Love Will Tear Us Apart

When routine bites hard,
And ambitions are low,
And resentment rides high,
But emotions won't grow,
And we're changing our ways, taking different roads.

Then love, love will tear us apart again.
Love, love will tear us apart again.

Why is the bedroom so cold?
You've turned away on your side.
Is my timing that flawed?
Our respect runs so dry.
Yet there's still this appeal
That we've kept through our lives.

But love, love will tear us apart again.
Love, love will tear us apart again.

You cry out in your sleep,
All my failings exposed.
And there's a taste in my mouth,
As desperation takes hold.
Just that something so good just can't function no more.

But love, love will tear us apart again.

Happier Times

Dem once asked to make him a compilation of songs about us. I don't know why I included Joy Division's Love Will Tear Us Apart, but it seemed to fit. That was one song that was often set on repeat, and Dem remarked that it was definitely "our song". It had always been one of my favorite songs long before I'd met Dem. There was just something so haunting about Ian Curtis's voice that appealed to me. Sad really, and at times, I'd shed a few tears.But Dem was right. It was definitely our song, and it best describes the torment throughout the tumultuous relationship. I thought I was happy because that's what I was led to believe. He repeatedly stated:

• "I'm giving you a healthy relationship." 
• "I'm in it for the long run" 
• "I'm not going anywhere." 
• "You are what I've been looking for. I don't need to find anyone else. I'm done looking." 

 He knew what I wanted in life and what I wanted to hear. He made promises of marriage and children. He talked about the day he will propose marriage. Our wedding reception would be at Verdi where we first met. We thought about names for our future children and how we would raise them.Dem even sat my parents down and expressed his undying love for me."I love your daughter. And I'm here to tell you that I'm in this for the long run. I know what she's been through, and I promised her that I'll protect her. I will protect her."Through her tears, my mother told him never to hurt me. Don't try to control me and do not keep me from dancing because that was my outlet. My mother trusted him. I trusted him. We were Demian y Noemí por vida. I truly believed that Dem loved me, but his behavior and candor spoke loudly, and I was too blinded, too deafened by love to see and hear it.

Showing his true colors

I know my PTSD wasn't easy for him to deal with. There would be triggers that often set off an episode whether it was an anxiety attack or severe depression. Either way, he was never supportive. He kept telling me that he was there, and I had to get over it. Instead of helping me through it, he blamed me for it. Whatever didn't go right, he'd bluntly say, "it's your fault."

He was verbally abusive, and he uttered many hurtful words; something he was aware of but faulted everyone else for being too sensitive. The look in his eyes was pure evil. The alcohol made it worse. He was confrontational and always on edge. He was worse when driving. It wasn't his driving, but his attitude behind the wheel. Everything was a rant, and I just sat quietly. I finally told him that there was no use getting bent out of shape. Just let it go. That seemed to anger him more. If I said something he disapproved of, he'd gripe on it. I'd tell him to drop it and let it go, but he wouldn't. "It's not about YOU! It's about US" He was half right. It wasn't about me, but it wasn't about us either. It was about him. When spending the day in Marin County, I told him that we should consider moving there. He said no because he would be too far away from his family who live on the peninsula. I looked up at him with tears, "And where is my family? I have to get on a plane to visit them."

Emotionally, Dem was abusive. Everything was a choice. If I wanted to go dancing, that meant I had no time for him. If I flew south to spend the weekend with my family, he'd proclaim that I was leaving him. I'd DJ on Sundays and he'd complain about how that was keeping us from relaxing together, so I quit. I had to check-in with him whenever I wanted to do anything related to dance. He forbade me from teaching a dance class with another gentleman whom I had no interest in, yet of whom he was intensely jealous. At shows, I asked him to dance with me. He refused. He was very insecure about his dancing. I was far too advanced for him, but that didn't matter to me. I only wanted to dance with him and be in his arms; the dance need not be perfect. He still declined. So I did the next best thing. I danced with others.  He commented, "I see how happy you are when you're dancing. I wish you were happy like that with me." I insisted that I was very happy with him. I just wish he'd dance with me, too. He finally stated, "It bothers me to see you dancing with other guys." He met me dancing! He knew what it meant for me to dance and that it was part of my therapy. It seemed as though he tried to subvert that so that I could be completely dependent on him.

