~*Message in a Bottle~*. How an ignored text ended up saving my life
It took all the courage I could muster up, but I finally swallowed my pride and sent my friend (at the time) a text...
Violent. That was the right word, right? It says enough, but not too much. There was no need to feel ashamed to admit that another person, and not myself, was being violent. It was proactive. It was assertive. It was discreet... enough.
I had finally said something. I had told someone what was going on. I felt confident that this was the first step towards making it go away.
I didn't hear back from the person I texted that night, and I didn't end up texting anyone else either. Part of me was afraid to say too much, and part of me was discouraged that my first cry for help had gone unacknowledged. Instead, I stayed with my dog in the bedroom, having barricaded the door with a laundry basket filled with whatever I could find that was heavy. I would have locked it, but Adrian* had removed the door handle after the last time.
I had had enough. I wasn't going to be idle anymore. It was time for things to change, whether other people listened to me or not. I was my own person, and he was his. I decided the only way to fix my own life was to worry about myself and drop all regard for Adrian's well-being. Even though I hated Adrian, this was a difficult thing for me to do. He was still my husband, my family, and a fellow human being.
I made him sleep in the spare room that night. He didn't actually care what I had to say, but the dog wouldn't let him in the bedroom where I slept.
Contrary to popular belief, dogs aren't stupid. They usually know exactly what's going on.
The next day, I got a text back from the girl I'd reached out to...
Crazy shit?
Crazy shit?
...
I thought it was pretty fucking tame considering what was going on.
I had reached out. I had opened my heart. I had told someone. I had been proactive.
And I had been rebuffed...
I should have realized that the person I had reached out to was just an unkind person. I should have texted someone else that night, but it didn't take much to break me back then. I quickly reasoned that the problem was me, and that I somehow didn't deserve help from others in the matter.
After that, I went into hiding again. After just that one negative response, my fragile mind I had lost the confidence to fix the situation. Adrian and I tried to work things out again, but within just a week or so, he decided to smash a giant hole through the already handle-less bedroom door.
As it turned out though, the girl I had texted was a gossiper, and unbeknownst to me at time, she had gone around telling people of my "crazy text". I don't know what she said exactly, I've heard a couple variations of it, something about me wanting attention or needing to make new friends. I don't know what she said, but she must have said enough, because what went down the next few weeks was the best thing that could have happened.
Adrian owed $400 to one of the people she had told, a small debt compared to the amount he had taken from me, but enough for anyone to be angry or seek revenge. Adrian had no intention of paying this person back, I knew this already, he had mentioned it before. Apparently, this person he owed also knew they would never be paid back.
I didn't find out until much, much later what had happened, and I never asked why whatever was said was enough to justify defending the honor of $400. I know very little about what happened next, and I'd like to keep it that way.
Allegedly, a conversation was held about Adrian's whereabouts, and then a phone call was made. Within 48 hours, Adrian made a mistake that forced him to establish mandatory residence 1000 miles away from our home.
He didn't listen, of course, as a true criminal wouldn't, but before long it became clear that he didn't have a choice in the matter. The next three months were more mentally laborious and emotionally draining than anyone involved would have anticipated, and I wish I could have opted out of being a part of it before I finally did.
Three months of Hell-cake iced with Devil's frosting and served up on Satan's finest china, and then he was gone.
After that I told my friends and family about what he had been doing. Most people asked me why I never said anything. A lot of people said they knew already and just never knew how to talk to me about it. Some people didn't believe me at all, but that didn't matter to me anymore. He was gone. I was safe. It was over.
What continues to blow my mind about all this, even more than three years later, is that I initially only told that one person. The person was not a friend, I realize that now, but rather an unkind girl I'd hung out with on a regular basis. Even though this girl had immediately decided not to take me seriously, she had still read what I wrote. Somehow, texting just those few words ended up being enough to break the cycle.
I barely knew the person who ended up making the call. We were never really friends, and to this day we barely speak aside from an occasional "hey, how are things?" at Summer barbecues and whatnot. I don't see what this person did as defending me personally or looking out for me as a friend, but rather reacting as someone hearing about a fellow human in basic turmoil. The way I see it, whatever this person ended up hearing just became a glimmer of justification that the debtor of the $400 deserved what was coming to him.
Ruining someone's life over $400 is petty.
Ruining a wife beater's life over $400 is noble.
My life now is much different than it was back then. I've cocooned from a fragile, timid, painfully introverted caterpillar into an adventurous and often outspoken social butterfly. My life is a'ight, and I'm optimistic as fuck about tomorrow, and next week, and next year.
This all started when I forced myself to talk about it.
"Hey look at this text from Sarah. She's obviously just trying to get attention."
This, my friends, is why Silence is Crap.
