独家优惠奖金 100% 高达 1 BTC + 180 免费旋转

Through the eyes of an abuser.

“You’re my idol. No matter how hard things got, you never stopped fighting. Wish I can be like you”

This was the message I once received from a dear friend, and let me tell you: I’ve never felt more proud and anxious at the same time.

Deep inside, we all yearn for that pat on the back. Yet, we still feel guilty for being selfish.

So we never talk about it.

This was such a case, but what confused me initially is the burden that came with it.

At first glance: “Aww thank you” was the reply my heart echoed within, but not what I sent back.

“Please don’t” I told her.

Why? Why did I reply that way?

After the fact, spending time pondering on the conversation that followed, my conscious gave me the answer.

I was afraid.

I was afraid what this blessing could bring. What this misguided praise could eventually damage.

Being a role model is to set an example. And knowing who I was…am, I could not be such a person.

At that moment, someone declared that they like to walk in my footsteps. Or perhaps I’m thinking too much into it. But I didn’t want to take a chance.

We had a lengthy conversation, where I showed her the bigger picture.

And safe to safe she uh, she changed her mind.

Now it’s your turn, reader, to also learn the truth: who lives behind the eyes of an abuser.

First, let me expand on what it’s like to be that person.

For the most part, it can be summed up to one word: Control.

Control is essential when you talk about being abusive.

Control is the goal. Control is the tool to achieve it, and control is the reward.

From a young age, being in control has always fascinated me. Corrupting and evil as it is, it had a certain…charm.

Control meant power, influence, and same essence by different other names.

I loved to have that essence at the palm of my hand.

Of course, it starts with small innocent whisper: “I will use my power to do good”

Yeah right.

A false illusion of being the “chosen one”. The one destined to fix everything wrong.

In time, that whisper begins to change it’s tune. The more you ravel in the exquisite taste of power, the more it gains volume.

Say, have you ever walked down the street or in front of your school and felt like you owned the place?

No, not just a feeling.

I mean, deep within, you knew that you can’t be touched?

That was the ecstasy of my teenage-hood.

You might be wondering: “how did you achieve that?”

Well it’s simple: Manipulation. There are several categories, but the most effective is psychological manipulation -mental warfare- .

During middle school, I used to be bullied. Bigger guys, taking my lunch money, as it goes for most bullying stories.

So one day I sat in my room, and gave it an objective analysis.

These guys bullied me because they wanted my money, which in turn made me their “enemy”, right?

Now what if, -and this is just a thought- what if I gave them the money willingly.

And boy did it work like a charm.

Instead of abusing my welcome there, -excuse the pun- , I simply brought out a few coins and handed it over.

“I thought you guys might want to get some cigarettes. So here, my treat”

Granted they were confused, but welcomed the gift anyway.

And so it went on.

Every day for 3 weeks, I made it a routine.

From confusion, to appreciation. From tolerance to acceptance. And I became a member of their group.

However, once I made them used to it, pulling away completely would be a mistake.

A mistake I wasn’t willing to make.

Was I losing money? Sure,but I would lose it regardless. But this new deal brought me benefits too valuable to give away.

These were bullies, and I was their new sponsor.

To hurt me, was to hurt their source of income, yeah?

You’re starting to get the picture now, I can feel that sweet realization in your chest dear reader. I can feel it too.

Yet, I couldn’t just keep the same pace of lending off all of my money.

So I had to slow down the pace a bit. Instead of 6 times a week, to 4 or 3. Eventually once per week.

“Sorry man, we’re going through a hard times at home. I-I got no money right now, but you guys know that if I had some, I would gladly give it to you.”

Times were looking up in our household, god bless my hardworking mother, but spinning up a sad story got me sympathy to a group that now considers me as one of their own.

Sneaky I know, but my manipulative mind was already asking for more.

I was a new predator in the making, and the world was my hunting ground.

With these friends-for-hire in my pocket, a new seed began to flourish within me.

A new dark and persuasive tone hummed in my chest.

A guilty pleasure of sadistic nature.

I was bullied for too long, but no more.

The time has come for me to do the bullying.

Having someone bend to my will, was as easy as giving off extra money to my bullying hirelings to get what I want.

Having this sort of control was overwhelming, but also exciting.

An excitement that soon turned into an addiction.

A plague that seeped into other aspects of my life.

That’s..when it turned against me.

Well, this is my heaviest burden to bear and I have to get it off my chest.

Nowadays, me and my ex are on good terms: we chat once or twice per week, we share funny posts with one another, we talk about our projects and so on.

However, as you can imagine, it wasn’t always the case if what I’ve been saying is something to go by. It took a year of therapy or self-reflection before we began talking again after the horrible way things ended.

How did it end you might ask? Well, last conversation we had was me threatening to ruin her relation with her parents.

