That Serial Killer I Dated, Part III (TW-assault)

In therapy today we talked a lot about past relationships and how they made me feel about myself. The Serial Killer came up and my therapist told me that he does a lot of work with people who have trauma and PTSD and that actually in most cases the first instinct is to freeze. He told me I don't need to feel bad about that or own it as a part of me that is defective because it's a biological response that happens in a lot of animals. They may end up running but at first they freeze.

To some extent I already knew that, but I also took it as a sign that I am passive and defective. I wrote the first part of this in 2014 and I know the incident happened before that, but I'm not sure exactly when. I just now skimmed what I wrote and it's hard to read. I had forgotten most of what happened, especially his name. I don't remember some of the things I wrote actually happening, and maybe that's a good thing. I'm not sure I would recognize him if I saw him. But then again, I'm sure I would recognize his mannerisms like his posture and the way he talked, that was definitely distinctive. And his thin, light blonde/brown hair. Definitely similar to Trump's toupee. I've thought a few times about what I would do if I saw him again, especially since now I'm working in a similar field to what he was. I've always tended to think I would threaten him, and tell him that I would never be alone with him and that if I saw him doing ANYTHING inappropriate with a patient that I would end his career. Or just tell his boss what he did to me, and try to get him fired. I've fantasized about him coming in to the therapy department, seeing me and then just walking out again because he would know that he wouldn't be able to work there. Or, that I would reference the movie we watched to see if he remembered and then watch the color drain from his face as he realizes that I OWN his career and I can sink it with just a few words to coworkers and bosses. 

My therapist said that we brought up a bunch of things I haven't thought of in a long time and it might make me have some uncomfortable emotions, and I guess we'll continue to talk about this next week. It's nice to feel heard and feel like I can be honest with someone without it going badly. In the end, this series of posts is not about the Serial Killer, it's about me. I would like it to be about me moving forward and improving and learning to trust people - but not putting my trust in the wrong people. There are some really terrible people out there and they don't deserve my trust or my time. 

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That Serial Killer I Dated, Part II (TW-assault)

             A while ago I wrote a post about a man who assaulted me on a date. I had a hard time finishing Part Two, but here it is;

Part Two:

             Obviously I have some things I need to work on personally and looking back it’s easy to see the red flags and the many opportunities I had to cut this guy loose before it got to any kind of threatening situation. Maybe it’s a symptom of the depression, but I think that deep down I just don’t see myself as a person who has value. It’s not like I’m thinking in the moment, “I deserved that,” it’s just a general feeling and a habitual way of responding to the world. And day to day, there are times when I think, “Hey, I’m awesome! I’m kick-ass! I’m a strong, independent woman who will never be taken advantage of by a man!” But those are surface thoughts.

 

 

                It tells me that other people can do whatever they want but I am always to remain polite, calm, courteous and agreeable. 

                And yes, apparently it means whatever they want.

                I could say if it ever happens again I’ll punch that loser right in the nose! But I know I wouldn’t. I’ll make up a polite excuse and leave. I’ll freeze up and do nothing and wait for it to be over. 

                But maybe I shouldn’t be too hard on myself. This is a legitimate survival instinct, isn’t it? If I can’t fight him and he’s got me trapped, then it’s best to pretend nothing weird is happening so that it’s more likely I’ll get an opportunity to get away. If I fought, he might have just held me down harder or even hurt me. 

                It just made me feel a little bit like I was contributing to the problem, making him think I condoned his actions. But in the moment, I shouldn’t feel bad about being only concerned about my safety and getting out of there without further incident. I did whatever it took and that happened to be being compliant and courteous. 

                But it’s true that in general, I have a problem using this defense mechanism ALL the time. I think it’s because when growing up, my dad was angry a lot. It’s not like he beat us, but he would rant and rave and I would have to walk on eggshells. He would get very mad at me if I got the A not the A+, and would force me to ask the teacher what I could do to ‘make up for it.’ I learned that if I was quiet and just sat there until the raging was over and I could run up to my room then that was the best and quickest way out of the situation. 

                In summary; knowing all this about myself makes me want to pay more attention to those red flags in the beginning. Because they were there, and I ignored them because sometimes I don’t feel like I deserve to be treated like a person. And, I think I started this post feeling a bit sorry for myself because I freeze-up and I am polite and courteous to people who are trying to hurt me but I am going to tell myself to refuse to feel that way (hopefully this will work) because I am just trying to protect myself the best way that I know how.  















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That Serial Killer I Dated, Part I (TW-assault)

                 It was our third date if you count the speed-dating event where we met. He was a doctor of physical therapy with a nice condo in the city and he had asked me over to cook dinner for me. His place was clean and very bachelor-y with the only décor being his framed degree hung up on the wall next to a bookcase full of binders of school notes and anatomy and physiology books. His furniture was all brown or black pieces; not fashionable or modern, but it was clean and tidy. Big TV, naturally. When I got there he was still cooking the meal, fiddling with the stuff on the stove and vegetables in the microwave. He poured a couple glasses of wine while we waited and it was nice, really. I had some reservations about him because of our last date but I was being put at ease. 

                On our second date, we went to a museum and it was really awkward trying to hold a conversation with him there. He was soft-spoken and would walk behind me or away from me in the middle of a conversation so that I couldn’t hear him anymore and I would have to follow him around or twist myself around to keep talking. That got old as soon as it started. Besides that, he was literally pushy. I think he was trying to joke around and he just randomly shoved me while I was on the steps at the museum. Looking back now I know to think: WTF??!! But at the time I was just annoyed and took it like I always take things like that: pissed off inside but not really clicking that it’s wrong for someone to do that to me. I pushed the feelings down, said nothing and kept walking. He pushed me a few times. I thought about taking the elevator to be sure that I wouldn’t fall down the stairs in the parking garage.

                Back to our third date; dinner was nice. We had a much livelier conversation than on the previous date and the food was pretty good. The steak was a little too overdone but he had still cooked for me and that’s bound to win you 3,000 points unless it’s absolutely inedible. I was enjoying myself but then somehow we got on the topic of Disney fairy tales versus the original stories. I say something about how sleeping beauty was not kissed but actually raped awake (remember we are having a good conversation and I am feeling at ease at this point). Then he comes back with, “Yeah, but he married her afterward,” with an absolutely serious face.

                “What?”

                “He raped her but he married her afterwards.”

                “That doesn’t make it not rape. That doesn’t make it any better.”

                He didn’t answer me, just took a drink of wine. 

    “I need to know that you know rape isn’t cancelled out by marriage.”

    “No, of course it’s not.”

                After dinner he offered me more wine and even though I said no, he went on to pour me a very large glass, finishing off the bottle. After our exchange, I was set on not drinking it to make sure I was sober enough to leave. I was looking for a polite way out when he suggested we watch a movie. 

                “Ok, maybe I can stay for half a movie.”

                He put on an old, obscure movie that I had never seen before but one that he insisted was a ‘classic’ and I ‘had to see it.’ He sat down on one side of the sectional sofa and I placed myself on the far side of the L shape, away from him. 

                “You haven’t been drinking your wine.”

                “I told you I didn’t want any more. It keeps me up at night.”

                “Come sit over here.” I didn’t really want to, but he insisted so I sat down next to him. He inched a bit closer. After a while, he put his arm around my shoulders. I was still a bit tense and the movie was from the 90’s and boring. I watched the clock and wondered when would be a good time to make my exit. Then, without any kind of warning, he scooted himself down and laid his head in my lap.

                I was in shock. 

               “Will you pat my hair?”

               “What?”

               “I want you to pat my hair,” he picked up my hand and laid it on his head, moving it up and down in patting motions.

