« Scouting for All | Main | Steven’s Old Acting Demo Reel »
Domestic Violence
By Steven Fales | July 3, 2010
WHAT IS DOMESTIC VIOLENCE? Domestic abuse occurs in 1 out of 3 lesbian, gay, bisexual and transgender relationships. It is a pattern of behavior in which a partner or former partner tries to control your thoughts, beliefs or actions and may include physical, emotional, sexual and/or economic abuse. ARE YOU A VICTIM? You may be at risk if your partner: screams at you, throws things, hits, slaps, kicks or bites, physically restrains you, isolates you, including keeping you away from friends and family, reads your email or checks your cell phone messages, ridicules, humiliates or belittles you. GET HELP: 24 Hour National Domestic Violence Hotline, 1 (800) 799-7233 (SAFE) (This information provided by L.A. Gay and Lesbian Center’s Legal Services Department)
MY STORY
There is definitely domestic violence in the gay community. And it is a big problem. I know this from experience because several years ago I was surprised when I became an unexpected victim of domestic violence myself. But I wasn’t a victim for long. Here is a brief account of what happened. I am not giving away all the details. I just want to illuminate the situation I was in (how vulnerable I was and how ironic it all was) and how I left so that others will have the courage to leave, too.
I was 34 and staying in my fiance’s modest apartment in the suburbs a large northwestern city. He was a good five years younger than me. Neither of us had much money. One night we were having a very intense conversation. I hesitate to even call it an argument because there was no screaming or yelling or swearing or name calling. Nothing huge was happening. We were both sober — no drugs or alcohol. I was sharing some of my feelings about some things that were not working for me. Every relationship has things that need to be worked through. It became a battle of wits and wills, and, and being the playwright I am, I sent a calm verbal zinger his way to match the completely inexcusable personal dig he had just sent me.
Whack! He slapped me. Hard. Nothing would every be the same.
It completely turned my head. I was stunned and went to this non-violent place. I was considered the “hunky” one. I know I could have hit him back harder. But I didn’t. I have some mapping for it. There is a sprinkling of domestic violence in my own family of origin. Both of my parents could get violent with each other once in a great while. But I did not want to fight back. And a slap is a hit. He tried to minimize that he didn’t punch me. I wouldn’t let him. This slap came with all the force he could muster. And it smarted. Badly. Especially when he continued to taunt me.
I didn’t call the police. I kept it quiet. After all, my two young unsuspecting children were sleeping in the next room. And I knew it would not look good if his ex-wife found out. He had two kids himself that he fought hard in the courts to see. A fanatically religious woman, she would hang him with any rope she could find. Their custody battles were the worst I had ever seen. I have kept it quiet for over six years. But today I need to tell this story.
In all of my scary experiences and risky adventures I had living in New York during my gay adolescence, I had never been struck. I had never struck my ex-wife. She had never struck me. I’d been spanked by my dad and mom occasionally, but this was new territory for me. (Okay my little brother and I used to fight. But we were little. And once I tried to fight on the playground, but I ended up in tears because I tried to hit him.)
My fiance (a grown adult) lost control and it was not my responsibility to see that he got help. His hitting me was not my fault. I did not merit this.
I left the relationship. It may be one of the most healthy things I’ve ever done. Still it hurt so bad. I had just been struck by the man I wanted to marry. The man that I had invested more in than any other gay relationship. I loved him deeply. And I knew he loved me. We had the engagement rings. We had so much in common. I loved making love with him. We had all the family photos, and our kids adored each other. He was my fiance. This was the relationship we had both dreamed of — and the fairytale relationship all our friends were jealous of.
I wanted it to work. But it was evident in the three days it took me to pack that he wasn’t getting the impact of what he had done and how serious it was. I’ve never seen a grown man cry harder than when the kids and I left. But it was too late. It was the sorrow of the damned, not an attempt to apologize or get any kind of help. See, he already knew it all. And I could never seem to do anything right. I’ll never forget expressing my frustrations once and he told me I was crazy. That was what was crazy-making.
Fortunately, my dreams were calling on the opposite coast. I’d rather be single than be battered emotionally or physically. And I would not be with someone who could lose control when he could not control me. I had sacrificed so much to be with him. I was completely and totally monogamous. I had overlooked his infidelities. I had helped finance the family trip to Disneyland. We attended church together regularly. I was determined to give the engagement a year no matter what. But his slap changed everything.
He would have to use the ticket to New York I bought him an hour before he struck me to vacation solo. I would not be his tour guide. My creative dreams and New York City were the one thing I would not let an abusive partner take from me. He would have to discover New York for the first time without me. Oh, I wanted to be the one to show him New York for the first time.
I felt like a battered woman for quite a while. That slap really hurt my already damaged self-esteem. Because before the slap, there was a subtle emotional tyranny that made me question everything about me: my worthiness, my feelings, my dreams, myself, my sobriety, my finances, my career, my faith, my sanity. He was the one that always seemed to know best–to know it all. And I was the one with the graduate degree at the time! I don’t know, when you hit 30 you stop knowing it all. He still had a good year to go.
The irony is that we managed a private, secluded half-way house apartment complex for battered women! (I’d helped pay our rent by cleaning them when women moved out and moved on.) I was packed and moved out within three days–on a white trash Greyhound bus home with my kids. We had a nice farewell dinner with his kids before we went. I tried to act like nothing was wrong. “But why did dad pack up all his things?” The 20-hour bus ride was hell. All those boxes and two children. I didn’t have enough money to fly. And I had shared a car with my fiance. His.
I was not able to stay friends with him. I needed to move on, no matter how many times he reached out in manipulative ways. It’s terribly inconvenient having to move out. But in the long run, it is more inconvenient to stay! And I won’t be responsible for his feelings or shattered dreams when I did the right thing and left. I had been generous in not pressing charges.
I believe enough time has passed that I can now begin to tell this small but significant part of my story. It came at a time when I was unsure about my career. And at a time when I was needy and couldn’t stand up for myself. Consider that I wasn’t hit while turning a trick in a New York. I was hit in a quiet wooded suburb. If you have been hit or if your significant other has turned violent, don’t hit back. Just detach now. Move on. It is not your responsibility to fix them or cure them. Get help. And remember, if you hit him or her back, you just might be the one who goes to jail.
The man who struck me is a good and decent man, but he had a lot of abuse in his family of origin. I understand that he now has advanced degrees (in mental health), so he’s probably addressed much of this. I hope so. When I think of the good times we had I can easily fall back in love with him. And I feel like the sex and emotional intimacy we often shared had ruined me for any other relationship for years. Like I said, we didn’t have sex. We made love. And I find this rare in the gay community. He was good with my kids and ex-wife. He is probably not the same person he was. But it is not my job to find out, no matter how many friends we have in common on Facebook and in the many circles of friends and colleagues we share. He romanced me yes. But then he physically abused me. I’m not going back to my “qualifier” or letting him live rent-free in my head. I have too much support to make that mistake. And I went through a mighty withdrawal in an effort for me and my kids to move on. I am no longer the person I was. I would call the police today. And I blocked him from Facebook when he recently reached out to me out of the blue around my birthday.
I want my children to know that it is not okay to stay in an abusive relationship with their girlfriend or boyfriend, their partners, their fiances, their lovers, or their spouses. One strike is too many and a thousand will never be enough. I think it’s possible to work through cheating. But don’t you dare shit on my dreams. AND DON’T YOU DARE PHYSICALLY ABUSE ME.
Topics: Steven Fales | No Comments »