in Germany so we could have a vacation together in Europe. My spouse got off the plane and immediately started in on me again. I regretted having my spouse come meet me.

After I got home, my time in Africa opened another opportunity for me in Germany. I took it and left again after being home for only two months. Again, I tried to have my spouse come out to Germany for a time. They only stayed a week and left. I breathed out a sigh. I was happier alone.

I returned from Germany six months later and went to see a lawyer. I made my plans. I took a job on the opposite coast, packed what I could fit into my car and the single thing that mattered to me – my dog. My dog was my salvation, to him I gave what was left of me. I drove away – never looked back. I arrived on the opposite coast. I then had my spouse served with divorce papers. I was safe again.

I didn’t remain alone for long. I quite literally ran into (and knocked down) a professor of Psychology at a local University. I had turned a corner while talking to someone else and ran smack right into them. I apologized and told them that I owed them dinner. They accepted. We dated for about a year. It was obvious from the start we both had a bin full of issues. It didn’t work out for us but dating a Yale trained Psychologist did have one benefit. This particular Psychologist specialized in trauma. They suggested I may benefit from seeking out someone specialized in trauma.

Immediately after ending my previous relationship, a former co-worker found out I was single. They confessed to having been in love with me for years. They had even switched offices at one point with the goal of pursuing me. Six months later, we had moved in together. Before we had moved in together, I had slipped back into a very bad place. I don’t think I would have survived if I had remained alone. I know this was a large part of hurrying a relationship and moving in together.

We were together for three years. I so desperately wanted it to work, but once again I found I was repeating a pattern. Small things would set them off. They would be mad at me for days. Nothing I did was right. We even went to counseling together to try to fix the relationship. Every session was a litany of all the things I did wrong. To them, all the issues were with me and solely with me. My EMDR counselor, which I saw separately, couldn’t understand why I continued to stay. I simply didn’t want another failed relationship. I also felt this was my one and only chance to be a parent. They had a daughter from a previous relationship. Even though she was not mine, I gladly stepped into the role of the parent. I believe I stayed more for her. I wanted to give her what I never had – a stable and loving household. In the end, I gave her neither.

After this relationship fell apart, I immediately began to date again. At this point, I was done. I was only dating for a distraction. I have had failed relationship after failed relationship. I didn’t want another. When things continually go wrong, you must start to look at the common denominator. Me. I began to understand the problem lay with me as much, if not more, than the people I brought into my life. Yes, I always chose unwisely. I allowed a desperation to not be alone cloud my judgement. I seemed to unconsciously seek out those who I was comfortable with. What I was comfortable with was dysfunction. Why should I expect anything different.

Enter my third spouse.

We met online. We both had traveled extensively and were involved in international engagement. We shared a lot of goals and vision. Our values and desires matched. For the first time in my life, I began to let down my walls and trust another human. I cautiously entered into uncharted territory for me. For the first time in my life, I had told another person about my past. All that I had gone through and what that had been done to me. I told them about my C-PTSD diagnoses, what it meant and the struggle I continue to have.

We were engaged within six months – married by nine months.

Shortly after, we moved back to the other coast and bought a house on top of a mountain. I began to dream. I began to believe I could have the safe place, the loving home – all those things I never had growing up and desperately wanted. That is when I found out my spouse had lied to me about their past. My spouse was not who they had led me to believe they were. Once again, the trust I gave was betrayed.