A blackmail of no small proportion mind you.

But worry not, I did not do it. Despite the bitter loser I was, I still loved her too much to do it.

And that’s a point I want to touch on: I loved my first ex, and I still very much do really.

A point that I easily overlooked back then, naive as I was, because it got lost in the shuffle.

Naturally, the aftermath was product of a longer turmoil that lead to it.

It also started it with an innocent idea.

“I’m older than her, more experienced and I can guide her”

At the time, this seemed like a worthy goal for my in-love younger self.

I really did want what’s best for her. I just had the wrong ideas to work with.

Initially it was just to ask her to text me every so often to tell me what she was doing.

I wanted to keep tabs on her, and told her it was because I wanted to feel like we were together at all time.

We were working with a long distance relationship. And those texts filled the gaps between us.

Of course, this wasn’t a one way thing. I too sent messages often about what I was doing to keep things seemingly balanced.

“Seemingly?” you might echo with a raised eyebrow.

Let me explain.

In time, this habit became a shackle on her movements, and my way of assuming control.

She is going to see her friends? Alright, would be a shame to make her feel jealous by telling her about a meeting that would never take place with a lady friend. Alone.

What a childish prick huh…

Psychological warfare, was something I’m proficient in, after half a decade of being a manipulative asshole.

I will spare you the detail of every mistake I made, but will give you the things I regret most.

I wanted her to gain weight, for my own inhumane reasons. In an unreasonable amount of time that traumatized her ever after.

We had a fight about it in front of our friends at one point. The disappointment I saw in their faces still gnaw at my core till this day, and worst was that of my best friend.

We were standing in the bus station, at the end of that day.

She came to hug me, and I pushed her back.

In front of everyone, on the street. She teared up but went for another hug, forcing it this time. She said she was sorry and tried to kiss me, and I pulled away. That’s when my best friend said it.

“No Houssem, come on. Not like this.” he said with the utmost disgust in his tone.

She turned to go away and went up the bus without taking a look back. Years later, I knew that THAT was the moment I broke her heart. That was when I lost the respect of the woman I loved.

It doesn’t stop there, sadly. Oh, I was fucking up and I wasn’t hitting the breaks. Believe you me.

I made her apologize for things she shouldn’t be sorry for, and went as far as punishing her as if I had any fucking right to do that.

I was so far in control at this point, that she was choosing her punishment instead of questioning why she must be punished in the first place.

I used her love for me against her.

I was drunk on power and I couldn’t stop it, not without someone to stop me. But I pushed everyone that matters away, setting myself up for what would follow.

There was a cosplay event in few months and she spent 3 years waiting the chance to wear her favorite costume to wear it there. I made her chose to either ask my forgiveness in person or not wear her costume at the event. Not to mention, if she decides neither: I’d break up with her.

I once forced her to argue with her own parents to prove her love for me was true, by pretending that I fought with mine for her.

I fed lies of favors I didn’t do for her so she would feel in debt for me, like the bullies.

It wasn’t all bad of course…I had to travel all the way to her school on Thursdays so we can have lunch together, as a sign of how much I loved her. I traveled all the way there just to spend that one hour at her side. And I did it because I DID love her too.

I was just consumed with benefits of being abusive and manipulative asshole that I was blind for all the good we had together. Beautiful moments that I was able to see clearly only after my therapy. After I had help to push away the clouds of anger off my sight. Only then I truly knew what I lost.

For all my madness, and all my rage to a world unfair… She saw past that to see someone, that I strive to this day to be. She saw someone, I wish I can look in the mirror and see.

She said I was passionate, loyal, gentle even if I was rough around the edges…She saw past the monster I was, and I made her pay for it god damn it. Fuck. Me.

What kind of person does that… Don’t answer. I’m that worthless shit…

She was my first kiss you know…

My first experience to be passionately embraced by someone that meant it. We were in cinema and I did not expect it. She wanted to surprise me, in best way possible.

How can you turn this into a bad thing?

My dude, have you been listening? When you’re someone like me, there is always a way to mess it up.

“You didn’t have my consent to kiss me. You stole my first kiss”.

I had leverage to ask something in return.

If it makes you feel any better, the better part of me stopped me from doing anything I might regret.

I wish that part of me was more prominent, because I regret a great deal of many things today. Stuff like I’m telling you about, such atrocities keep me awake at night but I digress.

I also didn’t leave our country to study abroad for her.

It was MY choice. MY call. She didn’t ask that of me but I made sure she knew it was a favor. The ultimate act of confession of love that she couldn’t top off. It was my gun to any showdown we ever had.

I was comfortable in the driver seat, blind to what I was doing to the woman I loved above all else.

“But Houssem… Love and abuse don’t add up. You can’t do both”

Yes you can.

