what a difference four years makes...

I barely remember who I was four years ago.

Today is T's birthday. Four years ago, we had been talking and flirting almost every day at work but weren't officially together yet.

Four years ago, I was still with Mark.

I was a prisoner in that relationship. His car wasn't in running condition and he "didn't have the money to fix it" so he took my car. He would drive me to work every day (at least a half hour drive, more like 45 minutes), then take my car for the day. He would pick me up at night. And if he had to work late at the newspaper, he wouldn't let me get a ride home from someone else, he would get angry and make me feel small and I would pacify him by saying I would just wait for him.

I was always accused of cheating on him or being interested in someone else. If I spent too long talking to male co-workers or talking to male sources for news stories. If I wore perfume. If I wore lipstick. If I was gone from the house on errands longer than he thought was required -- meaning if it took me more than an hour to go grocery shopping, he would start calling to check on me. I used to love to go out and do laundry because it was the only time I was allowed to be by myself for a few hours.

I wasn't allowed to have friends. We were together more than three years, and in that time, I think I can count on one hand the times I went out with someone else. He used to say that I shouldn't need anyone but him. That if I really loved him, I wouldn't need or want to spend time with other people. I knew things were really messed up and crazy, but I had no support network. And it wasn't like I could talk to anyone on the phone, because he listened to my conversations.

I was a prisoner of his anger. He would fly into road rage at the drop of a hat. Once, we were on the highway and some kids started tailgating him in the high speed lane. He pulled over to the next lane, let them go by,then sped up, got right on their ass and started highbeaming them. They switched lanes, he did too. They made for an exit ramp, he did too. And these kids flew down the exit ramp. He crossed a lane of traffic and flew down the exit ramp as well. He could see where they were on the road and was going to go after them, but my crying finally seemed to get through to him. Another time, some guy cut him off on 114 (main road with lights and businesses), and he sped up, caught up to the guy, cut him off and practically forced him to pull off into a parking lot. The guy was furious and Mark was planning to fight him. I was screaming in the car, and the other guy saw me and backed down and pretty much told Mark he clearly doesn't have much regard for his girlfriend if he was acting like that. Then when I told Mark how much it scared me, he got mad at me because I shouldn't question him and should just take his side.

He used to read KKK sites. He used to go around saying things like he wanted to blow up all of Lawrence and "get rid of all the fucking Spics." He wanted to get a gun license.

I wasn't allowed to journal, because he would always ask me what I was writing about, if I was writing about him.

He was an ex coke addict, and he made me give him percocets that I got one time for migraines (I hated them and didn't want them). He would take some before visiting my parents saying it helped him be more social and talkative.

I had to ask permission to do everything. I had to make sure he was ok with something, if he wasn't, if he got mad, I said it's ok, I didn't really want to do it, I won't do it, it's fine.

I dreaded using my debit card to pay for things, because our bank account was so often negative or we were waiting for a deposit to clear, that if I bought something for $2, I would mentally cross my fingers and hope that the card would go through.

I walked on eggshells all the time. I had migraines. I had random dizziness. I had stomach pains all the time.

And then I got a new job (the one he had to drive me to) and met Tim. We started talking over e-mail at work. Once when I was really upset (the day he forced the guy to pull off into the parking lot), I started to tell him what was really going on. Tim became my first friend in years. The more time I spent talking to him, the more I couldn't wait to come to work and talk to him more.

He gave me the courage I needed to finally leave Mark.

He has shown me what a healthy, loving relationship should feel like.

Since we have been together, I have rediscovered who I used to be before Mark. Playful. Upbeat. Dancing in coffee shops. Journaling. I have friends again. When I was still learning to uncondition the behaviours I learned with Mark, Tim was actively encouraging me to make friends, go out with friends.

I laugh all the time now. I have someone I know will be there for me no matter what. I have someone who makes me feel better when I cry, someone I can't wait to tell things to.

What a difference four years makes...