The Moment I Froze Free

I used to be the person who always asked, "Why won’t she just leave?" or said, "I would leave immediately if I were her." I never meant any harm or judgement with it. Those were genuine thoughts and questions because I sincerely believed it was that easy.

Now, thinking back on it—being in the place I am and having gone through what I did, it shows how out of touch and, honestly, privileged I was. Having lived my life until then without ever experiencing abuse or knowing anyone who has been in an abusive relationship... In an ideal world, that should be the norm. That should be everyone’s normal. But alas, it is not.

I’m not quite sure if ‘lucky’ is the appropriate word here, but in the absence of a better one, let’s use that. At times, I do consider myself lucky for not having experienced physical abuse. There are still days when I find myself thinking: was it actually even abuse, or am I being overly dramatic? He never physically laid his hands on me. But four years with a narcissist took a heavy toll on me, leaving me with emotional scars I never could have imagined.

Slowly, but surely he wore me down. He stripped me of every ounce of the confidence and self-worth I had ever had. He made me doubt myself at every step, twisting reality and making me feel like I was worth nothing. And he always made sure I knew that the crumbs of self-worth I had were thanks to him—and only him—and his "generosity" in "allowing" me to be with him. Because "no one else would ever want someone like me."

Insults were a daily routine and they were always written off as jokes by him. He blamed me for ruining his day whenever I had the audacity to react to his insults or "jokes". He’d constantly play the victim, again blaming me for "being like everyone else," and not understanding his so-called sense of humor.

At one point, he was able to twist things so much that I actually began to believe I was the abuser. He managed to make me think I was expecting the impossible from a relationship. You know, the bar was set unbelieveably high – I wanted him not to insult me to my face, not lie to me and not control me.

Lying was his nature. He lied at every step, as it turned out—about everything and anything. Isolating me from my friends and rarely allowing me to see my girlfriends alone. Male friends, and at some point even male co-workers, were out of the question. There was no excuse for me to even talk to a man I wasn't related to. The only possible reason being—I'm cheating on him. Once, when I changed jobs and started working in an all-female collective, I thought that problem was over. Nope. After a couple of months, he was convinced I was now a lesbian and clearly cheating on him with women - all because I got along well with my coworkers. And for some reason –I wonder why – I wasn’t interested in any kind of intimacy with him.

Any time I wanted to go out with my friends, he insisted on coming along to monitor every word I said to them. He, himself, went to see his friends for days at a time. I, of course, was never invited to go along and had no right to question that. Who was I to forbid him from relaxing and enjoying his life!?

And all the promises... There were so many promises! And the fights, if I dared to ask about any of them. And did you know, you have to give them credit for not getting you flowers? The "I was thinking of getting you flowers," has to be enough for you! His highness took time out of his day to think about you for six seconds. Appreciate it, you ungrateful b**ch!

Okay, breathe – in and out.

As you can see, I’m getting heated again – just like I do every time I talk about this. I have four years' worth of material on this topic, so I really have to stop myself here or I’ll meet the word limit before I get to my point. But, you get the idea.

I have always been, and I guess I still am, the kind of person who wants to talk things out. It’s hard for me to just walk away after an argument. I understand some people need time to think and cool down, and that’s completely fine. Just—I’m not that person. And he knew that perfectly well. He also knew exactly how to use that. He loved to see me begging to talk to him, to resolve the issue. After some time he got to play the bigger person and "forgive me." That was the pattern. And when I didn’t go to him wanting a solution, he came to me, irritated, blaming me for not caring about him and our relationship. And apparently this was always why we had issues—because I don’t care and only think about myself. Classic.

By the end of the fourth year, there was nothing left of me - just a faint shadow of the person I once was. Countless times I wanted to leave, but he always somehow changed my mind. Guilt—when he threatened to injure himself; a momentary show of love, which made the abused brain forget everything else; fake sadness—a sob story of how everyone leaves him and I’m just like the rest. You name it. My will was crushed and my brain had become a useless pile of mush. I was never going to end it. Don’t get me wrong – I wanted to, but I didn’t even feel like a human anymore, let alone the person I had been before him. I was a ghost, barely existing.

