A safe haven in my shower

I couldn't believe what I was seeing.

This could not be my life. How could I be dating a drug addict?

I was so lost in that realization that it took me a second to realize we made eye contact with one another, but as soon as I did, I ran into the bathroom and climbed in the tub, completely clothed. I didn't know it then, but this was going to be part of a sick and dangerous routine.

I wrapped my arms around my legs and fell apart.

Why couldn't he stop? What is so wrong with me? I've asked him not to lie to me. I told him that I wouldn't judge if he felt like he wanted to use, but here he was, buying drugs.

Hot tears burned my eyes as they streaked down my cheeks. I covered my mouth, biting my fingers as I held back the sobs. If he heard me, it could be bad. I couldn't let him hear it. In the past, he yelled at me more when I cried, so I tried to stifle any noise that attempted to escape. Unfortunately, I was unsuccessful. One rogue sob made a run for it and before I knew it, my head was pointed up toward a crack in the ceiling tile and I was wailing heavily. My whole body shook. I hurt so badly.

I pulled my legs in closer and tucked my head in my lap as I heard the front door flip open. A paralyzing fear of how he'd react quickly silence me as I folded my body into a tiny ball. As the bathroom door inched open, I held my breath. My nose was running and tears were spurting now from my eyes. He climbed in the tub behind me and wrapped himself around me. I shook and started to wail all over again.

He was high. I don't know what he used, but he was numb. We sat there, just rocking in the tub, in silence.

If I close my eyes, I can still feel how worthless I felt. This next part is still insanely hard to admit.

The next day I APOLOGIZED to HIM. I told him how sorry I was that he didn't feel like he could come to me and suggested that he go to detox again. And this became the routine.

He'd go, come back "clean" and I would catch him all over again. Each time it occurred, it escalated. He got progressively more and more aggressive.

By the third time, I started locking the door to the bathroom. I'm not sure if it was the best idea, but at the time, I felt like I was safe ... kind of. The third time he started punching walls and breaking other things until I came out. At that point, I was still worried about "things," so I complied to get whatever punishment I was due since clearly I was the one who "made him like that." At least that's what he told me.

Punishment would begin with him telling me how I cry too much and need to stop being a nag because I was the one making him like that. He'd get forceful and grab my face in his hands as he said it, under the guise of being romantic. It's still hard to explain how it all happened. He'd go in to kiss my ear, then yell as loud as he possibly could at me, in my ear. If I would try to pull away, he'd yell again and tell me that he just wanted to apologize or tell me he loved me. Then he'd bite ... and violently grope different parts of my body. I was petrified.

Taking that in, it's easy to ask why I didn't just run out screaming? There's a number of reasons I had at the time - fear of losing my things, the death of another relationship and more - but more than anything, I was afraid of him. If it was this bad with him, what would it be like if I was to try and be without him?

I was afraid of what he'd do to me, to himself and to other people in our life. So, I just kept giving more of myself and hoping it would be enough.

The fourth time, I locked myself in the bathroom, and he stopped beating on other walls and focused his energy on the door. I had the water going this time, so he couldn't hear me cry. He kicked and punched the door, breaking the door open. I stood beside the narrow path between the tub and wall, shaking. There was no way out. I ripped off my clothes as fast as I could and hopped in the shower. If I was in the shower, the most he could do was yell at me for starting to shower without him, right?