How many people are attacked someone they love because of drugs? Because by all accounts, being abusive is an addiction. Drunk on power, senses dimmed by the euphoria of being at the top.

I…loved her. But at the time, I loved being abusive even more.

On a happier note, my second relationship went much much smoother. I learned my lesson. Hard as it was.

On an even happier note. My first ex is in a loving relation with someone that cares for her. It breaks my heart but I have to accept it. If I want to be a better person, I have to respect it.

Yes, add that to my resume.

I wasn’t someone just drunk on power.

No I made sure no one could take the bottle away from me either.

Jealousy can be a healthy emotion, when temperate with restraint and trust.

Trust and restraint, are something I sorely lacked as you would have long noted by now.

If I claimed something, it means no one. And I mean, NO ONE, gets to touch it.

Something also included ‘someone’ because people are apparently objects.

I shouted at my first ex if she spoke to any male friend. I argued with best friend for taking pictures with someone other than me. I cut off people because they hanged out with someone else.

I once cut of my cousin that was my 7 years best friend for 2 years because he told me he would come visit but he didn’t. Granted, he made a mistake but my reaction was even worse.

He promised to come visit me, and I even paid for his trip to my house. Well, it wasn’t a lot of money, but like a taxi fare. But he instead called me when time came, claiming he had a test he had to prepare for.

I was disappointed. I wanted to spend time with my brother from another mother, and bloodkin but he I understand. Studies come first, no question about it.

But what hurt me the most, is when a friend told me he saw him afterwards in a gaming shop.

He spent the money I gave him to visit me, playing arcade games with his classmates.

Nowadays, I’ll be disappointed but understand that he wanted to spend time with his friends. Having more connections is valuable too.

But back then, oh my heavens. I shit you not, I straight up sent him a message telling him that he should never, ever talk to me again.

He came to my house the next day, but I didn’t open, nor respond. And for all the attempts that followed during the next two years, that didn’t change.

Even during a religious festival, his family came to visit us and I greeted everyone except him. Our families watched us in sadness, and even had my mother come to my side and told me to say hi.

Everyone stared at me, but the cold heart I possessed didn’t flinch back then. I didn’t feel guilt nor ashamed by having that kind of spotlight on me.

Instead I replied:

“Why? He can just go greet his friends at the game shop. They will certainly have his back, like I once did.”

And stormed off.

I know I know, you need to hear a bit more cheerful news. We reconciled afterwards. Well, several months after the incident, but we got back to being friends.

Thought things never got back to being the same.

He betrayed me, and I betrayed him. That’s a black stain that always muddied even our most cherished hugs since. Yet we hugged still. So there is that.

This is less severe than the relationship ‘me’ because it’s less condemning.

A friend is a broad concept, unlike a love partner, where boundaries of how much you care aren’t always well defined.

I knew that, and I make sure to use it. If I get caught abusing a friend, I could always say that I didn’t REALLY consider them as much of a friend than a nodding-acquaintance.

I mean to some extent , the bullies can classified as my friends too. Perhaps to them, I was a friend, but I always considered them as paid thugs.

Nothing more, nothing less. And if you ask me, that’s more than they deserve.

That might makes me sound like a hypocrite, which I’m, but an honest one.

Bullying is not okay. I simply lack the morality to abhor ‘befriending’ them if it meant I keep myself safe.

Don’t be like them, don’t be like me.

Through the years, friends fell into my realm of oppression too. And that isn’t something I’m proud of either.

I will spare you the knowledge of what I did there, but could tell you how it was done.

One of the perks to having a friend, is knowing their strengths and their weaknesses.

A good friend, amplifies those strengths and cover those weaknesses or at best help fix them.

An abusive friend, which is apropos, is someone who downplays those traits and use insecurities as blackmail.

Knowing someone’s weak spot is main ingredient to bringing them into submission: Say the right (wrong on the victim’s side) thing , mention the right something or someone at the right time and you get leverage.

Does your friend have a problem with the mention of their ex? Do they have insecurity about how their nose look?

Would be a shame to bring those up in an argument where you feel like losing. Wink-wink nudge-nudge…

That’s low right? Well, in the eyes of an abuser, a victory is a victory.

I did stab people in the back, used blackmail, ruined lives and laid waste to someone’s reputation among other horrible stuff.

And it all started with a simple innocent idea: I do it to protect myself. To have the knowledge to fend off others so I wouldn’t be the victim.

There is this motto that I heard a long ago and it was an instant staple to my attitude.

“I became the criminal so I wouldn’t be the victim”

And similarly:

“When it comes to down it, during a hunt; I want to be the wolf instead of the sheep”

The world can be a scary place, but its neither black or white. Its mostly a broad shade of grey.

That’s the part I missed, for I either saw someone as a fellow wolf and kept my distance until I knew I can strike. Or a sheep, and that’s always an easy meal.