It happened in the brief moment after yet another fight—me in one room, crying, and him, in another, playing video games. The classic formula would have had me waiting 10-15 minutes, then go apologize for reacting to his insults, take the blame for things I never did and beg for forgiveness. But that didn't happen.

This time, something was different. I don’t know how else to describe it, but whatever was left of my brain, froze. It turned off. Stopped working. I was now acting on instinct alone. Almost like a doll that someone was playing with - I was being moved by an unseen force. It was a completely out-of-body experience where I was watching myself from the sidelines. The memory of that moment is crystal clear, but I see it from the outside - as an observer. Call it a gut feeling, survival instinct, higher self, or perhaps even the universe – whatever it was, I am eternally grateful for it. It saved my life. In those ten minutes, I got dressed and packed my bag. My heart was racing, but every movement was decisive and didn't have a smidge of doubt in it. I was drawn to go see my parents, who lived far out of town. I didn't know why now or why at all - I just felt an overpowering need to go. "Need" doesn't even convey the feeling I had. I didn't have a choice. It was a soul-deep demand.

I just said, "I’m going to my parents' house," and left. He looked at me, so I knew he heard me, but he didn’t react in any way. I think he didn’t take me seriously—he knew it wasn’t like me to just walk away. He'd made sure I always crawled back to talk things out. That’s why he didn’t stop me or come after me. About an hour later, he called, asking where I was, and why I wasn’t at home, and if I didn't care about him, and the usual yadayadayada. I calmly said I was on a bus and on my way to see my parents. From his reaction, I knew he didn’t expect me to actually leave. I said I’d be back in a couple of days and ended the call.

On one of those days I spent at my childhood home, my mum invited me to some event at a local community center in the next village over. Long story short – I went, sat in a chair, watched some people perform, clapped and put on my best smile whenever someone happened to look my way. I was ready to go home, but it turned out that day happened to be International Dance Day. Now, mind you – before I met the narc, I loved dancing. Dancing had been my hobby for years, but no more. I don’t think I need to explain any further. Some local musician was singing and playing an instrument, and people were dancing. My parents were dancing. And I – I was sitting there, holding back tears and screams. That’s what I want! I remember myself thinking. I want someone who'll take me dancing. I want someone I can have fun with and waltz with in badly lit community centre auditorium. And at the same time, I knew that was never going to happen.

My thoughts were cut off by a man who seemed to have appeared out of nowhere. He slightly bowed in front of me, one hand behind his back, the other outstretched toward me. "May I have this dance, please?"

I remember the shock that went through my body at that moment. I didn’t know people still did that – asked for a dance like this. That only happened in old movies. Or Bridgerton. And I was in neither of those. For a split second, I thought my mind had finally snapped and that I was now imagining things. I wasn’t.

I took his hand and we danced. We danced two dances. And I felt life coming back into me. I felt as if the world got its colours back and I could breathe again. I felt like I had been holding my breath for the last four years, and now I got to take a lungful of fresh, crisp mountain air after having been deprived of any oxygen for so long. My boots were restricting me, grounding me. I ran back where I had been sitting before, threw my boots under the chair and hurried back to the dancefloor. And we danced until the very last song. Until the auditorium was nearly empty.

That was the moment I met the love of my life.

After a few days, I went back home, and the relationship with the narc ended soon after. I moved out, and there wasn’t anything he could have done to stop me.

That moment when my brain turned off and my body took over was the moment that made everything I have now possible. Perhaps it was the universe, knowing I was supposed to meet my other half in a couple of days, and seeing that my brain could not be depended on at that point, it just took over until I was ready to regain control again. Now, I am sure that the irresistable, undeniable, overpowering urge to go to my childhood home that came out of nowhere was fate. Since that day, I have never questioned my gut feeling again. If something feels right, no matter how absurd or nonsensical it might sound, I do it. If something feels off, even without any apparent reason, I listen to the sensation in my body. I may not see an instant result or a big change right away, but I trust it. The flowers I recieve, just beacuse; the countless times I've waltzed in the living room on a random Tuesday; the compliments I get out of nowhere and the love I feel in his every word and action - they've all proven it a thousand times over.