He'll Never Apologize!

I have been wondering lately if I’ve been waiting for my abuser to apologize to me.  I have to consider that maybe this lack of closure is the reason why I still get so upset when I relive those moments.  I notice that I have been very careful not to name him.  I have to acknowledge that there is still an element of fear there.  I am not sure why I’m afraid.  I guess since he has never said out loud, “Funmi, I’m sorry that I stole your self-esteem and beat you repeatedly on numerous occasions”, that he simply still believes he did nothing wrong and that I asked for it. 

He was always a cheater.  He cheated on me with other women throughout our relationship.  I believed, every time, that he’d change.  Even when the girls told me that he didn’t want me and that he’d told them that I didn’t matter to him, I still took him back.  For the life of me I wish I had the same mental strength then as I do now.  I would love to back and either knock his brain out or walk out on him and never return.  He never would have expected either of those to happen.  I realize now that he had lost all respect for me as a woman when I took him back after the first time he punched me to the ground.  One he brought his girlfriend to our apartment and in front of her, asked his brother to tell me which one of us he wanted; to which his brother said, “You said you didn’t want Funmi anymore.”  By the time that happened, he saw me as worthless, I guess.  He didn’t care if he hurt me or not.  I cried and cried.  I tried to take enough sleeping pills to die that night.  He returned without the girl and I took him back.

Who could love someone who didn’t love herself enough to demand better treatment?

Or maybe it was the time when he called me 15 minutes before it was time to pick him up from work and told me that he had a ride.  Intuition told me to go anyway.  I did.  I saw him get into the car with another girl, in the driver’s side.  I followed him.  I tried to run them off the road.  He turned off and I went ahead to his house.  I got there before he did; his roommate let me in.  I sat there, pitiful, in tears.  He walked in, shoved me into the wall. He kicked me in my pregnant stomach while his roommate sat two doors down in his room listening to me beg for help.

When he got winded from throwing punches and kicks, he told me to leave.  I refused.  I have no idea what kept me there.  Was I afraid that if I left he wouldn’t love me?  He didn’t love me anyway.  Was I ashamed; too ashamed to face the other side of the door?  Did I expect him to beg for forgiveness?  What was I waiting for?  I could not pick myself up from the floor, in the corner, where he left me.  I couldn’t even bring myself to say any words.

He called my brother and told him to, “come get yo sister before I do something to her.”  I was so ashamed of myself.  What would my brother do?  What would he think of me?  I thought, “Should I just go before he gets here?”  I didn’t.  I have no idea how he got there so fast, but it seems like within minutes my brother was busting through the door.  His eyes were filled with despair and disappointment.  He said no words.  He picked his baby sister up off the floor and he carried me to my car.  His only words to me were, “Go home.”  To this day, he has never said another word to me about it.  I believe, now, that the shame from this one incident has kept me from being able to even look my brother in the eye to this day.  I’ve often wondered why things were so tense between us.  Why I never felt exactly comfortable around him.  Since he never said anything, I never knew how he felt about me after that.  So, I’ve been ashamed for nearly 20 years.  I’ve been embarrassed.

I never got a sorry from my abuser for ruining my relationship with my big brother!

When I think of all the pain, the hurt and the sadness I have experienced just because I was in love with a man who was unhappy with his own life, it makes my soul ache.  I have loathed his mere existence for years.  I have been fighting to get back to some small form of pride.  It has taken and continues to take years to process the damage just being with him has done to me.  Why can’t he now, years later, even bring himself to ask for forgiveness?  Even more importantly, when will I stop needing and expecting it?  I guess I feel like if he said he had learned from it or regrets how he treated me, I could let go of the anger.  His disregard of it, acting like it never happened, is another level of hurt for me to get pass. 

Years later, I still cry when I think of this abuse.  I’m not sure if I cry because I’m angry, hurt, or ashamed.  Each time I revisit these violent episodes, I get stronger, but I hurt all over again.  I have learned that you have to go through the storm to get to the blue sky.  Now, I can forgive myself for staying.  One day, I will forgive him for hurting me and breaking my spirit.  Most importantly though, I have to face my big brother and thank him for coming for me that horrible day.  Then, I suppose, the only thing left to do will be to stop hoping for an apology.  It won’t happen and I don’t need it!