You Wouldn't Believe Me if I Told You...

I hardly believe it myself actually. It just seems so surreal, and not in a good way. Not like a sweet, soft dream. More like a horrifying nightmare that you can never escape. No matter what you do, the terrible thoughts of the past are always taunting you in the back of your mind. It's a constant battle to fight the lies of the past. It's exhausting to say the least.

It started when I was 18 though, and he was 23. I had never dated anyone before, and I was incredibly shy and reserved. I had a very hard time trusting people because my dad had passed away 4 years before I met him. Despite that, or maybe because of that actually, I wanted so badly for someone to love me, to not feel alone anymore. And there he was...

He had all the right words to say at first. He seemed so kind and gentle. He was decent looking enough, but more than that he was a smooth talker. Everyone seemed to think he was such a great guy...so nice, the sort to do anything for anyone. He had an awful lot of people fooled. He even came across as a very "Godly" guy who was really trying to live a good life and treat people well.

After much coercion I finally gave in and went on a double date with him and two of my friends. After that, I was sucked in. I'll give him that he was smooth enough to take me on a moonlight horseback ride and even serenade me by a fire in the middle of the night. I had no idea it was all part of master plan though.

We had a tumultuous dating relationship-constantly breaking up, crying, fighting, getting back together. He had succeeded in all but completely separating me from my friends. He had nearly convinced me that they were all bad people who didn't actually care about me, but wanted to use me. After five years of turmoil, we got engaged to the surprise, and later I found out dismay, of many people. We were engaged only for a couple of months before getting married. It was all so fast...a complete blur.

The day I got married, I was torn and crushed. I didn't want to do it, even as I walked down the aisle on my brother's arm. I was completely convinced though that no one else would ever love me. I was just so difficult to deal with on top of not being very smart, thin, pretty, or wise. I just didn't seem to have a whole lot going for me, and so I had resolved myself to this end...marry the only one who would have me. As soon as the ceremony was over, I cried. Then I cried some more. The tears didn't stop. I couldn't help thinking "what have I done?! My God what have I done?!" I wouldn't even sleep with him that day. I just laid in the bed crying. I was horrified at what had happened, and I thought there was no turning back. I honestly believed I had ruined my own life. Had I only gone with my instincts...

As soon as we came home from the honeymoon, I was in tears and begging for counseling. I was miserable and wanted help. My head was so twisted and convoluted even then, I couldn't see which way was up or down. I remember laying on the floor sobbing begging for help and being denied. I was told I just needed to work it out on my own. We couldn't afford help so I needed to just deal with it, besides, they were MY issues anyway. This went on and on for months, and then years. At first I thought maybe it was just a crazy side effect from birth control. The drugs made me terribly sick anyway, so perhaps they also made me crazy? I had no idea. I was exhausted all the time. I was careful to eat only small portions, and to NEVER eat any sweets. Everything was 100% organic, and often I didn't eat at all. I ran constantly and was at the gym all the time. I had to get thinner. Maybe then I'd be prettier, and then maybe, just maybe, I'd almost be good enough for him. It was a long shot, but I figured I should at least try. I knew I'd never be as smart or as wise as him. He told me that himself.

Soon I found myself going on shopping binges. If I could get the newest Marc Jacobs dress and the amazing Chloe stilettos, then I'd look pretty enough that he would turn his head when I walked in the room. Instead, he just continued to expect me to show up with Starbucks every Sunday and sit there quietly while he told stories and laughed with his friends. I wasn't to interrupt. If I did, I risked the humiliation of being shushed in front of all those people in the green room at church. So I sat and said nothing. I just tried my best to look pretty and maintain a certain image. I had all the right jeans, dresses, shoes, and makeup. I went to all the right places and always had the right drink in my Starbucks cup. Never was a hair out of place nor a speck of mascara on my cheek. I managed to maintain a very lean figure, weighing in at a mere 110 pounds, which, at 5'9" isn't a whole lot.

On top of everything else, I worked constantly. He wanted to be a rockstar, and I, as the wife, was responsible for funding his dreams. Since he was the husband, all of my dreams and desires had to be put on hold for a while. Besides, they were "Alexis Desires" not "God Desires". Clearly, his were God ordained, and mine were little more than pipe dreams. What a silly girl I was to think any differently. So, often I would work 17 hours a day 5 days a week to pay the bills. Someone had to pay for the expensive jeans and haircuts, etc. I quickly learned though that he was far more entitled to nice things like that than I was because he got paid to look good because he was on stage. Plus, his $300 jeans and $700 hoodie were tax right-offs anyway since he was a rockstar. I know, silly me. What was I thinking when I said that seemed ridiculous???