*not his real name
Violent. That was the right word, right? It says enough, but not too much. There was no need to feel ashamed to admit that another person, and not myself, was being violent. It was proactive. It was assertive. It was discreet... enough.
I had finally said something. I had told someone what was going on. I felt confident that this was the first step towards making it go away.
I didn't hear back from the person I texted that night, and I didn't end up texting anyone else either. Part of me was afraid to say too much, and part of me was discouraged that my first cry for help had gone unacknowledged. Instead, I stayed with my dog in the bedroom, having barricaded the door with a laundry basket filled with whatever I could find that was heavy. I would have locked it, but Adrian* had removed the door handle after the last time.
I had had enough. I wasn't going to be idle anymore. It was time for things to change, whether other people listened to me or not. I was my own person, and he was his. I decided the only way to fix my own life was to worry about myself and drop all regard for Adrian's well-being. Even though I hated Adrian, this was a difficult thing for me to do. He was still my husband, my family, and a fellow human being.
I made him sleep in the spare room that night. He didn't actually care what I had to say, but the dog wouldn't let him in the bedroom where I slept.
Contrary to popular belief, dogs aren't stupid. They usually know exactly what's going on.
The next day, I got a text back from the girl I'd reached out to...
Crazy shit?
Crazy shit?
...
I thought it was pretty fucking tame considering what was going on.
Meanwhile in Hypothetical Text Land....
 |
| Now this is some "crazy shit". True shit, but crazy AF shit. |
I had reached out. I had opened my heart. I had told someone. I had been proactive.
And I had been rebuffed...
I should have realized that the person I had reached out to was just an unkind person. I should have texted someone else that night, but it didn't take much to break me back then. I quickly reasoned that the problem was me, and that I somehow didn't deserve help from others in the matter.
After that, I went into hiding again. After just that one negative response, my fragile mind I had lost the confidence to fix the situation. Adrian and I tried to work things out again, but within just a week or so, he decided to smash a giant hole through the already handle-less bedroom door.
As it turned out though, the girl I had texted was a gossiper, and unbeknownst to me at time, she had gone around telling people of my "crazy text". I don't know what she said exactly, I've heard a couple variations of it, something about me wanting attention or needing to make new friends. I don't know what she said, but she must have said enough, because what went down the next few weeks was the best thing that could have happened.
Adrian owed $400 to one of the people she had told, a small debt compared to the amount he had taken from me, but enough for anyone to be angry or seek revenge. Adrian had no intention of paying this person back, I knew this already, he had mentioned it before. Apparently, this person he owed also knew they would never be paid back.
I didn't find out until much, much later what had happened, and I never asked why whatever was said was enough to justify defending the honor of $400. I know very little about what happened next, and I'd like to keep it that way.
Allegedly, a conversation was held about Adrian's whereabouts, and then a phone call was made. Within 48 hours, Adrian made a mistake that forced him to establish mandatory residence 1000 miles away from our home.
He didn't listen, of course, as a true criminal wouldn't, but before long it became clear that he didn't have a choice in the matter. The next three months were more mentally laborious and emotionally draining than anyone involved would have anticipated, and I wish I could have opted out of being a part of it before I finally did.
Three months of Hell-cake iced with Devil's frosting and served up on Satan's finest china, and then he was gone.
After that I told my friends and family about what he had been doing. Most people asked me why I never said anything. A lot of people said they knew already and just never knew how to talk to me about it. Some people didn't believe me at all, but that didn't matter to me anymore. He was gone. I was safe. It was over.
What continues to blow my mind about all this, even more than three years later, is that I initially only told that one person. The person was not a friend, I realize that now, but rather an unkind girl I'd hung out with on a regular basis. Even though this girl had immediately decided not to take me seriously, she had still read what I wrote. Somehow, texting just those few words ended up being enough to break the cycle.
I barely knew the person who ended up making the call. We were never really friends, and to this day we barely speak aside from an occasional "hey, how are things?" at Summer barbecues and whatnot. I don't see what this person did as defending me personally or looking out for me as a friend, but rather reacting as someone hearing about a fellow human in basic turmoil. The way I see it, whatever this person ended up hearing just became a glimmer of justification that the debtor of the $400 deserved what was coming to him.
Ruining someone's life over $400 is petty.
Ruining a wife beater's life over $400 is noble.
My life now is much different than it was back then. I've cocooned from a fragile, timid, painfully introverted caterpillar into an adventurous and often outspoken social butterfly. My life is a'ight, and I'm optimistic as fuck about tomorrow, and next week, and next year.
This all started when I forced myself to talk about it.
"Hey look at this text from Sarah. She's obviously just trying to get attention."
This, my friends, is why Silence is Crap.
*not his real name
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