It has a ring 💍 to it

Wedding rings have been part of marriage for a long time. There's records in both ancient Roman and Egypt of wedding bands being exchanged and worn. They have always been a symbol of something everlasting and unbroken. We wear them on the left ring finger because it was once believed there was a vein that ran directly from there to the heart. They're supposed to serve as an outward communication of an inward commitment. 

In my relationship it's purpose was warped into a tool of abuse...

Summer 2017

I had just moved to be with him. I left my parents. My hometown. My nieces. My job. The only life I'd ever known. 

We had discussed before I moved that I wanted him to understand that if I moved states for him, it meant we were serious and on the marriage track. 

He took the opportunity to propose the day after I moved. I wasn't ready, but he arranged this whole big production (that's a blog for another day) and I didn't feel like I could say "no" or "not yet" in front of both our families and most of his friends. I thought it was a miscommunication on my part. I told myself I was being ridiculous. It was something I wanted eventually anyway.

So I accepted.

It was only a few days before the first major fight. I don't remember the words, but I remember the context. I was homesick. His family were the only people I knew there. I was used to spending every Sunday with family. I was rapidly figuring out despite his reassurances, the picture he painted of a loving, functional but flawed family was far from reality. I was in a new job. Money was tight. I'm someone who thrives in structure and there was none to be found.

We had this tiny little galley kitchen. About 12 or 15ft long by 6ft wide. It was essentially a hallway with cabinets. 

He kept backing me further and further into the kitchen. Shouting. Arms flailing. Until my back was pressed to the wall. I was stuck between the refrigerator and the cabinets. 

I felt like a trapped animal... 

I sunk to the floor trying to get away from his flailing fists. 

It was the first time I ever felt unsafe in my own home.

He walked away.

I remember shaking, sobbing, trying to process what had just happened. Nobody in my life up to that point had screamed in my face like this. This was different. This anger wasn't controlled. It was absolutely unhinged.

Survivors often talk about their abusers eyes going black. "Dead eyes" "shark eyes" "wolf eyes" There's at least a dozen names for it. People think it's an exaggeration. I thought it was too until I saw it myself. His pupils dilated to the point the iris disappeared. Those eyes combined with the faintest smirk he couldn't quite hide. It made for a terrifying look I'm not sure I'll ever forget.

I remember clocking it. Was he ENJOYING this? No. I chastised myself for even thinking it. I must have misread something. I was pretty emotional after all. He couldn't possibly be. Could he? No. He loved me.. right?? Of course. He had asked me to marry him just a few days ago.. 

I remember the hard, uneven tile under me... I remember dissociating, staring at the one with the chipped corner between the stove and the fridge, trying to force myself to snap out of it. I remember hugging my knees to me, resting my forehead on them, trying to calm myself through shaking breaths.

He walked back into the kitchen. 

He was calm, measured. 

I mistook the resolve on his face for wanting to talk things out. 

The next part replays in my mind like some kind of demented silent film...

He reaches out and motions for my hands, as if to help me up. 

I place my fingers in his palms, looking up at his face in hopes that he came back to work things out.

He drops my right hand and forcefully drags my engagement ring off my left. 

His fingernails scraped and scratched my skin. The meat of my finger wadded up in front of the ring making it harder to pull. He yanked, pulling me forward with the force of it. He didn't seem concerned with me shouting. "Please!! Stop!!! You're hurting me!" I heard the words but it felt like someone else talking. I didn't feel connected to my own body.

Was he ending this after only a few days?!

Where would I live? I didn't have friends here to crash on a couch. 

Where would I sleep tonight? My name wasn't on the lease yet. 

Did I just change my entire life for this? I left my job in Illinois. I just started a job in Indiana. 

I couldn't go back to my parents house. 

I couldn't go back to my apartment in Illinois. 

The panic and pain was untamed, raw, unchecked. I felt like I'd never know the end of this pain. 

I had fallen forward onto all fours with how hard he pulled my ring. I was shaking so badly I couldn't move. I was frozen. Glued to that tile floor. Dry heaving. I kept trying to breathe but I felt like I'd been kicked in the ribs.

He came back once more. I tried to talk to him. Apologize, beg, I didn't even know for what, but I would do anything to fix it. I couldn't choke out anything between sobs. He sank to the ground and wrapped me tightly in his arms. 

Much in the way a child seeks comfort and reassurance from a parent who has just finished reprimanding them, I sank into him. I wanted to know I was safe, loved, wanted. He was supposed to be a source of comfort. At the moment, he was my only source of comfort.

I didn't understand at the time, but it was exactly what he wanted. A reminder to me of just how vulnerable I was, and exactly how much I needed him.

I later asked him to never pull my ring off again. I told him my ring meant a lot to me. That taking it off in that context, to me, meant we were done. And to his credit he never pulled MY ring off after that.

July 2019 

No jewelry allowed in the operating room. It can harbor bacteria and is generally a liability. 

The last thing I did before I left for the hospital was take off my rings and hand them to mom for safe keeping. He made a fuss about it in the few moments we were alone, right before the anesthesiologist came in. He huffed that he didn't understand why I couldn't keep them on. I promised I'd put them back on as soon as possible. 

Looking back now it seems odd that the rings were his  main concern right before I went in for an extensive surgery to remove the cancer from my body.

A few days later I was out of intensive care and slightly more coherent. My left hand was still very swollen from the surgery on my forearm. It was splinted to keep the skin graft stretched as it healed. I had hypersensitivity in every fingertip. Every touch felt like touching one of those static electricity balls at the science museum. (Remember I was still on round the clock IV narcotic pain medication. Which means it was significant enough to feel through the medication and significant enough to remember.) I still found myself using my thumb to reach for my ring finger in attempts to fidget with the non-existant ring in attempts to self soothe.

