Every nice man I ever went out with, I dumped for a more 'intense' kind of guy. To me, it felt like the nice relationships weren't real enough. I don't remember the first time XH#1 hit me. I didn't just sit there, whimpering; I fought back, hard. I screeched, tore with my nails and broke household objects. I developed a hair-trigger temper. That made two of us.
When he split my face, I rang my Dad. I reckoned he'd be a good source of advice on abusive husbands. I found a B&B, advised H I was leaving him because of the violence, and stayed with a friend for one night. H came begging as usual, but this time I was stronger. We negotiated. He stopped hitting me, but the outbursts didn't stop and the rows were just as awful on both sides. You could, literally, hear us from the other end of the street - my neighbours told me.
He developed new ways of controlling me. He was serially unfaithful, insulting, sexually abusive and I continued to do his bidding, no matter what. My temper got worse. I once threw a magnum of champagne at him (full). It missed, but I'd aimed for the head. When I finally ended it and we were waiting for the house to sell, he came into the spare room where I was sleeping and strangled me. It was serious - I only got away because I know how to fight.
For the next few years, I continued to dump the nice men. At the age of 35 I discovered that not all men hit their women. I was never hit again but knew nothing about emotional abuse. The 'passionate' guys I chose were abusive: not just moody, they were abusers. XH#2 ws my attempt at a normal relationship. He was a dull person compared to my other partners but the sex was fantastic.
His emotional abuse began on our wedding day and ratcheted up very quickly. Still unaware of emotional violence, I became lonely, confused and frustrated in my marriage. My old 'married' temper resurfaced - H blamed me for all our problems. As I was the one throwing the crazy tantrums, everyone else agreed with him. Still desperate to please, I submitted to his rape, dishonesty and humiliations.
After XH#2 and I split up, I went into rehab and became sober. The feeling of living without alcohol, drugs or sex was strange. For the first time in my life (I was 48), the days were not marked by emotional highs & lows. It felt very much as if all of the colour had drained away from the world - life had been a kaleidoscope; now it was a sheet of white paper. This is the point where addicts, of any type, are most likely to relapse. A sober world looks and feels very bland by comparison.