Living With A Man Who Hates You

The charging port on his phone is broken. Every night when he comes home and plugs in his phone to charge, there’s screaming and slamming and swearing. You cower on the other side of the house. When he calms down, you gather the courage to emerge from your room, make your way down the hallway to hug him from behind. You suggest in a soft voice that maybe it would be worth investing in a wireless charger. He scoffs and calls your idea stupid. You head back down the hallway and silently order the charger for him. Days later when it arrives, you leave it on his nightstand, where it sits for months while he continues screaming and swearing at his phone every night. Finally, he tries the new charger. He loves it. It’s the best thing ever invented. He shows it to everyone in his life, touting the wonders of this technology, never once mentioning who bought it for him.

You enjoy a few weeks of peace, of being ignored, of being just another piece of furniture in his line of sight.

Until something else breaks.

He’s trying to call his mother while he’s driving. He complains that both her first and last names start with letters near the end of the alphabet. He has to scroll for so long to get to her listing in his contacts, no matter if he sorts them by first or last names. You suggest adding her contact to his Favorites folder, so it’s easily accessible. He scoffs and calls your idea stupid, then swerves to narrowly miss the guardrail he veered toward while distracted by his phone. You silently pray for a safe trip to your destination. He never uses your suggestion to make his life easier, and continues to complain about scrolling through his contacts.

The garage door of your house has been broken for months. You remind him that you’d really like to get it fixed so you can park your car inside again. He ignores you. Your old car rusts further in the rain. You get fed up and make the appointment to fix it yourself. He screams at you about how expensive it will be. The day arrives, and the handyman spends all of ten minutes repairing the door. It costs $116. $100 for the service call fee. $10 for labor. $6 for one small part. You pay for it out of your own pocket, while he brags that he makes that in an hour and you should have had it fixed months ago if it was going to be that cheap. You stay silent.

You tell him how much his actions and words have hurt you. He stares at you and refuses to speak. You try explaining another way. He stares at you and refuses to speak. You shed the tears you’ve been holding back. He stares at you and refuses to speak. You cry so hard that you have to run into the bathroom and vomit. He stares at you and refuses to speak. You lock yourself in your room, and he ignores you for hours to go play video games in the basement. Finally, he emerges and says, “I’m sorry you feel that way.” You tell him that’s not an apology, and explain why. He stares at you and refuses to speak. A week later, he tells you that another woman explained how “I’m sorry you feel that way” isn’t an apology, and now he finally understands. You stare at him and refuse to speak.

It’s the last night you’ll spend in the same house. He’s blacked out from drinking all day. Cheap vodka he’d disguised in a water bottle so you wouldn’t notice. He’s physically threatening you, looming over you with his massive body, hitting you with hands the size of dinner plates. He’s 6’4” and 230 lbs. You’re 5’6” and 120 lbs dripping wet. He chases you down the hallway and hits you in the head with your bedroom door. The one that was already cracked from the times he’d punched it in the past. You call the police to have him removed from your home. He chases you into the backyard and locks you out of your own house. He takes your dog and drives across state lines while shit-hammered drunk. He tells you to go fuck yourself. You get a restraining order. He says he hates you and never wants to see you again.

Good.

You spent three years trying to escape the clutches of a man who could not properly hold you. Or anyone. You have never felt more broken, but you have also never felt so strong. So free, so independent, so alive. He couldn’t take that from you. He never could. Despite his best efforts to snuff out your light, you’re still here.

Good.