Ultimately my contact with my family was limited and I rarely saw my friends because he didn't want them involved in our relationship. It wasn't their business and whatever issues we had, we had to work on it with each other. It was never okay for me to discuss our problems with my family, yet he often spoke with his enabling, meddling sister about them. I rarely danced. I gained over 30 lbs because he claimed to hate skinny girls. He would sit across the table from me telling me to eat more even though he knew I had an eating disorder; he'd get angry with me when I purged. In bed, he would grab the parts of my body that I hated most (my flabby arms, the flab of my inner thighs). He claimed that it was his favorite parts to hold on to and that I shouldn't try to lose them.

The most emotionally painful experience for me came when he asked me to BART to San Bruno since he wanted to shop along the peninsula. I kept him updated on my ETA. When I finally arrived, he was nowhere to be seen. I waited 45 minutes for him in the cold night. I thought to myself that my father would NEVER do this to my mother. He would never keep her waiting let alone waiting in the cold. I was more hurt than angry when he finally arrived. It wasn't very difficult to keep from crying. I was more focused on thawing out.

The abuse extended to our bed.  He put my health at risk. When he had an outbreak, he still wanted intimacy even though he promised he wouldn't touch me. Even with a condom, I was too scared to enjoy it. He didn't respect that boundary. When it cleared the next day, he performed without one. When he drank, it was too rough. My PTSD stems from a sexual assault, and sometimes I had an episode during our intimate moments when he was under the influence. After his long night of drinking and a reckless drive home, he asked if I wanted him to quit. I said yes. "I don't think I can do that." I went to bed in tears because at that moment I realized he preferred his alcohol over me. When he got into bed, I turned away from him. As I was drifting off to sleep, I felt him grab for me, and then he raped me. He has no memory of the event, but he remembers the pain on my face, my eyes glistening with tears when he awoke the next morning.

He requested some time apart which lasted less than 2 weeks.  We reconciled, but as we made love, I started crying. I couldn't even look at him. He gently lifted my chin asking me to look at him. Each time, I looked up, I'd shift my gaze, and he again lifted my chin, and I turned away. It took him about 5 attempts before I finally locked eyes with him and he kissed me.  Thereafter, our time together was a routine. He'd come home, we'd go to a bar for his alcohol consumption, we'd return home, have sex, fall asleep and start over the next day. As he drank, he noticed my gaze and asked, "you're afraid aren't you?" I didn't have to answer him. My expression confirmed that I was. Every dinner always ended with me in tears. My feelings for him were conflicted. My dad told me to dump him, but I just couldn't.

I asked if we could go through some kind of therapy together just to make our relationship stronger and maybe help understand each other. He shook his head. He held up his beer and said, "this is my therapy." That red flag had always been waving. My dad noticed it the night he met Dem and commented that he drank too much. And he did. The more he drank, the meaner he got. The more combative and the more confrontational. And the more careless decisions he made including driving intoxicated with little regard for anyone else's life inside his car including mine. Including his own son. Is it terrible of me to pray that he one day gets pulled over for a DUI? That will probably be the only way he'll turn his life around.

Portrait of an abused spouse

Upon final realization that his preference was for his alcohol, I questioned if I even really loved him. There was no growth. We were stalled and we were crumbling. Finally, he ended our relationship. He didn't even have the courage to do so in person. It was over the phone while I was visiting my family out of town. He claimed to still love me and wanted to see me. For what other purpose but to make the break-up official in his mind, I guess. How could he break up with someone and claim to still love that person? It just didn't make sense to me. I took all the gifts he gave me, all his personal belongings he kept at my place and put it in a box. I drove to his house and placed the box on his doorstep and walked away. I found it fitting as he had always complained about his previous girlfriend keeping an expensive gift and never using it. I didn't want to give him a similar complaint about me.

After some time, I figured my actions were a bit harsh, and I tried to apologize for it. When I talked to him, he was a completely different person. He had so much anger and his voice was filled with pure evil. I knew it was over. Or so I thought.

I received several harassing emails. One of them was a threat. They were anonymous, but Dem's mistake was revealing facts that only he knew; I never told anyone my address. My family didn't even know my street address. Everyone had my p.o. box address. I had no visitors except for him and my parents. He was the only person who stayed at my place.

I changed my phone number. I changed my email. I moved to a new residence. I traded my vehicle for another. I cut off my long hair, stripped my natural black color and became a redhead. It was a bit of an "eff you" to him since he loved my hair. "I hate blonds!" He proclaimed. "I like dark hair." I asked my friends to be on the look out for me should he show up to Verdi; although, I had already told him to stay away.