He hadn't been to visit in a few days. When he came back his gaze immediately turned to my bare hand. He lifted my hand, kissed the bare spot on my hand where my ring normally sat. His eyes caught mine. Shark eyes. Even then, it made me squirm a little. I understood this wasn't a gesture of affection. It was a thinly veiled threat. Even though he'd never explicitly stated it, I knew it was unacceptable to him that I wasn't wearing them. 

So I asked mom if I could have my rings back. I slid them on my right hand since they wouldn't fit my left.

Winter 2019

Things had escalated since my cancer treatment finished in the fall. He had gone from passive aggressive to just aggressive. He had gotten used to living as if he were single during my treatment. I got the distinct feeling that he was angry at me for surviving.

Arguments were near constant. I was still weak from treatments and he was keeping me sleep deprived by picking arguments around 10pm that regularly lasted until 2am. 

I remember sitting on the bed. I had asked to spend some time together as a couple. He was regularly a couple hours late getting home from work, and was out with his friends (often til well after midnight) several times a month. We went in circles for hours. He insisted I was demanding for wanting to know where he was. I was controlling and jealous for "not wanting him to see his friends". 

I just wanted to know when to expect him home so I could have his supper ready after work. I got worried if he had been with his friends for 10+ hours, I hadn't heard from him, and we were getting into the small hours of the morning. Everything felt foggy. I don't know if it was due to medication or fatigue. I tried to fight through, but with no end in sight, I buckled.

"Just... do whatever you want. I'll be here" 

"You know what I want?!" He countered, displaying his left hand as he pulled his ring off and slammed it on the dresser. 

I knew he was looking for a reaction at this point but I was hurt. I know I cried. I'm sure I screamed at him. I knew he had done that with the intention of hurting me and it had certainly done the trick.

Spring 2020

He was now pulling his ring off with nearly every argument. No matter how big or small. It made for a great excuse to leave. If I got upset he would leave because I was emotional and irrational. If I didn't react, obviously our marriage meant nothing so it didn't matter if he stayed or left.

If I made him upset at all, the pattern became scream, ditch the ring, blame me, drive off, come back after a couple hours, profess his undying love (despite my shortcomings). The pattern became so predictable I couldn't muster the energy to react. 

Finally one afternoon I was beyond done with the theatrics. I don't remember what the specifics of the argument but I remember I was folding laundry on the bed. I had taught myself to dissociate through the screaming. (It's a lot easier to take if you're not mentally present for it.) 

I heard his ring slam into the dresser. I didn't ever bother to turn around initially because I was mostly talking to myself. "It makes me really sad that I recognize the sound of your ring hitting the dresser without looking." I turned to face him "Not sure I should be this familiar with that particular sound" 

Bad call. 

He chucked the ring at me and stormed out. Thankfully he missed, so I just set it on his nightstand and went back to folding. Part of me knew it was abnormal, but I was exhausted. Physically. Mentally. Emotionally. I had nothing left to give, but I didn't see an alternative. 

September 2020

My parents had come to visit and offered to bring me back with them to NC to celebrate my oldest niece's birthday. I had been in treatment during her last birthday and was too weak to visit. I didn't want to miss another. 

My last visit had been in July and I was already exhausted again. I was needing regular breaks from being around him just to function.

Really I mean function in the same way as that car that you're trying to make last just six more months functions. When you turn the key and hold your breath hoping this won't be the time the engine finally gives out. You know it's going to break down. You're just hoping it doesn't happen on a highway.

After birthday celebrations it came time to discuss the plan. I had begged and pleaded that I was struggling and I needed to be near a functional support system. We fought more times than I can count. He had technically agreed, but always with caveats and never with a timeline.

He tried everything. Threats and bargaining.

(not sure if it qualifies as going to the ends of the earth for someone if you also request they cut off contact with two of their closest friends)

To finally  complete disregard

I did initially say that he could have a year before we moved. But then my parents brought up the matter of insurance. He had been at his previous job just long enough to get insurance before being fired. 

That meant we then qualified for COBRA insurance. We couldn't afford the premiums so my parents had been covering them for us to make sure I could receive my cancer treatment and any follow-up care I needed. The thing about COBRA is that it's intended to be short-term. It only lasts 18 months, and ours would end in March. 

The last time I went without insurance, I ended up diagnosed with cancer. So needless to say I was angry.

He had agreed to move. Our lease was up in January. We had tickets to fly to NC in November because we had planned on going to Disney World before the pandemic hit. There was no reason he couldn't keep his time off request and use the time to look for a job in NC.

No reason except for one...

He didn't care.

The realization hit me like a ton of bricks. It literally felt like someone knocked the wind out of me. 

Didn't he understand that without insurance there was no way we could afford the CT scans every few months to see if my cancer had stayed gone? Didn't he know that it was vital that I have constant coverage? Didn't he realize this was quite literally a matter of life or death? 

Of course he did. I explained it a thousand times. 

But it didn't matter, because...

He. Didn't. Care.

I felt like I should cry. I had just realized the person I married didn't care if I lived or died as long as I didn't inconvenience them...

But I couldn't. The pain was paralyzing and brutal. 

I was again realizing that I was not safe. This time that I was not safe in my marriage. 

It took a couple days to process it. I cried on and off but mostly I was numb. I sat at my parent's kitchen island staring at my ring. I knew I wasn't going back. So why was I still wearing it? 

I remembered my words that to me taking off your ring in anger meant you were done. But I wasn't angry. I was sad. I was numb. I was empty. Anger is fleeting. I had been pushed beyond that. All I could feel was "done". I slipped my rings off and placed them on the counter. 

I realized I was wrong. In my case it wasn't the thud of a ring slamming on the dresser, but the quiet click of one intentionally placed on the counter that said I was done.