OK. So I’m going to write something that has been bugging me since yesterday (and along with my pledge to be more active in blogging dammit).
Years and years ago, I was in this toxic relationship with a guy. This guy was a no stranger for me before we started the relationship. Actually, he was my ex-boyfriend back in junior high school. We broke up before because he was this violent manipulative guy and at that time, my mother decided that enough is enough and pulled me from that whole… Hijinks.
Now, if you asked me, “if you know how he was, why did you went back to him again?” My answer is: I was stupid. In Indonesian language, we have this saying “keledai tidak akan jatuh untuk kedua kalinya di lubang yang sama” — a donkey won’t fall down on the same hole twice. So yeah, I was stupider than a donkey.
So I was still in my undergraduate studies when this guy popped up in front of my dorm house — six years later after we last saw each other in junior high school. So to cut story short, we dated, he went SNAFU — even worse — and yet again my mother — a Super Mom, she is — saved the day. Yeah, you can say I was too stupid and too coward to pull myself out from that fucked up situation. But I have to tell you this: I was too afraid.
So I think it’s fair to see that victims of domestic abuse usually got too afraid because of how manipulative the perpetrator could be. Yes, the victim’s mind is being toyed and manipulated up to a very sickening point. We were threatened and got insults hurled to us up to a point that we THINK we were worse than animals and “unworthy”; and that’s how emotional abuse works: make the victim feels unworthy and powerless so the victim will have nobody to depend to except one: the abuser — aaaand the circle goes again.
So never ask a victim/survivor, “why don’t you just get away from it?” Oh, we wish we could, you know. We wish we could.We managed to see things clearly and realized how shitty it was just when we finally managed to get free from it. It’s like that “a-ha” moment when we saw it, and followed with “HOW CAN I BE SO STUPID?”
Now, one thing that bugged me is:
How the hell could he find my dorm house?
I never inform my dorm house address publicly, especially on the Internet. I realized that I might spilled some information here and there (“oh, it’s near this building”, “oh, you can see so and so from my place”) — and I think that what gave it all away. Just put the puzzles together and voila.
So not only I was dated a violent manipulative guy, he’s (“is”. Maybe. He always has this stalker-ish trait on him) a chronic stalker too.
So. I know this entry is just some sort of a passing, a random writing and sort. But, anyway, I really hope you guys my dear readers won’t ever have to be in a position like I was in domestic violence.
I would like to take a special note on point #7.You feel like you need permission to make decisions or go out somewhere. Please differ this one between emotional abuse AND a healthy communication.
I ALWAYS tell Ari whenever I have intention to go outside all by myself; because I don’t want him to get worry for me. By telling him — “hey, I am going to KLCC Park later on” — I’m letting him know where I am and should I need him, he will know where to find me. And a person in a healthy relationship will usually permit it, unless on life-threatening situation (“going to KLCC Park right when Godzilla is having a battle with Mothra in the EXACT SAME SPOT? ARE YOU CRAZY?” “AW COME ON, MAN. INSTAGRAM AND PERISCOPE-MATERIALS! IMAGINE THE THUMBS UP I CAN GET”) Being in a healthy relationship means that you give some space to your partner.
Now, a toxic relationship is different. When I was with that ex-boyfriend, I even had to tell him whenever I need to go to the toilet. It’s true. I had to SMSed him that I will not be in my classroom because I have to go to the toilet. He would patronized me; “are you really going to the toilet? With whom? After the toilet, where are you going next? Don’t you dare to go to any other places without my permission!”
So, yeah, you get the differences.
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