Why I'm grateful to my abusers

I know I know, the title of this blog sounds crazy...but stay with me here.

Over the course my 27 year lifetime I have experienced every type of abuse under the sun. Sexual, physical, and worst of all- emotional. It's the verbal abuse...the psychological warfare that leaves no visible scars on your person for the naked eye to see that wounds the deepest and lasts the longest. I'm going to be talking about most, if not all of my experiences with abuse over the next few weeks but today I'm going to start with one.

Arguably the worst one.

My first relationship (I'm talking long term, actual relationship not just holding hands at school and making out behind the bleachers) started when I was 13 and lasted until I was 16. He was a little bit older, but not significantly. In fact most of these minor details such as name, appearance and how we met are highly unimportant. The important facts are these: I believed everything he said, he had underlying issues that caused him to want to control and abuse me and my mother encouraged me to stay with him despite the fact that she knew everything that went on between us.

It started slow. A cruel comment here. A put down there. Before I knew it he had taken control of my self identify completely. I was young, naive and this was my first love. I had no idea that this was vile, toxic behavior that doesn't exist in healthy relationships. I didn't know any better.

Before I knew it he was picking out all of my clothes for me. The frumpy, shapeless rags that "didn't make me look like a slut." I was no longer allowed to wear skirts, sleeveless shirts or anything that didn't have a high neck to cover my chest. I wasn't allowed to wear make up. I had to stop shaving my armpits and legs. Photos of me from this era are terrifying. A pale, empty carcass of a girl. Drowning in her boyfriends oversized flannel. Soulless eyes staring at the camera without the vibrance that a young girl of fifteen should have. I was dead inside.

The night I lost my virginity to him, he cried. I didn't. This threw him into a rage (most likely do to the fact that is seen him cry) and immediately began shouting accusations at me. "Clearly this wasn't your first time." And then he called me a slut.

I was shocked. And broken. And regretful that I had just given him this precious gift that I could never take back.

But I stayed. I would have done anything to gain his approval. Approval that was clearly impossible to obtain- but I didn't know any better. His verbal abuse only got worse and worse.

"I don't want to kiss you....I don't know where your mouth has been." This was after I had been talking to a male friend at school. Eventually I was no longer to speak to my female friends either.

He would break up with me, manipulate me into having sex with him....and then laugh at me that he had convinced me to do that even though he didn't want me any more. I remember one night as I knelt at his feet he spit right in my face and I said "thank you." I cringe as I write this.

The worst it ever got was the night he grabbed me by my throat and slammed me against the wall and squeezed so hard I saw stars. I honestly thought I was going to die. Thankfully he didn't go through with it....but it still haunts me.

Eventually I found the strength to get out. I relapsed a couple of times and went back...but broke it off. It was not a linear process. Finding my strength and my voice again after leaving him was rough. I no longer knew what movies I liked. What music I preferred. What kind of clothes I wanted to wear. He had been making all of my decisions for me for so long I had to start over completely. I was a blank slate.

My friends helped me find myself. It took a very...very long time. The PTSD from this relationship affected me for years, but with therapy I was able to work through it. Now, let me explain why I'm grateful for it.

Have you ever met someone who has never experienced anything bad in their life? No heartbreak, no death in the family, no abuse? Were they a very interesting person? Probably not. I'm not saying it's impossible, just highly unlikely.

Now think of the people who have been to hell and back. The people who are still standing here despite this world trying to beat them down. I don't know about you, but these are the people I wanna be around. Hear their stories. Tap into their strength. They're fascinating!

If I hadn't been through this experience, I would still be that scared little girl. So naive. So lost. I wouldn't have the balls that I have now to stand up for myself and for those I care about. I wouldn't be able to sniff out the first warnings of abuse in my relationships. I wouldn't know my own strength and my ability to heal my own heart. I wouldn't be able to protect my loved ones from going through something similar. I wouldn't be nearly as interesting. I wouldn't have the confidence or voice that I have now. I wouldn't be able to hold my head this high.

There is a silver lining, a message and a purpose to everything we experience. Sometimes we see it right away and sometimes it takes years. I am grateful for my abusers, though I wouldn't wish it on anyone.