[This is another post in the sexual assault series.]
…And this one makes me feel particularly vulnerable (or maybe stupid?) for some reason. So obviously, as per always, if it feels too dumb or whatever to you, please feel free not to read.
As I’ve mentioned before, the goalposts with sexual assault guy were always moving.
I was always something either too much or not enough…
Too smart (and made fun of for being a Mensa member smartypants), or not smart enough (and condescended to, having very (veeeeery) basic concepts overly-explained to me as though I’d never lived in the world before, and hearing stuff like, “whoa! You really used that word correctly” on a totally normal maybe medium-sized word, like I’m a child who’s parent is trying to teach her).
Too beautiful and yet not beautiful enough – always complimented on how thin I was, but could never wear the right thing. Dresses were too revealing, or not revealing enough, too tight or too lose, or god forbid I wear pants. There was even a time he asked me to wear something, and then made fun of me for doing it.
Sometimes he seemed to get a little angry about the compliments he’d give me about being beautiful (which never made sense to me as a thing to be angry about, but a lot of things didn’t). So, if he complimented me (making himself angry somehow), he’d then have to tear me down in any other way he could.
I was either too nice (and naive), or too mean if I started to join in on the things he said he wanted (such as critiquing a show).
I was just too everything and not enough anything. We could go on forever. The goalposts were always moving – always. I could not do anything right, no matter how hard I tried.
And now, I feel like sometimes, some of my pulling away from the world kind of, to some extent, has to do with that – like if I dare try to go do anything, I’m just gonna have to hear about how “actually… I’m not [smart, pretty, funny, who knows what, anything positive at all].”
And it’s not to say he never complimented me. Sometimes he’d be compliment city, laying it all on so thick. And then it would turn.
And it’s not like we were together for so long that something he used to find endearing became annoying. It was like what was endearing depended on the day. It felt impossible to know what would make him happy/pleased/nice vs. what would make him angry and hella mean.
And now I live in this world of his voice being louder than everyone else’s, for some reason.
And that doesn’t make sense. Like, who is he?