The Time My Date Slammed Me Against a Brick Wall

Nope, still haven’t forgotten about you.

Trigger Warning: This article references dating violence and physical assault. Please skip this one if it is a sensitive topic for you.

During the summer between my freshman and sophomore year of college, I landed a gig at a well-known amusement park in my state. At first, I was excited: I was about to turn 19 years old and I was ready for an adventure. What I actually got was the worst summer of my life.

It wasn’t even just the job itself, though it definitely wasn’t ideal. The problem was the fact that I was three hours away from my family and friends. Since I worked so much (10–14 hours per day for 6 days a week), I didn’t have much time to make friends; I technically had a roommate, but I only met her twice because she stayed with her boyfriend. I also worked at an attraction in which I was the only employee about 90% of the time. All of this meant I was constantly alone.

Now, I have always been one to enjoy solitude to a point; however, when you spend eight weeks alone on a near 24/7 basis… this does things to you. The level of soul-crushing loneliness I experienced that summer was beyond anything I ever felt. In fact, it was so bad that on my nineteenth birthday, I spent the day working and then crying alone in my dorm room.

All of this led me into the arms of someone who worked in a related department. This person would eventually physically assault me, causing me to prematurely quit my job and leave.

That red flag may as well have been a neon sign that said, Girl… what are you doing? RUN!

I should have run for the hills the second I met this person. One of our first conversations consisted of them disparaging their ex-girlfriend, in which they used extremely degrading words to describe how allegedly awful of a person she was. They even casually dropped in some intimate details about her life, such as the number of men she had slept with and what type of antidepressants she took.

Normally, this is the sort of thing that would send me running for the hills. I would be lying if I said this didn’t set my creep-o-meter off — I was genuinely bothered by the things this person was saying. I understand that breakups suck, but this felt unnecessary.

Alas, I looked the other way. Why? Because even though I was put off by the horrible things they said about her, this person was giving me the attention and company I desperately craved. So I stuck around, when in reality, that red flag may as well have been a neon sign that said, Girl… what are you doing? RUN!

I don’t know if you can even call what we had a “relationship.” I felt more like a therapist than a date. All we ever did was talk about this person’s problems, and they had a lot of those. While I don’t mind being a sympathetic ear, there is a point where this starts to drain your energy. Especially when it isn’t reciprocated (and it wasn’t; if I tried to talk about my life, I was talked over).

Alas, I never complained. As annoyed as I was, I felt like I couldn’t say no. This person was pouring their heart out to me… what kind of monster would it make me if I told them to buzz off?

At this point in my life, I hadn’t learned how to set healthy boundaries; I didn’t understand that there is a difference between venting and expecting others to cater to your every emotional need.

I remember one night in particular. I got home around 10:00 pm from a long day. I was so tired that I couldn’t even remain standing when I took a shower (I sat on the floor of a shared-bathroom shower stall… that is a new low, let me tell you). When I got back to my dorm room and checked my phone, my Inbox was full — this person had blown up my phone while I was at work and in the shower. I called back and was immediately berated for all the missed calls. I apologized and proceeded to spend the next two hours listening to this person talk about themself.

After we finally hung up, I collapsed on my bed in exhaustion. As I fell asleep, I prayed that I’d “lose” my phone on a roller coaster the next day.

If I could go back in time . . . I would have this conversation right there in front of the entire party, even if it meant making a scene. That way, if this person would have been stupid enough to lash out at me, there would have been witnesses.

As toxic as this relationship was, the night this person lashed out at me was the only time it ever got physically violent. This person was annoying and callous, but not violent.

The party’s host was a coworker in their department; they were a local who had an apartment about fifteen minutes away from the park. We arrived separately because I’d had to work later than they did that night; I arrived about an hour later with a girl who worked in my department. My date and I planned that we would meet up at the party and drive back to my place together.

