Blinded by the Stars

My mom once told me that it was impossible to see clearly when you were blinded by the stars in your eyes. But I was young and dumb and never thought that my parents might know what they were talking about in life.

I had been friends with John long before he was my boyfriend. We were in the same crowd at school, we had a lot of mutual friends, and hung out at the same places. We had started spending more time together the summer before my junior year in high school. He was sweet, attentive and swept me off my feet. He planned surprises for me, bought me flowers, wrote me poetry—the picture-perfect boyfriend. We officially started dating the fall of my junior year.

It didn’t take long for things to start go south. In fact, the warning signs were there from the beginning—I was just blind to them then. Rumors started to float around that he had cheated and rumors floated around that he had been meeting up with his ex. He constantly lied, and about everything. When he was caught in a lie, he would be so apologetic—he would do anything to make me realize how sorry he was. He would make me feel as if I held all of the power in the relationship. He'd beg, he'd cry and buy lavish gifts. He would do anything to make me feel loved and the center of his attention…until the next time he would get caught.

He became controlling. He alienated me from my friends and tried to alienate me from my parents. He continued to cheat and continued to lie about it. His own friends would call me and tell me things he had done and he would deny it. By the time I had graduated high-school I had heard every single excuse in the book—yet I had stayed. When things were bad, they were horrible, but when they were great, we were on the top of the world.

We moved in to a small apartment together my freshman year of college. He was a year ahead of me and a sophomore at the same university (a university I didn’t even want to go to, but ultimately decided on as he had threatened to break up with me if I went to another school). I thought things would be better once we started living together. I told myself that he wouldn’t be able to lie to me as easily since we would always be around each other and looked forward to making a happy little home with the man I was so in love with, despite all his downfalls. We had already been through so much together and this experience of sharing a home would bring us closer.

Except now there was nowhere for me to go. No parents at home at the end of the day to question why I had been crying or to make sure I was alright. Just him, and me.

He became violent almost immediately. He would shove me while arguing, and then downplay the severity of it after I would confront him on his wrongdoings. He would lock me in our bedroom and keep me from attending my classes and claimed he was scared I would “leave him.” He wouldn’t come home at night and when I would inquire about his whereabouts he would call me names, start an argument, and ultimately end up hitting me. For a while, it was never enough to leave any marks. To me, it was never "that bad." He would convince me that his failures were my fault, that I had caused him to be violent and that I couldn’t prove anything. It was his word against mine, always. When I threatened to move out, he would play on my emotions and make me feel horrible, claiming his parents wouldn’t let him move back home and since he couldn’t afford the apartment without me, he’d go homeless. He needed me.

This went on for eight months. Eight months that I struggled with what to do—I loved him, but he continued to bully, manipulate and physically assault me. My parents suspected what was going on and begged me to move back home, but ultimately I refused. Most the friends I had were also friends of his, and if they knew what was going on, they said nothing.

Finally, one spring night, things escalated to a new low point. I was at home, working on a last-minute project for school that was due the next morning. I realized I had run out of printer paper and ultimately needed to make a late-night stop to the only place that was open at that hour- Walmart. John had accused me of lying and claimed that he didn’t believe I needed anything at Walmart and was convinced I was sneaking off to go meet some secret boyfriend. It was late, I was agitated and all I wanted to do was finish this project and call it a night- but John pushed. I suggested he come with me to Walmart to “supervise” the trip and make sure I wasn’t lying, but he refused. As I attempted to walk out of the door to the apartment I remember a sharp pain hitting me on the side of the head and everything became blurry.

In a fit of rage, John picked up the laptop computer that was sitting on the coffee table and cracked it across the right side of my temple, knocking me down. He continued to hit, kick, and punch me repeatedly. At one point, he began beating me with random items of furniture he could grab—the chair, small end tables, etc. It all seemed to happen so fast, like a movie playing in fast-forward. With adrenaline pumping through my veins, I don’t even recall feeling pain during the moments I was huddled on the floor trying to shield my face. I don’t remember feeling afraid, or anything other than simply waiting for him to finish.

Finally he was screaming at me to get out. He was calling me names, telling me I was worthless, and screaming that he didn’t even care anymore who I was going to meet, just to get out. He physically threw me out of the apartment, with no shoes, no car keys, money, or a cell phone.

Completely stunned, I began walking down the main avenue of our street. I had no idea what to do next. I was too embarrassed to walk into any kind of establishment looking the way I did to ask for help. I had no phone to call my parents…my brain couldn’t even process what had happened to me. Suddenly a patrol car up ahead pulled over on the side of the road where I was walking and two officers stepped out of the vehicle and approached me.

Coincidentally, these officers were on their way to my very apartment. One of the neighbors had called the police after hearing the commotion and they had intercepted me on the way.

When it was all said and done, everything that night happened for a reason. I was sent to the hospital for a check-up, and my parents brought me home. My now ex-boyfriend was arrested, and the judge on his case ordered that be held without bail long enough for my family to move me out of the apartment the next day. I was still young, dumb, and thought I was in love. I didn’t want to press charges and probably wouldn’t have, but I didn’t have to. The police department didn’t need me to press charges for them to be able to convict him of assault as they had all of the evidence they needed to. A Protection From Abuse was filed the same day and he was given explicit instructions not to contact me. After his jail time, he was sentenced to court ordered Anger Management classes, community service, and probation. He also, coincidentally, lost his job, since he was arrested and couldn’t show up to work for a number of days. His arrest was in the local newspaper, and suddenly everyone knew what had happened.

The days following were the worst of my life. I was embarrassed and ashamed. It wasn’t an easy process to heal—I still missed him, I still loved him, and if were up to me, I would have gone back. It took outside forces to get me out of the situation and I thank God every day that it happened, because I never would have left on my own.

Some people are not so lucky. Many situations are worse than mine, and many victims of domestic abuse suffer for much longer than I ever did. I was fortunate enough to walk away with nothing more than a few bruises and a broken heart. Many cannot even walk away, and suffer in silence for years before they are able to remove themselves from the situation (if they are even fortunate enough to do so). I spent the last year of my relationship being made to feel I was worthless, and it took a long time for me to be able to work past those feelings of shame and guilt—that this was somehow my fault.

It has been nine years since that relationship has ended. Today, I am happily married and a mother of one. I am in a happy, healthy relationship and, more than anything, I am thankful that I was able to survive and learn from my past experiences. As difficult as it was for me to go through at the time, it has taught me stand up for myself in all things, and to have the self respect to not subject myself to unhealthy relationships.

Not all relationships are what they appear to be, and furthermore, sometimes it's even hard for those trapped in toxic relationships to even see the reality of what is going on around them, when they are blinded by love.