Who Loves Me More?

Seventy-two degrees, seven o’clock, the sun’s rays peak over the clouds to expose the creation of a pink fire setting over the farm. I watched the sky as its vibrant colors ran through my being, soothing my anxiety from my long day at work. Unable to capture this moment completely, I was suddenly startled by a touch on my shoulder. His plump lips start to speak under his beard, and I could hardly keep up with the dominance in his voice. Once I started to understand, I could not fathom the forbidden words he was using against my parents. He wanted me to move out. He made quite reasonable points that I was unhappy with the way my parents were treating me. However, the allegation was false. “They are exceptional parents,” I told him. Something about my objection did not click, and he could not accept being wrong. As he became filled with rage, his forehead turned an alarming shade of red, every vain was in sight, and I was terrified they would burst at the seams from anger. He spoke in a startling tone, explaining that if I stayed in my current living situation, my parents would get in the middle of our relationship and somehow break us up. He said that I was not treated like an adult at home, and living with him would give me an opportunity to make my own decisions. While I did feel like I was treated unfairly at home, I felt I was still too young to move out. The words he spoke shattered my thinking because I could not tell what was right or wrong. He was like a lawyer convincing a jury, using psychological tactics to make me believe every point he made was valid. Brainwashed and blinded, I was manipulated into leaving who I truly loved to move in with a controlling monster who told me he was the only one who cared about me. 

When I got home later that night, packing my bags was the simplest task. Stuffing anything I could into my Vera Bradley duffle seemed effortless. However, my heart was beating at the speed of light while my body trembled from excitement and fear. I was ecstatic to be leaving the household that brought me suffering and pain (or so I thought). I heard the familiar screeching of his car, signaling it was time to escape. I heaved my belongings through the yard and into the back of his Toyota, trying to beat an imagined clock of life or death before my parents noticed I disappeared. 

Pulling out of the driveway, I saw an upstairs window shade slowly open, to reveal the face of my innocent little brother. I became as still as a statue and I could not breathe. I tried to reevaluate what I was doing. I was confused as to why I was leaving the people I loved the most. I quickly removed those thoughts and remembered why; it was because he made me believe he was the only one who “truly cared” about me.  

Months later, at end of July, I stood in the hot, musty farmers market office across from my boss. I felt like I could go to her with anything since I had worked for her for six years and my family’s close relationship with her. In a couple of hours, my family would leave for North Carolina without me and I thought I was making a mistake. Tears streamed down my face and onto the dusty floor as I tried to explain my dilemma. Her expression changed from sympathy to utter disgust when I confessed my reasoning for completely abandoning my family’s vacation to spend more time with him. He had convinced me that I would have a better time staying with him in Virginia than going on a wasteful beach trip with my family. She brought her eyes to my face and studied my anxious expression. He was working the same shift and I was terrified he would walk into the office at any moment and punish me for talking to someone else about our relationship. I awaited a professional answer, instead, she stood up with confidence and told me to clock-out, ignore his unreasonable remark of staying home, pointed to the door and told me to soak up time with the people who love me the most. Imitating her impressive confidence, knowing he was watching me leave, I raced off of the property and headed home, grinning ear-to-ear. I was brimming with excitement to inform my family of the good news. My happiness instantly turned to utter fear when I heard a familiar ding from the passenger seat. Feeling weak to the touch, I turned over the phone feeling guilty knowing I had not acted upon his dominant wishes, and was facing a break-up text message plastered across the screen. Not thinking too much about the horrifying text, (because this was a recurring action) I threw my phone into my purse confident that it was only his anger speaking and he was just trying to scare me.

A couple of days into my vacation, hundreds and hundreds of hateful, disturbing text messages, including threats to my family, sat on my phone. A result of moving in with him and being more independent was that he had bought the phone I was using. To punish me for not listening to him, he would turn my cell service, texting, and wifi abilities off and on knowing it would drive me crazy. I would only get cell service if he wanted to insult me. I was called every name in the book for being disobedient. Every word ripped through my chest like a hurricane. Everything I thought about his devotion crumbled to ruins. I was so confused because he always told me he wanted the best for me, but he was not treating me like that. Unable to understand his intentions, my body started to shut down, my gears were barely turning, and my instincts disappeared. I turned into a creature and started to sink into the prickly abyss of the couch cushions. My depression reached the surface as I wailed wishes of death like my brain was getting shredded. My emotional pain poured out of every angle of my body, bringing my family out of their rooms. All five of them gathered around me, unsurprised at what I was upset about. This was not the first time I was facing consequences from not listening to him. My mother, aware of the history of my mental health, knew my suicidal thoughts were not cries for attention, and tried to calm me. None of it worked though, because I was still convinced he loved me more than my family.

Even though I denied needing assistance, later that night, I ended up in the Psychological ward of the nearest hospital, wrapped up in the paper thin hospital gown and a dirty blanket. There were no beds available, so I was strategically placed up against the nurses station being carefully judged by people who did not even know my name. The walls around me were a distinct cream color that danced with the fluorescent lights to mimic the sun, so they were too bright for me to fall asleep. To keep the time passing, my parents took shifts comforting my aching soul, reminding me what true love was.      

My mother did everything she could to make me comfortable, forgiving me for everything I had done, even though I had rejected her love earlier that year to move out. This act of empathy make me realize what love really is. Love is not removing your partner from family or friends, or gaslighting and controlling your partner to do things. Most importantly, love is never making your partner feel unsafe or less than. My mother did not do any of those things to show her love, and I realized that my vision had been distorted ever since I left my family. He crafted the idea that he was the only person in my life, made me confuse what love was and used it to his advantage to control me, making me his personal puppet. Even though I had betrayed my family, I now know that love is always forgiving and I without them. I will never be alone again.