predator vs parasite

I was having this conversation with Rose a while ago and it struck a chord. I saved the conversation but couldn't quite put my finger on why in that moment. I think I've figured it out.

Predator, Abuser, Narcissist. To a degree these titles sensationalize the person committing these acts of abuse. They're often painted in TV and movies as big, physically intimidating, traditionally attractive individuals. I understand that being the route to take if you're trying to tell a story in an hour time slot, and there are certainly abusers out there that fit that description, but there are also many more that don't.

Most people who were raised female can point to a time that they realized they had to be alert to potential physical threats. We're taught to watch for the guy who stares a little too long while we play mermaids at the pool. When we turn 16 we're told to check the back seat before getting in the car. At 21 we're cautioned to always cover our drink at the bar. There's so much emphasis on avoiding predators that we never learn to watch for less visible threats.

My ex was not physically intimidating. He was on the short side of average. He was overweight and walked flat footed and a bit bow-legged. He was a DnD and musical theater nerd. This was nobody's idea of a predator. But he was just as dangerous.

His abuse mainly came in the form of inaction. I tried to hash out with my friends where the line was drawn between a partner simply not feeling like doing something, and abuse in the form of inaction. Lilly put it like this.

I'm not sure it was intentional to start, but the choice to be unintentional definitely became intentional. Theres no questioning she's right in that his choice of inaction caused harm. 

It came in failing to add me to his insurance to make sure I was cared for if I got sick or injured. 

The direct result being going through a cancer diagnosis and surgery without insurance and a bill over $300,000. 

It came in refusing to fill the prescription for pain medication when he had watched me cry myself to sleep for a week. 

The direct result was me laying awake all night, terrified, huddled in pain, counting down the hours until I could take more tylenol, clutching a threadbare sock filled with warmed rice to my ear and neck as a makeshift heating pad, telling myself my pain wasn't worth his effort. I had never felt more alone than in that moment despite him snoring blissfully only inches away from me. 

It came in leaving me to bleach and scrub the kitchen and bathrooms while recieving chemo because I knew he wouldn't. 

I knew better than to ask.

The result being waking up each day knowing I'd either be exhausted from housework and using harsh chemicals that I knew I shouldn't be handling, or risk infection while immunocompromised.

It came in abandoning me during my treatment when only six months prior he publicly vowed to love me in sickness and in health. Leaving me to feel broken, lonely and scared. It came over and over and over again in a lack of accountability and effort.

I try very hard to remain accurate, and to not call names for the sake of name-calling, but I feel it is accurate to call it parasitic instead of simply neglectful. Neglect is such a broad term and implies something left to decay on its own. Parasites latch onto you, become a part of you, and actively deplete your resources. 

There's such an emphasis on the abuse of a predator. It's easy to picture a lion or an abuser prowling around, their very presence a threat to those who may cross their path. However in reality, parasites are just as if not more dangerous.

In fact, six of the top 10 animals responsible for human deaths are either parasites or carriers of parasites.

So what makes a parasite so dangerous?

In both nature and in abuse parasites don't pose an immediate threat the same way a predator does. If you see a bear, you'd probably turn and walk the other way. You'd even warn anyone to cross your path of the potential threat, and they'd heed your warning because the threat is obvious. 

Parasites contaminate the things we need the most. Food, water, and in my case, love. You can't stop consuming the things that are supposed to nurture you to avoid the risk. You'd sound insane for even suggesting it. By the time you realize the danger you're in, its often too late to warn others of the risk.

Like a parasite this type of abuse and your general well-being exist on opposing bell curves. As their abuse gradually ramps up, your wellness begins to falter. Unfortunately this also means as their abuse peaks you are at your weakest. 

It starts off small and slow. It's just barely enough to feel not quite right. So when it doesn't go away, you learn to adjust around it. I learned to allow him to make fun of me in front of his friends but to never tease back, even in private. I learned to never mention him needing to practice anything, or to learn basic life skills. I learned to play the roles he wanted me to play, no matter how numb they made me feel.

It shuts you down one vital system at a time. I can't pinpoint when each step happened because it was so gradual. It starts off with "I'm so glad we know each other so well" and goes to "I know you so well". There was never an option to disagree. It becomes "I know you so well. You're upset because ___". Its not worth arguing. You're already tired and upset. Eventually it shifts to "I know you. You're being dramatic." "You're being rude!" "You're throwing me under the bus!" They might be right, more often they're wrong. It doesn't really matter. If you dare to challenge their narrative, there's hell to pay.

Rose recalled the time she spent with me, trying to get me out of the house after he became physically abusive "I was so worried. You were so weak. So drained. The first couple days... you just slept. It was like you hadn't for weeks... It was like watching someone detox Kenz."

Many assume that once you've identified abuse, it leads immediately into a stark plummet in abusive behavior and abrupt end to the relationship. In reality identifying abuse is more of a halfway point that leads to a tapering off.

I had to re-learn to trust myself, to allow myself to rest when needed, to stop jumping at the sound of car doors slamming. I still fight the urge to panic when I close myself in the bathroom; reminding myself I no longer have to lock myself in there to be safe. I still have to check my reactions any time there's conflict; remind myself I'm safe and loved despite every gut reaction telling me I'm in danger.

I think there's a misconception about the ultimate goal being back to where you were before the abuse. If someone had experienced an infestation of real parasites, there would be an understanding or expectation of a certain level of permanent damage. I've had to come to accept that just like a bell curve, the "before" and "after" points of abuse are on similar levels, but in very different places. 

I understand that some of the damage is simply irreparable. Some I'll carry with me forever. Some will fade more with time. Some was repaired by standing up for myself. Some was healed by leaving. But no matter the havoc that was wreaked I'll forever choose to be proud of myself for surviving. 

His abuse was that of a parasite. Nearly imperceptible at first, hiding in the very things that promise you nourishment. But deadly all the same. Hooking onto you from the inside and slowly draining the life out of you. Shutting down essential functions one by one as you attempt to adapt around it. It's very life force dependent on draining yours. 

I will not sensationalize a parasite. I will not accommodate its existence. And I most certainly will not allow a parasite to destroy my future.