My 3 Year Living Hell
It started when I was 20. A very good looking and charm guy moved down the street from me, along with his wife and teenage son. He was older, 33 at the time. He also was a police officer, a state trooper to be exact. I caught his eye and we started talking, then I became cordial with his wife as well. About three months later, I ran into him and he invited me to his house. His wife and son were out of town, and I felt a little uncomfortable at first but I brushed it off quickly, after all I did have a little crush on him which he knew. We were sitting on the couch talking when he leaned over to kiss me. I was a little surprised at first, but I went with it, though the entire time my mind was screaming at me that it was wrong. He lead me to his bedroom, where we had sex for the first time. I knew at that moment I had fell in love with him. He was older, more experienced and he had control over me mentally and physically. For the next two years, we would meet at my house, or some secret hiding place or I would sneak to his house when his wife was gone. He promised me time and time again he would leave her, he wasn't happy, and I believed him. One night I asked him to finally confront her and leave, and he got so upset that he grabbed me by the arm and slammed me against the wall. That was the first time he had ever hit me. But he beat me that night. I had two broken ribs, a broken arm, bloody nose and mouth, and a black eye. After he calmed down he apologized a hundred times, and swore that it would never happen again. I believed him. How naive and dumb I was. To protect him, I lied and told everyone that I was attacked by someone that tried to rob me. Two months later, we were together and I told him I love you, and he went off on me again. He slapped me across my face, then said baby I'm sorry, I love you. By then, I was so emotionally and mentally drained from everything in the last two years, that I didn't have any fight left in me. I swore I couldn't live without him, even threatening to kill myself if he went home to his wife that night. She found out about us after the first two years, but it didn't stop us. It went on for around eight more months, I would swear I was done with him, then go back. Time and time again. I was so messed up. I was addicted to him, he was my drug and I desperately needed a rehab.
It's been over a year since I ended things for good, and I still see him from time to time, but I don't look at him the same way. He tried for several months to get me back, calling and texting me. I had to change my number twice, but he finally stopped after I threatened to go to his wife and press charges against him, and he knew where that would lead. A part of me still loves him, and probably always will, but I know now that he was NEVER good for me. Being "the other woman" is a disastrous, hurtful experience. But it taught me a lesson. If I can't be a man's everything, I'll be nothing at all to him.
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