I simply forgot that friends are just people, and mixed metaphor with reality.

Boy did I wolf down a lot of mistakes. Mistakes turned into a foul bile within.

All those fires I started in my past, eventually caught up to me.

And it all started from a single sentence.

“ I can’t continue this relationship”

I mean, as you may expect it was a long, long message that she sent. But little mattered more than sentence.

It was all I could see back then.

It’s what I see at night when I close my eyes now.

Like any victim of abuse should do, my first ex had enough and decided she didn’t want to put up with me.

And so the year and 8 months relationship where I learned to love ended.

You might raise an eyebrow to that statement, but as I explained, it wasn’t all bad otherwise she would have left long before that.

There was the person she loved and knew he loved her, beneath all of that dirt and thorns she had to go through.

She had to dig deep, had the strength to power through my darkest veil and reach me. And she touched my heart.

How could she not? She told me: “I love you for who you are, not for what you are missing” when I confessed that I was missing a testicle. I questioned my manhood back then, but she had the balls to show me otherwise. Pun intended.

She taught me how to show love and compassion when no one else could, or would.

So when this person, that in time, became the center of my world decided to leave. It all went crashing down. And who can blame her?

Being the center of my world wasn’t a compliment, when that world is set on fire and the only good you find is what you scavenge.

People had to ask questions, and she did what was best.

She exposed me for the abusive jackass I was.

All the more reason I was on fire to get revenge, and why I even went as far as the blackmail to the parents. I wanted to shut her up.

Huge mistake. Don’t ask a lady to shut up, friends. Its dumb as hell.

So from one to another, the word traveled fast.

And there I was. Sitting at the center of sea of faces that shunned me. At the center of an angry mob of those I wronged, finally getting their chance to pay me back.

I was weak, and I that’s when I realized something.

I was right. Given the chance, people will always get their revenge. During the hunt, when I became the sheep, the enjoyed being the wolves.

I’m not blaming them either, but I’m just saying that there was a silver lining to my downfall.

In my fall, I had to look deep within. To find answers, and all I found is the dark abyss that was my broken and scorched heart.

Holding no answer but showing me more of the angry stares people gave me. Amplifying the whispers I heard behind my back.

I was trapped inside my own mind, and the abusing beast found no victim in reach.

And so the abuser became the abused. I became the demon that tormented my own soul.

Where suicide, that I failed to perform, would have failed, a therapist found success in giving me peace.

I spent two years of anger management classes, as well as visiting coaches and more therapists to get a grip. My life was still falling apart, but I managed to get a hold of what remains.

And rebuild I did.

You might be waiting for a happy ending for my story, perhaps a romantic road to redemption but I’m sorry to disappoint. Again.

Doesn’t matter what you do: Once painted as an abuser, will always be looked at as an abuser.

Being a victim and an abuser, I walked in both shoes. And let me tell you: Victims have it easier getting back to community than an abuser. At least in my own experience.

When you are the victim, people take sympathy on you and welcome you in warm arms. When you are the abuser, people will be weary of trusting you. I’d know.

People care little if I’m abusive as I used to be or if I changed, they simply know that I did it once. So I can do it again. That’s why many rejected me as friend or otherwise.

And you want to know another hard truth? They are right.

I’m not here asking for sympathy for the world being unfair, because I’m sowing what I planted. And also beyond seeking approval.

My redemption is a personal quest that I must achieve on my own, and most importantly; it’s me proving to myself that I can be different.

And that’s where you can make your stance. I fully understand that some people aren’t able to accept that I can be the worst if I chose to be.

But this is who I am.

This is who lives behind the eyes of an abuser.

Thank you for reading this far. This was my hardest blog to write, because regret is stronger than gratitude. I’m not saying I’m past who I was, or no longer the person I used to be, but I grew up to strive to be better. I try my very best everyday to do better, but sometimes it becomes too hard. That’s when I relapse into old old habits and the abuser in me resurfaces. Please clap and share with your friends if you liked this, it would mean a lot to me.

If there is a good way to end this on is this:
If you are an abuser, it’s never too late to try to be better. I can’t promise you will succeed 100% but the importance is to try. I know that you are afraid that your “sorry” may not be enough and that makes you feel that it would be a waste of time, but don’t be. Their forgiveness is the first step, as in time forgiving yourself is the ultimate challenge. I would know.

If you are a victim of abuse, know that we -the abusers- will get our dues. Regret is the strongest reminder that no one can ignore. We know that we did wrong by you. We know that we are the worst. But I hope that you accept my apologize , and on behalf those who still can’t find the courage to say so: we hope that we can rebuild what was lost.

Add a comment

What is your view?

Send

Related posts:

Old Barn Standing Guard

Old barn standing in a field,. “Old Barn Standing Guard” is published by Chris Hedges in American Haiku.