Big, bad word.

Abuse is a big word. I always think that it should be written only in capital letters – ABUSE. There should also be a symbol for it, like there is for hazardous material.

Abuse is not a word to throw around. Accusing someone of abuse is very powerful, very dangerous and can be very destructive. Too many people throw the word abuse around because they don’t understand what it means.

Abuse means fear. Living every day of your life in fear. Every encounter with the person who abuses you is infused with that fear. You go to sleep in fear, you wake up in fear. You live, breathe, eat fear. You get so good at it that you don’t even realize that you’re afraid. And if you asked anyone around you, they wouldn’t see the fear. They wouldn’t see the abuse. They might see something is not right but they won’t ever put the word “abuse” to it because the word is that big of a word.

I think every man has the potential to be an abuser. Now, before you start coming after me, let me explain why. Most men are not very in touch with their emotions. Most of them wouldn’t know an emotion if it came up and kicked them in the groin. That lack of connection to that core essence is what makes me believe that most men could easily become abusers. On the flip side, I think most women will, at some time in their life, think that they are being abused because we live so much in that emotional state. Every stupid comment, every little slight can get blown out of proportion to the point that one could think it is abuse.

The difference is fear. If your husband/lover/boyfriend/significant other points to your outfit and says, “You’re not going to wear that, are you?”, he’s an ass. He’s stupid. He’s ignorant of the fact that this simple statement could send you into a crying jag that will last for hours. But you’re not afraid of him. You’re not afraid of what he’s going to do if you don’t change that outfit. You’re not afraid that all night, he’s going to be judging you and at the end of the night, you will receive a very harsh, blow by blow account of what was wrong with the outfit, why you shouldn’t have worn it and, god forbid something goes wrong with the outfit, you will be told in no uncertain terms why that thing went wrong, that it was your fault because you wore said outfit and you’re not going to be stupid enough to do that again, after he’s told you over and over again not to wear that outfit. Then you go to bed, with him being angry because you wore an outfit that you liked and didn’t bend to his will and change. The next morning, he’ll remind you again of what a disaster that outfit was and he will tell you that he hopes you did something about it. Like what, I’m not sure, but you better do something about it.

Abuse is when innocuous things that shouldn’t matter become the focus of every day battery, whether it’s physical or emotional. It’s when dinner becomes the focus of all of your shortcomings. It’s when a dumpster that has not been emptied – and that you can do nothing about – is the jumping off point for a screaming rage attack on you. It’s when, all day, every day, every sentence delivered to you by the person who has your heart is simply a reminder of how pathetic you are and what a failure you are.

It doesn’t sound like much. But it’s like drops of water on cement. Eventually, the cement will give way to the water. If, every time you do some little thing wrong, the person you love responds with “of course you screwed up,” you begin to believe that you are a screw up. When you are consistently on the receiving end of the rage he has been suppressing all day because Target was out of the soap he liked and you didn’t spend the ENTIRE day going from Target to Target to find it, you begin to believe that you are a screw up. When there isn’t enough money to pay the bills and he refuses to participate in any process that will lead to a solution and when he blames you because the bills aren’t being paid, you believe you’re a failure. And that means you don't love him anywhere near as much as he loves you because you are incapable of that.

Abuse is when you find those things that make you happy and fulfilled and complete and the person you love can only find fault with them. It’s when he violently throws your belongings across the room when he’s cleaning but gently picks up and places his belongings safely away. It’s the screaming and yelling and cursing at inanimate objects that are then hurled across the room – but only if they’re yours and not his. It’s when he threatens to take away from you the very things that provide you joy because they are not his. It’s when any moment of pleasure or joy or pride becomes about him and becomes negative and bad and empty because he cannot allow you to have joy/pleasure/pride.

Abuse is being told that your feelings and emotions mean nothing. If you’re angry, just don’t be angry. Oh, I’m sorry, if you’re angry at him and he doesn’t agree with you, then don’t be angry because your anger is wrong. He has done nothing wrong. He never does anything wrong. It’s you, all you, you’re too emotional, you’re too sensitive. You shouldn’t take his screaming in your face about someone’s car blocking the driveway as any sort of attack on you. That’s just you being sensitive. He never disappoints, it’s just you being over-reactive. Just don’t feel, just don’t feel, just don’t feel. Your emotions, your feelings mean absolutely nothing because they do not serve him.

Abuse is when you shut down because the person you love only loves you when you’re shut down. Abuse is when you can no longer feel because that’s the only way to get through the day. Abuse is when he’s happy only when you’re silent.

My ex will never see he was abusive. Many of our friends probably now won’t admit that he was. Because ABUSE is a huge word. To utter it is to admit that it was there. Better to not say it, better to not use it, in case you’re wrong, in case he wasn’t.

I still have trouble saying it. Because I could be wrong. Maybe I was too sensitive. Maybe I was too emotional. Maybe it was my own emotions that drove me into a depression so deep that I almost killed myself. To accuse him of being abusive is hard and harsh and terrible and wrong and painful and uncomfortable.

But he was. And until I can really acknowledge it and get a handle on it, I will still be his victim.