My Beatings Never Felt Real Because I Kept Surviving Them

CW: The following content contains triggers related to domestic violence. If you or someone you know is a victim of domestic violence you can call the National Domestic Violence Hotline at 800–799–7233 or visit their website to get help.

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My ex, Dwayne used to beat me up regularly. The beatings began in July 2014 and only stopped in May 2015 because I finally left him — successfully. Each of my beatings was progressively worse than the last one.

The first beating started with a push so I brushed it off and wouldn’t categorize it as a “real” beating.
The second beating involved him dragging me to his bedroom by my ponytail to stop me from leaving him before he then raped me.
The final beating involved Dwayne actually trying to rip my face off with his bare hands.

I struggled to believe I was a victim of domestic violence; Specifically, because I kept surviving my beatings.

I often didn’t feel the physical impact of being slapped or kicked in the stomach until much later. Even as I was getting beat up, the blows never felt like they were landing on my body.

I would dissociate out of shock and find it difficult to believe that any of what happened to me was real. Sometimes I thought I was making it all up, even when my body became evidence that the abuse was real.

I couldn’t shake the cognitive dissonance but as the beatings continued, the need to counteract the shock birthed a morbid routine that ultimately saved my life.

Step #1: Survive the beating

It seems obvious but there can be no routine if I actually die during one of these beatings. As the beatings persisted, sometimes for hours, my only goal was to survive — somehow. Even in pieces, beat up and battered. The goal was to survive.

Step #2: Lock myself in the bathroom

Two beatings were so bad Dwayne tried to prevent me from leaving the room. The look on his face scared the shit out of me because as the abuser if he’s scared of whatever he’s looking at, I know it can’t be good.

(And it never was.)

After surviving, the number one thing I always did was get myself to the bathroom. Some way, somehow. This would be where I hurt in private, dealt with the denial, and searched my body for all the damage.

This was just as important as surviving. This is when I’d find out if my chances of surviving the aftermath were possible or… if I’d need medical attention. I locked the door every single time, to make sure I was safe enough to start yet another healing process.

Step #3: Come face-to-face with myself

Like the majority of abuse victims, I had my moment with the mirror. DV victims know what I’m talking about.

It’s the moment we go blank as we stare at our reflections and try to digest that it was not the reflection that was beaten up — it was us.

I would inspect my wounds through the reflection. I would also take pictures partially, as evidence but mainly to convince myself that I was actually being abused.

As the beatings worsened, it got harder to deny my reality because there was no way to downplay the black eyes, busted lips, and choke marks on my neck.

Step #4: Start the playlist that I dedicated to my abuse

Pretty soon, after Dwayne began beating me, I naturally developed a playlist specific to what I was going through.

They were the only two songs I turned to for comfort after every one of my beatings. So I eventually just put them in a playlist.

The first was always:

1.Elle Varner’s — Little Do You Know

Which perfectly summed up how isolating the experience was.

Directly after was:

2. Elle Varner’s — See Me Tonight

Elle sings about not wanting anyone to physically see her in her current state. I shared the feeling, which is why these moments in the bathroom mattered so deeply.

I relied on this playlist because I wasn’t telling anyone I was being beaten up. I kept it from my mom and didn’t even go home because I knew I wasn’t ready to leave and I wanted to protect her from having to see me like that.

All I had was Elle and these two songs that seemingly told my story. In the lonely moments after every last one of my beatings, Elle was the only friend I had. Not even myself.

Step 5: Wash the beating off

I always started my playlist before I stepped in the shower. I needed to feel as safe as possible and avoid feeling as alone as I really was.

I would step under the water and try to wash the beating off of me. I used the music to comfort me because I needed those songs to help me cope and get the tears out.

Watching the blood hit the floor and repeating the mantra “this really happened to me, this really happened to me” (to convince myself that what had just happened to me was real) would be the only reason I could finally cry.

Step 6: Take a Benadryl to put myself to sleep

I had a nasty Benadryl habit back then. I took these pills to try to sleep through the anxiety and the physical pain.

After every shower, I would return to Dwayne’s bedroom to see him watching some YouTube video or anime (if he wasn’t already asleep), as if he hadn’t just beat me almost to death.

I’d take two to three Bendaryl and, if Dwayne didn’t rape me, I would drift off into sleep. After my final beating, I took 8 of them and was still unable to sleep more than 30 or 40 minutes. I didn’t even realize I could’ve killed myself.

Alternate Step 6: Go to class

It was rare that I was beaten when I had class. But on one occasion, I was beaten before a final exam. After I survived, I rushed to clean myself up before heading to class.

I raced to class in the city from Brooklyn, with blood on my shirt and took my test. I understood that my boyfriend had just fucked me up — but I still needed to pass my classes.

That day, Dwayne followed me to campus and my professor saw him. I’d made her aware of what was happening shortly before this incident. She reported it to campus security after I left that day. The semester was over so nothing came of it.

But I got an A in her class.

Step 7: Wake up and act as if nothing ever happened

The following morning, after my beatings, I would wake up in extreme pain. Dwayne acted as if nothing ever happened and there was definitely no remorse.

I joined him in acting like nothing ever happened and if there were bruises I had an excuse to explain why.

Often, I didn’t leave the house or the room. I didn’t want to be seen and was eventually afraid of what would happen if anyone found out.

To cope with the pain, I’d pop Benadryl to numb myself to the physical and emotional pain. This was my process of coping with the abuse. This was how I “handled” things — until my next beating.

With every beating came a period of reflection directly after. Those delicately intimate moments I spent in the mirror sobered me up to the truth — this was happening to me. That girl in the mirror was me.

Those wounds and scars were mine. I was the one being beaten up and bloodied. This was real. And I was going to die if I didn’t make it out in time. My reflection saved my life.

You read it in a book. You see it on television and in the movies. You hear about it in a song or through word of mouth, but it’s different when it happens to you. It’s always different when it’s you. — LIN

42 Red Flags of the Most Dangerous Narcissists I’ve Known
If you see any one of these warning signs in someone you’re dealing with — leave now.
medium.com

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This post was previously published on medium.com.

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