Slowly over time, I begin to sink down into a very deep, dark depression. I was bitter and angry all the time. Eventually, he even had me convinced that I needed to be institutionalized. I was literally curled up in a ball on the floor crying because he convinced me that I was hearing voices in my head. Of course he never said I was lazy. "Satan let me hear that." Gosh what a stupid girl for not knowing it was that tricky Satan who allowed me to see and hear my own husband call me lazy after I had worked a whole day, cleaned the house, and prepared dinner for him and his friends. Of course it was Satan. That's the only rational answer.

As I slipped further into this depression, I became addicted to working in a restaurant. I was good at it, and the work was mindless as it came naturally to me. It was almost like a soft rocking wave. It was easy and familiar, and the only place I felt validated.

The day he bought the $700 hoodie was a big turning point for me. After he made that brilliant purchase, I began looking at shoes. At this point, he propositioned me. If I wanted a pair of shoes, I would have to openly have sex with him in his truck right there in the parking lot at a very high end mall in the middle of the day on a busy Saturday. I had explained to him many times how much I hated to feel like a piece of meat, but he insisted I do that or I was a bad wife. He drilled it into my head that I wasn't a Proverbs 31 woman. Over and over again he told me how selfish I was and that I was a horrible prude. These are the same comments I received that day when I denied him. He said I should be a whore for my husband though. It was torturous, and I was reduced to nothing more than a ghost inside of the girl I used to be.

I couldn't escape either. I was too proud to tell anyone what was really happening at home. I was so good at putting up a facade that no one was the wiser either. The years of solitude while he was away traveling had provided me the opportunity to only strengthen the already existing walls guarding my heart. Not to mention my fear of being a failure. I didn't want to disappoint my mom. I was so scared of hurting her. And I was covered in shame. I couldn't bear telling people the things that had happened. I didn't think they would believe me.

It all began to unravel when I found the hidden stash of weed though. I was vacuuming and found the inside of a paper towel roll stuffed with dryer sheets. Confused I asked him what it was. He explained casually that he smoked joints through it so I wouldn't smell the weed. That erupted into a huge fight. I started sleeping by myself in a room downstairs. I constantly came home to him hanging out with his friends. I was a stranger in my own house. Eventually he gave me an ultimatum: do what I say because I'm the husband and that's why or get out. So I left.

I moved out into my own place. I worked a minimum of 80 hours a week to pay his bills and mine. I hardly ate a thing. I mostly would come home and drink until I fell asleep only to do it all again the next day. I was bitterly depressed and more alone than I had ever been. My mind was a disaster. I didn't know what I had done or what I was going to do. Truly I never would've left had my best friend not talked me through it all for a year a half prior to me walking out. But then, once I was out, I could barely afford to turn on the heat in my apartment. I slept wrapped in blankets on the floor by the fire so I didn't have to spend extra money. I never went out, and I was allowed only $5 cash at the bookstore. I worked to the bone...dropped down to probably 100 pounds. Size 0 jeans were falling off of me. I was a wreck. On top of everything he continued playing sick mind games with me-trying to coerce me to come back home and in the next breath damning me. Literally the mental and emotional wear and tear was nearly more than I could handle. I'm not ashamed to admit that thoughts of suicide entered my mind numerous times in those years of marriage and in the months after I left. I thought if I could just leave this world everyone else would be so much happier, and finally, I wouldn't be sad anymore, besides, I was worth nothing anyway right?

Finally I went to counseling again. We had trying going as a married couple, but to no avail. He would present one side of himself to the counselor...the sweet, loving side...but then in private, he would berate me for making him look like a monster. This time though, I went alone. I had to go for months. Sometimes I had to go twice a week. Eventually I was able to spread out my visits more as my counselor thought I improved. Slowly a glimmer of the old Alexis began to appear. It was faint at first, but I could see it. I hardly recognized myself. I began to reconnect with old friends. Strangely, one of my most important friends I talk to only via the internet or text messaging. Yet this friend knows me better than anyone else possibly does at this point in my life. He protects my secrets and has been an immense help to me through all of my mess.

As time passes by, even though I'm still not 100% free from the hold he has on me, the old Ali is coming back stronger. She's more familiar now. She's not afraid anymore either. I still hate when people tell me I'm pretty because I'd rather be sweet and smart. I don't want my value to ever be based on my appearance again. I want to think that someday someone somewhere will love me as I am. I don't want to be a project for some guy with a white knight complex. I want to be the part that completes the whole. I'm afraid to burden someone else with my tale. My secrets are heavy I know. I hope that one day though someone will be brave enough and strong enough to love me anyway. Perhaps someone can look beyond what was and see who I am instead.