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“Impossible is a word to be found only in the dictionary of fools."
–Napoleon Bonaparte
Life as we know it is constantly changing; Triumphs are often met with pitfalls, and suffering great loss breeds personal strength and courage. Regardless of what happens in our lives, we are forced to move forward or be forever damned in a dangerous and seemingly never-ending cycle.
My preface: I don’t want or require pity. I have no self-pity, no pity party invitations and nothing need be done in my favor. I don’t accept hand-outs or backrubs, I need no shoulder to lie upon. I merely write to clear and cleanse the mind, and to offer hope and courage to others. Sharing a powerful story—life—even if only touching one person’s heart, can make all the difference.
So did you hear that Riley came home from Oregon?
I heard he got fired from his job and now is unemployed.
Sucks to be him…I wonder what he did to screw that opportunity up.
I knew he would move back home and not be able to make a life for himself there.
‘They’ always come back.
This is a culmination of many things I heard spoken about me, behind my back, by the gay men—let’s face it, boys—here in Lincoln, and I’m quite sure the rumor mill spun into Omaha as well upon my return from Portland in July. First hearing some of the comments made me physically ill and upset me greatly, but after a month of hearing it, it became melancholy. I’m sad for some of the gay men in this community that cattiness has become a permanent way of life. What gets me even more—why not just ask why I came home before weaving a web of lies? Often times the lies hurt more than the truth.
June 19 marked the third documented domestic assault in Oregon. An argument ensued in the bedroom that escalated faster than I could have imagined.
“I can’t do this, I can’t do this anymore, I need to move home to Nebraska,” I said.
Not much was said after I made these remarks and exited the bedroom. What once was open-handed hits, ‘slaps’ as he called them, became, that night, a closed-fist punch to the eye. I immediately began crying and screaming. I was thrown into a wall, fell to ground, and was kicked repeatedly. As if that wasn’t enough, a near-full bottle of wine was poured on me as I lay helpless and crying on the bedroom floor. I don’t think it gets much more degrading than that; and all this done by a man I loved and wanted to help make a better life with.
I called his mother, begging for her to talk him down. My neighbor had already called the cops.
As in many states, an individual does not press charges, the State does, and Oregon is no exception. In less than 20 minutes a black eye had formed and this time—the female officer that responded to all three domestic assaults—had made her case with physical proof that would last for days.
To gain perspective, seven hours before this happened we were watching the 2011 Portland Pride Parade—giddy, loving and just plain having fun. I would have never guessed this day would be last day of our relationship. I don’t rightly know how I will ever forget the date, June 19.
The fact of the matter is…the date will never be forgotten.
It’s not that I couldn’t have fought back. It’s not that I couldn’t have won the battle. It’s that I can’t do that to another person—especially to one that has already been abused in this way. We had one argument that involved wrestling each other in the past, but I vowed I would never do that again. There also wasn’t hitting or kicking in that match. The ultimate reasoning behind not fighting back—I don’t ever want to go before a court of law and have to fight to clear my name—be it defensively fighting back or not.
We are all guilty of assumptions and we have all taken part in the fiction and fictitious acts of this community. I write to encourage the end of these acts and to reinstate some sort of peace or better state of being. A life-changing event brought me home, not the loss of my job. A question—a conversation—is sometimes all we need to have with someone to gain awareness and truth.
For anyone who has been, or is in, an abusive relationship, I can tell you they rarely get better. It doesn’t matter if they attempt to dry out—from drugs or alcohol—they often continue down the same path. For an addict, an alcoholic, and/or an abuser, they have to hit rock bottom and pick themselves up to invoke change. Your pleas, you love, your sacrifices and your commitment may aid in the quality of life for that person, but you will not be responsible for their change.
And more likely than not—they will not hit rock bottom with you present—you keep the bottom from falling out, time and time again. My suggestion to you is simple: Get out.
Once you get back to you...being you…life as you know it will come full-circle.
Riley S. Huskey
Editor
touchemag.com
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