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“He’s Going to Hit Me” — I Knew It, Yet Refused to Accept It
by Anonymous
Updated: May 22, 2020
Originally Published: Sep. 28, 2017
On October 10, 2015, I jotted down these thoughts in my diary:
“He’s going to hit me. Not today, not tomorrow, and probably not even anytime soon. But someday, he’s going to become angry enough that he’ll lash out. The signs are unmistakable. He claims every man in his family has done it, but he swore he’d never follow in their footsteps. Just the other night, his irrational rage was on full display when he kicked my car with such force that it left a dent. Throughout that episode, I was nothing but patient and kind, trying to support him, yet he still found a way to blame me for everything going wrong. His hatred for me was palpable. Why, then, do I stay? Am I really weighing the good times against all this turmoil?”
I remained in that relationship for over a year after writing those words—and yes, he did hit me. In the following 14 months, we had around 20 explosive fights that resulted in property damage and physical abuse.
Why did I stick around? When I penned that entry, we had been together for just six months. I had left my husband for him, believing this relationship had to work. I sacrificed so much—my husband, his family, our nephews, friends who judged my choices. I had gambled everything on him.
But the “him” I was counting on no longer existed. The charming, caring man I fell for was merely a façade, a mask he wore to create the illusion of safety and love. At that time, I didn’t realize it. All I “knew” was that 1) he was a good man who loved me and made me happy, and 2) he was destined to hit me one day. My mind struggled to reconcile these two opposing truths.
I longed for a fairy tale, a love story with a happy ending, convincing myself that denial was my best bet. The next four months passed with minimal conflict. Sure, we had some disagreements, but what couple doesn’t? Wrong. Not like this.
During that time, one fight escalated to him punching a hole in the wall. On four occasions, he kicked me hard enough to send me tumbling off the bed, slammed me against a wall, or shoved me. I began to think that as long as he didn’t “hit” me in the traditional sense, it was acceptable.
I believed “domestic abuse” meant being punched or slapped like those tragic women in movies. I was in total denial. Another time, in a fit of anger, he smacked me with a metal water bottle, leaving a bruise. When I confronted him, he shrugged it off, saying, “I wasn’t upset with you, babe. You’re overreacting.”
I sensed something was off, but I couldn’t pinpoint it. I was gaslit into questioning my own memory. Maybe I was overreacting? He always apologized, and we always moved on.
We planned to move in together at the end of February, and by then, I felt optimistic about our relationship. The first few months of cohabitation were blissful—no fights, no rage, no broken items, no bruises. He seemed to be living up to his promise to improve.
In April, he proposed, and I said yes. I was ecstatic—this was everything I had ever wanted: intense love and devotion. We spent countless hours together, lost track of time, and reveled in each other’s company. But it wouldn’t last.
Two weeks after our engagement, he destroyed my computer during a fit of rage. “It was an accident; I’m so sorry,” he claimed. I was trying to leave during an argument when he yanked my purse off my shoulder and slammed it to the floor without realizing my computer was inside.
That moment made me realize I couldn’t marry him. Yet, I wasn’t ready to leave. I rationalized, “At least he didn’t hit me or do anything worse.” We were engaged, so I stayed. I told myself, “He stopped this behavior before, so he can again,” and “The last few months were great—this must be a one-time fluke.”
As the months progressed, he fluctuated between being my affectionate lover and a heart-wrenching abuser. The fights intensified and became more frequent, fueled by his increasingly unpredictable rage and heavy drinking. I started keeping a list of all the things he broke in our apartment—a wooden coaster, a glass bottle of vitamins, and more. Yet, between the chaos, he still managed to charm me.
I never told anyone about the abuse; I hinted at it, hoping someone would understand and encourage me to leave. But everyone thought we were happy. I was embarrassed and scared, so I remained.
In December, a nasty fight erupted late one night. As I pleaded for him to let me sleep, he yanked me from the bed, causing me to crash onto the floor. For the next two and a half hours, he chased me around our apartment, shoving me repeatedly. I retaliated with a single slap to his face, but he eventually left, and I began packing my belongings.
The next day, I was bruised and sore, but he was full of remorse. He promised to stop drinking and even committed to couples counseling. I had hope, so I stayed.
Though we spent New Year’s with friends, I sensed something was still off. He was irritable and refusing to take responsibility for his actions. I searched his email and finally accepted the truth: he wouldn’t change. The violence would only escalate.
On January 28, 2017, I left him. My life opened up in ways I never imagined. I realize now that no one could have convinced me to leave—I had to come to that decision on my own time. A part of me wishes I had listened to my instincts back in October 2015. It would have saved me a year of pain and fear. But this is my story, and I can only look toward the future, grateful for the lessons learned.
I now understand that I am a survivor of domestic violence, and I’m committed to educating and empowering others on their healing journeys. Listen to your intuition. Trust that gut feeling. And remember to be kind to yourself, especially when emotions run high.
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Summary:
This article recounts a personal journey through an abusive relationship, highlighting the internal struggle between love and the clear signs of danger. Despite knowing the risks, the author remained in the relationship due to emotional ties, denial, and hope for change. After enduring physical and emotional trauma, she ultimately chose to leave and now aims to empower others facing similar situations.