Yet by the time I got there, this person was already heavily intoxicated. I was furious. This person was supposed to be my ride home, and yet they had been drinking. I was in the middle of an unfamiliar town, at the townhouse of a person I didn’t really know, at a party where I only knew about three people. At this point, all of the frustrations that had been building at this person came to a boil… and I snapped.

Not wanting to disturb the party, I asked this person to talk to me in private. Thus, we walked off to the other side of the patio — a brick wall — so we could talk. If I could go back in time, I would not do this. I would have this conversation right there in front of the entire party, even if it meant making a scene. That way, if this person would have been stupid enough to lash out at me, there would have been witnesses.

I won’t lie: our conversation was heated. I was angry. I was hurt. I was tired of this person and their behavior. I was done putting up with them.

It all happened so fast. One second, we were arguing. The next, this person’s hand closed around my neck and I was being slammed back against the brick wall. Holding onto my neck, they got close to my face and screamed.

I have taken multiple self-defense classes. I am a very physically strong woman. On paper, I am the perfect candidate to fight back in such situations. However, at that moment, I felt myself freeze. I couldn’t move or speak; I stood there without moving a muscle as this person held me by the neck, screaming in my face.

That, above all else, is what I used to have the hardest time processing. I know how to fight back in these circumstances. However, my body just didn’t let me. Before I learned that this is a common phenomenon during a traumatic experience, I assumed this meant the whole thing was my fault. I blamed myself for not hitting back, in addition to all the other things I did wrong. I went over these things in my head for years.

They let go and went back to the party as if nothing happened.

I stood there for a few moments, unsure what to do; then I found my original ride and asked them to please take me home. I don’t think I said two words the whole ride back to my dorm.

When I was safe in my dorm, I left my date a voicemail demanding that they never come near me again.

The next day, I put in my two weeks notice with my supervisor. I invented some generic excuse about a family situation. After it was approved, I informed my family that I was coming home at the start of August.

The day after that, my now-ex was sitting in a shelter house near my dorm with their tongue down another girl’s throat. Classy.

Going home was a surreal blur. My official story was that the job simply wasn’t what I expected and it was time to go. I did not tell anyone the real reason I left. For one thing, I was too embarrassed to talk about it. Also, I didn’t want my family to worry. I vowed that I would take this one to the grave.

I thought going home would make me feel better, as if putting distance between us would heal the hurt. However, that didn’t happen.

My few attempts to hang out with my friends were a disaster. I had missed them all summer, yet now that they were right here in front of me… I just wanted them to leave. I was tense and annoyed, getting mad at them over minor things and snapping at them a lot. I begrudgingly joined in on plans, but I openly hated every second of it.

It wasn’t unnoticed. One of my friends, a guy I had been close to since my sophomore year of high school, confronted me about my behavior change. He said that I was acting like I had “Fort Knox security” around my heart and I was shutting people out. I just shrugged.

I think I ruined some of my friendships during this time. Trauma takes a lot of things away from you.

Even if I made mistakes that night, physically assaulting another person is a choice. It is not a consequence or a reaction.

A year and a half later, I was sitting inside a therapist’s office telling this story. I hadn’t been prompted to talk about it; I just word-vomited the entire thing out. I didn’t look her in the eye the entire time I spoke. I stared at the floor, my hands gripping my knees so hard that when I took my jeans off at the end of the day, I realized I had left bruises.

That wasn’t even what I was originally seeing her for, but this revelation soon became a common talking point for us. Therapy was helpful in the healing process. Every time I talked about the assault and acknowledged what it was, it hurt a little bit less.

Today, I’m in a much better place. While some things will probably always be affected (i.e., I still panic a little if someone touches me without warning), I’ve come a long way.

It took all that counseling for me to realize that even if I made mistakes that night, physically assaulting another person is a choice. It is not a consequence or a reaction. There was any number of ways the situation could have been handled, and this person chose to use violence. And that is never anyone else’s fault.

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