But I didn't escape from him completely. He contacted one of my relatives on the East Coast. He even contacted my employer. I eventually resigned my position. Foolishly, he tried to have me served with a restraining order. He never did find me, but through happenstance, I learned about the hearing date. I showed up at the hearing with a lawyer, my parents and a mountain of documented evidence to refute his claims, including police reports I filed against him. I also slapped him with a TRO. He had no choice but to drop his claim. He knew he had no case. It was just another way for him to exert control over me.

Dem kept me from seeing my friends. He'd make me feel guilty for talking with my parents on the phone. Whenever my mother called, she'd ask if Dem was there and if she were interrupting. He kept me from dancing. He sat next to me at my computer watching me delete old pictures of an ex at his insistence. (An ex who, to this day, I remain friends with...and he's gay.) He chose who would style my hair. He insisted that I close my phone account and join his (I didn't). He controlled my weight. He demanded that I not speak to one of his sisters (whom I remain friends with today) and when he learned that we met for coffee, he'd grill me for it. I had to check-in with him, though he claimed it was just courtesy for him so that he knew I was safe (doubtful). Before intimacy, he'd remark that he would get me pregnant. He'd lay next to me and put his hand over my stomach commenting that it would get bigger and bigger with his child. That was one promise he kept.

Two weeks following our break-up, I went to the campus clinic; 1. to get screened for the STD he has (I'm negative) and 2. because of a painful cramping and excessive menstrual bleeding I was experiencing. It wasn't a period, I was informed; it was a miscarriage. I was about 5-6 weeks along, but I hadn't known. (I'm sorry I hadn't shared that with you, mom. But it was just too painful to share at that time. It still hurts.) As much as I yearn to be a mother, I accept that it was a blessing in disguise. Dem would've been in total control of my life.

And that's what the whole relationship was for him. Dem needed complete control because he had none in his life. He's from a broken home, still lives with his abusive mother, has several failed past relationships, an STD, lost seniority at his job, and uneducated. He had no control of his own life that he had to control another. And control me he did to the nth degree. I do take some of the blame because I allowed it to continue for as long as it did. I genuinely believed his claim that he was providing a healthy relationship, and it was my naivety that kept me from seeing the real truth; that he is a failed person, and he resented me for having a strong foundation that my family provided.

As I reflect on this, I know the break-up is Dem's loss and my gain. It has been over a year since the break-up, but I never spoke about it in such depth until now. I never allowed myself to mourn it. I focused on rebuilding my life. I found a teaching position that I enjoy very much. I'm dancing again much to my delight. I'm doing well in graduate school, and I'm losing the weight I gained with him. I'm enjoying life more. I'm in therapy to help me move on from this experience. It's helping. And writing this is part of that healing process. Is it fair to him? I don't know but I could care less. He dragged my name through the mud; I've been smeared far worse before him. I have nothing to hide anymore. If anything, I'm doing a service to others who may be in a similar experience who are trying to heal. Dem may be proud and say he's never laid a hand on me, but his voice, his words, and his penis were his weapons that inflicted pain. All of his actions were under the guise of love. Love, indeed, tore us apart.

I've since learned Dem has a new relationship with a much younger, obese girl who clearly is a psychopath and has a personal vendetta against me.  I guess people of psychotic like minds eventually will draw together. At least I know that it wasn't me. It was him. He has a pattern and the cycle continues; one from which I broke free.

The only thing I'm missing in my life is a relationship, but it hasn't been something I've actively pursued. In fact, I've run away from it. Dem had done so much damage that I'm afraid to be hurt again. And because I have delayed dealing with it, I've denied myself happiness with another man. There have been opportunities to date other men, but I rejected them because I just don't trust anyone, yet. I'm only learning to trust now. I had been celibate until recently when a person who I hadn't seen in nearly 20 years popped back into my life. He was always a friend then and a friend now. I don't know why I let it become intimate with him when I had rejected others. Perhaps because I knew him long ago, perhaps he felt sorry for me even though there was nothing to be sorry for. It happened for a reason; to help me move on. We're still good friends, and, surprisingly, he has been helping me get past it and moving forward (albeit in typical guy fashion...not sugarcoated at all). Thank you, Cris. for reminding me that I am a strong person. I don't know where the strength comes from, but I always seem to manage finding it.

Of course it helps having my parents, relatives, friends who have continued to support me through this who remind me everyday that I am strong. To you all, I humbly give my thanks.

demian griffitts