More musing—this time on the topic of abuse. I've had these thoughts before when reading people's blogs on here and reading posts in the "relationship corner" section, but reading the conversation happening on Amarna's thread, and this part in particular, made me want to put my thoughts down:
Often it's because they do not realize they are being abusive. People who behave abusively don't think of themselves as abusers.
So, by many measures, a lot of the relationships I was in when I was younger were mutually abusive. A lot of my boyfriends were violent when angry (usually just throwing/punching objects, but one also harming me) and controlling/isolating. A few of them were cheaters and serial liars who would gaslight me. Several, including Moss the first time around, used cutting little remarks to shred my self-esteem.
But I was no saint, either.
I, too, was abusive. I didn't realize it at the time, but I was. Which is where that quote comes in. I had no idea I was being abusive. I didn't even have an inkling of what abuse was, if it wasn't outright physical abuse. I literally had no concept of the definition of "healthy relationship" or "abusive relationship" beyond the kind that leaves bruises. But I was an abuser.
Until I was in my 30s, I cheated a fair bit. And I would also lie and gaslight people (not knowing the term) because, the way I thought about it, if I could convince someone that it hadn't happened and sweep it under the rug, then we could just go on living our lives as though it
hadn't happened. I had no interest in coming clean. If I was generally happy in my first relationship, I'd rather stuff things down and try to do better next time than deal with the fallout of coming clean. Or if I was generally unhappy in the first relationship (usually the case), I'd end up leaving the first person for the second.
With the people I suspected were cheating on me, I'd snoop and lie about that, too. One time I even spoofed a partner's email address, knowing that the girl he was writing wouldn't notice, and I wrote to her, copying his writing style and trademark spelling errors, subtly pumping her for information. Of course, I was always right about the cheating, but that didn't excuse my own deception.
I also used to sometimes provoke people on purpose, out of some kind of sick desire for revenge if they'd hurt me. Or occasionally, just to see what it would make them do. I would feign innocence and that it was just carelessness, but my moves were designed to get under their skin. A lot of times the outcome was detrimental to
me as well as to them, but that wasn't enough to stop me. I would love to provide some examples of this, but I can't think of any outright. I just know that I don't do it anymore.
Oona used to talk to me to try to help me "grow a conscience" about these things because I grew up really weird and without a normal sense of empathy. I was kind of Aspie (though never formally diagnosed), often an outcast among peers, and IQ-smarter than a lot of people around me, even as I was EQ-deficient. It was easier for me to feel empathy for animals and even for objects (
e.g., the sad sweater that I never wear anymore) than it was humans.
I was often manipulative. Having a good intellect and learning most of my social cues by imitation and pattern recognition rather than by true understanding of what a person would do in that situation allowed me to get what I wanted passive-aggressively, sometimes with my partner never even realizing that it was my idea and not theirs. Having little true empathy allowed me to do this without even realizing that it was wrong. In this way, I was truly naïve, though far from innocent. It truly came as a shock to me the first time I realized that there were people who
didn't manipulate other people. Sounds crazy, right?
It was incredibly difficult for me ever to think of what I was doing as actively harmful if I did not have to suffer consequences for it. I was one of those classic cases of "the only regret I have was getting caught" kind of people, and I honestly didn't see the harm in doing something if I felt like I could get away with it—where "get away with it" meant "what they don't know won't hurt them."
In high school, after feeling outcast and powerless for most of childhood, I discovered that people found me quite attractive, and my newfound "power" turned me into kind of a jerk for a while. I took what I wanted when I could, and I picked people up and put them back down when it suited me. But it was also, I thought, all in the name of love, which I felt deeply, desperately, more strongly than I felt anything else.
Well, if I love TWO of them, and have no script for how to go about that ethically, then I MUST put one down to pick the other one up. (This particular thing is a problem that I have been trying to solve with poly.)
But at the same time, despite my own abuses, I was a total doormat in other ways. I'd stay with people far longer and at the hands of worse treatment than I ever should have. I tolerated their cruel words, their violence, their disregard of me. Those abusive partners? I
chose those people. And I would fall for them super fast and glom onto them super hard until the NRE wore off about two years in and I could see their toxic behaviors—and my equally toxic reactions to them—for what they were. And at that point, I would often quite cruelly just cut them off, up and leave, as soon as I had gotten myself to a good strategic exit point.
I don't know how much of this was nature and how much was nurture, but it was almost like I'd inherited the worst sides of both of my parents.
As much as I love/d my parents, both of them were terrible relationship role models.
My late father was a Jekyll-and-Hyde alcoholic, sweet and then terrifying, and self-involved to the point of pathology. He was deadly charming and objectively good-looking, so he always had a new set of human toys to play with wherever we moved. There were a great many truly wonderful things about him, but the way that he treated people was rarely one of them. He also tended to pick significantly younger people (including my mom), so that they would not challenge his treatment of them. I always knew he loved me fiercely, but I also knew that the things he loved most about me were the things that reminded him of himself; I think those were his favorite things about each of his children.
My mom, for a long time, was the world's biggest doormat. While my dad was out cheating and drinking and spending the bill money, she'd get pregnant again and again, presumably hoping that another baby would make him change his ways...even though a baby hadn't saved the person he'd been with when he cheated with HER (when she was 15 and he 24). My dad wasn't even there for my sister's birth. My mom finally only left when the gaslighting didn't work anymore and he upped the ante to physically hurting her when she'd confront him, and even then, they went back and forth trying to be together till it ended up with my mom having a breakdown and needing inpatient time.
And me? Well, for a long time, I turned out to be a mix of them both. When I was bad to people, it wasn't out of any lack of love for them. I loved intensely, both my friends and my partners, but my idea of what love was supposed to look like was warped. I was half my intensely-loving-but-self-serving father, and half my intensely-loving-and-needs-sacrificing mother. And I still drink too much sometimes.
But right around 30, something strange happened. I became, for lack of a better word,
conscious.
I think that between 28–30, I reached a tipping point.
My brain was finally finished maturing. I'd had enough conversations with Oona about "what real humans are like" that I finally hacked my way into understanding empathy. I'd just gone through the perfect storm of first having a brief relationship with someone who "puppy-dogged" me as badly as I used to do it to my own love objects, and then immediately afterward having an ongoing relationship with someone who lied compulsively (though I don't believe he was cheating), which made me realize how damaging dishonesty can be even when it isn't directly and obviously hurting anyone.
(continued...)