               “No, that’s ok.” I took my hand away. He grabbed it back and put it on his head. I tried to take back my hand but he held it firmly on his head. I tried to stand up, but he used his head on my lap to apply pressure and keep me sitting down. My heart was beating at a thousand times a second, I had no idea what to do. I stayed still.

                He made me stroke his hair again for a little while and then he sat up straight again. He was talking to me but I have no idea what he said. I was panicking. But I stayed still.

                He put his hand on my head and pushed me down into his lap. I think I actually felt a piece of my mind snapping. He held me down there with his arm and wouldn’t let me up. I think he continued to talk. I struggled but he was too strong. So I stopped and waited.

                He let me up and I stood/rolled off the couch and onto my feet, sliding my coat from the chair onto my back like I’d practiced it a million times and grabbed my purse. 

               “I have to get up early in the morning so I’d better go.”

              “Why do you have to go all of a sudden? We haven’t finished the movie,” he reminded me of a snake, poised and dangerous.

               “I really have to go.” I walked calmly towards his door, “Maybe we can finish it next time.”

               He got up and walked to the door as well, joining me in the doorway. I wondered if I screamed, if any of the neighbors would notice. I remembered my mother always told me to shout ‘fire!’ because that’s what gets people’s attention.

               I said, “Have a good night,” and I gave him a short hug. I walked away briskly to my car. I have never driven away from a place so fast in my life.

What Trust Doesn't Look Like (TW-domestic violence)

Saturday night he had gotten drunk and violent. He threw things and threatened to hurt me. He was acting literally like a monkey, jumping on top of the couch and tearing the cushions off. He cycled between yelling, rocking back and forth on his hands and knees on the floor crying, throwing things around, and talking to me in that low, threatening voice. He also spoke to people who weren’t there.

I tried to help him. I had never seen anyone like that before, much less someone I loved. I tried to talk to him, soothe him, and give him something to throw up in. But he threw it back at me. When he went to the bathroom, I ran quietly up the stairs and away from him, shutting a door in between us. I didn’t want to leave because I still thought somehow I could help him. But I didn’t go back down until the morning. His grandmother actually asked me to leave, but I said no,  I want to help him through this. Then she gave me some blankets for the couch and went downstairs and talked to him sternly. I thought that I wish I could talk to him that way and have him listen to me.

On Sunday morning, I told him what had happened and he couldn’t remember any of it. He readily promised me that he wouldn’t drink at all if we were alone together and he would just drink with his friends.

Monday night he brought three double-size beers over to my apartment. I don’t know what they are really called, but I know that each one was the size of two normal beers. I was in shock and fearful.

“You can’t drink those here.”

He was immediately angry, “it’s just beer! It’s not that much!”

“You promised me you wouldn’t drink when it’s just you and me.”

“I had a hard day at work, I deserve a beer!”

“But there are three of them, and they’re gigantic. Just have one, ok?”

“I’m a grown man.”

He sulked and acted like a two-year-old for the next few hours, while I was a ball of tension, wondering what I should do if he got drunk and violent again. In my own apartment there was nowhere else to go, no one else to help me. I could put my cat in a carrier and just leave, maybe go to my parent’s house and hopefully he wouldn’t destroy too much of my stuff. 

Finally, we got to the moment when he might have one of the beers and I said, “You know, it’s just that you promised. You gave me your word that you wouldn’t drink and now you’re breaking your word.”

I knew that would get him, since he’s always going on and on about how honesty and ‘his word’ is so important to him, even though he was still able to cheat on me and go out with other women while I was still lying in his bed. 

He didn’t have any of the beers and he took them with him when he left. A good idea, since I would have poured them out. 

Before we broke up, we had a couple other uncomfortable nights with his drinking. Once when he put his arm around my neck in what maybe his drink-brain thought was affectionate but felt to me like a choke hold. Thank god for that self-defense class. 

He told me once during these awful nights, “The biggest reason I know we won’t make it is because you don’t trust me. You’re afraid of me.”

Well, asshole, maybe you should behave like someone who can be trusted.

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