Toxic Relationships

Resume of a Manipulative Marriage

Reflections from the mirror of misery I failed to see

I was nineteen.

He was charming, said he was Belgian; I fancied foreigners over South African men. The girls flocked around him, lapped up his stories, admired his looks, his clothes, his long hair.

I thought I didn’t stand a chance, yet he chose me!

Within months, we were living together. This was our secret. Then that fateful day my stepmom piped up, “We’d love to see your new flat, Caz.”

In a bachelor pad, you can’t hide the truth.

“When are you getting married?” while dad countered, “Why not live together for a while and see how it goes?” She won, she always did. My fate was sealed.

So many signs, and I was blind.

His unhappy childhood; lost an eye in a fight in his teens. He declared his love, and I wanted to nurture this vulnerable puppy; smooth the chip on his shoulder.

I thought, ‘He’ll grow up, he’s an angry young man.’ I wrote him love poems. He’d change!

I believed in the power of love to conquer all.

He was fired from countless jobs — always telling his bosses how to run their business. My dad often asked me when was he going to settle down, become responsible. I defended him — couldn’t admit I’d made a mistake marrying him.

I was the doormat who’d arrive home evenings to his majesty asking me what’s for dinner.

One time, I’d established a company for us — shop fitting, film sets, exhibition stands, so my angel wouldn’t have to answer to bosses — only to me. He screwed that up too, forever running late on projects. He became angry when I pushed him to meet deadlines — it was never his fault.

He alienated my friends, rejected anyone he didn’t like, especially those who didn’t stroke that chip on his shoulder. His urbane public personality became bitter and twisted at home.

He smashed every chance I had to advance my career, stabbed me with sarcastic remarks about my colleagues. I felt ashamed, lowered my expectations.

Sixteen years into our marriage, he lashed out with more than words when I dared to raise my concerns about money. I ducked his fist with an aikido move. By then, he was smoking Mandrax and getting crazier.

That woke me up.

I had no friends of my own. I was lost.

My New Year’s Resolution for 1986 was divorce!

I moved to my dad’s, began a new career, took out a restraining order. He stalked me, begged me not to leave, rammed my company car, fought for custody of the dogs.

For three years after our official parting, he’d phone me at work on our anniversary:

“Do you know what day it is?”

I felt neither love nor hate — only indifference — and would cut off the call.

I’d broken free — found me at last.

Let me leave you with an extract on marriage from Kahlil Gibran’s book The Prophet — a book my dad had introduced me to.

This is my promised response to Bella Smith for her Bonus Prompt —Write a poem, flash fiction story (500 words or less), or essay about how someone uses manipulation in a relationship and the consequences it brings to both parties involved.

What a challenge to limit my story of 16 years in a manipulative marriage to 500 words! But I did it, and hope I’ve conveyed the essence of what happened and why.

Thank you for being here.

Here’s the link if you’d care to join in: