I think I am about to be sick ...

that is what I said, out loud, to myself as I was walking out of my office building 20 minutes ago.

I got my lunch at noon ... didn't leave till 12:05. I brought a Healthy Choice Steamer meal today, so I had to go out and grab my usual, Diet Dr Pepper. I exit the doors of my office building and turn to go towards CVS and smack dab standing in front of me, looking right at me, is Stephen Gillum (his real name ... I feel NO need to protect this asshole's privacy what so ever). I kept walking, as my stomach was doing back flips, side flips and anything else it could possibly do.

Why am I so disgusted by this piece of crap? Let me share ....

About 12 years ago, while still living in Florida, I had just gotten out of a pretty serious relationship and was heart broken. I went out with some friends and they had brought along a new guy, Stephen. He was hot. We were all drinking and dancing and having a great time. He took my phone number and the following week we spent the day together ... helped him decorate his apartment for Christmas, talked, went out dancing and really hit it off .... Shortly after that we started seeing each other on a daily basis.

About two weeks past and we had already gotten pretty serious and I wanted to go home one evening after work instead of to his place .... Stephen quickly got angry, stating that I was probably going home to see someone else. Stupidly, I mistook this control and jealously to be him liking me so much that I succumbed and went to his place instead.

A few weeks later I got a phone call from him that threw me for a loop. He told a bunch of people at his church about me (he was Pentecostal, I am Roman Catholic) apparently they had told him that I was going to Hell because I was Catholic and that he should dump me. My naiveté kicked in and I was stumped. I didn't say much, but in the end of our conversation, from what I can remember, he said that he wouldn't listen to them.

Flash forward to February, I went on a church retreat with the friends that I met him through. After the retreat Stephen was angry that I had become friendly with the guy friend and took off in anger, leaving me to search for him through his apartment complex. I started to question what I was doing with this guy, but really didn't know how to end things. I had always been the dumppee and wasn't very skilled at being the dumper. A few days later Stephen found out he was being transferred to Chicago. I truly, in the back of my head, thought that this was my way out of things. He would move and we would fizzle.

Ha. For Valentine's Day we took a trip to Chicago to help him find an apartment, (and since I had grown up in the Suburbs it was cool to get back and see the City). When he needed to put a deposit down on his, outrageously expensive apartment, he told me to open my wallet and put it on my credit card (he made TWICE what I was making at the time ... and I was living at HOME). I did. In fact, that whole trip he made me put everything on my credit card. I stupidly agreed.

When we returned I helped him pack and watched him leave.

The Monday he was to start work, a day in the beginning of March, I think, I received a page (yes, I used to have one) to call him. I called him. It had snowed about 6 inches the night before. Stephen knew nothing other than Florida. I told him to put on some boots and gloves and he would be fine (I didn't quite know what else he wanted me to do or say). I was getting ready for work myself. He hung up abruptly.

I then received a few pages in a row ... all with codes (if anyone remembers pagers, you could put the numbers from the telephone that would correspond to the letters you wanted to use ... I guess a precursor to texting). The pages spelled "asshole, bitch, and I hate you."

OK ....

I must have forgiven him because I went to see him at the end of March for my birthday.

The first night I was there we sat in his apartment, which he still had not unpacked, and ate dinner. We started fooling around. He stopped dead in his tracks, looked at my black bra and matching panties (um ... nothing special, just Sears satin sets) and said, "What are you, a whore? I want nothing to do with you. You drink, you go out and dance. You do nothing but sin." He turned over and went to sleep. What I couldn’t understand at all, was … he met me and I was drinking and dancing and having fun … what the fuck changed since then??? The following day, he acted as if nothing was said and gave me implicit instructions that while he was at work I was to unpack his boxes. I did.

While I was there we never went out, I met no one and he kept me in his apartment like it was a hideout. I left the following Monday - my birthday. I had a friend pick me up from the airport and we went to dinner to celebrate my birthday. He tried paging me several times. When I finally called him back, he never said Happy Birthday, he just yelled at me for not calling him back quick enough and accused me of cheating on him and then threw a variety of insults my way.

We broke up for a while and one night a few months later I got a page from him that said (in code) he was thinking of me. This happened a few times until he finally begged me to call him. We talked like friends for a bit and everything was fine. He was coming back to Florida for a visit and he wanted me to hang out. We did ... and suddenly we were back where we left off. I was sucked in again … maybe I never really got out.

One time, while we were out to lunch I had on a T-shirt and shorts. I threw my purse over my chest so I didn't have to hold it. He said "the way your purse is going across your boobs, it makes you look like a slut. Take it off." I did. The next day I was putting on some lipstick and he said, “You are such a whore, aren’t you a child of God? Take that off.” I did. Before he left to go back to Chicago he told me that I should come and move in with him. I told him that the next time I was going to live with someone I would be married. He said ... well then let's get married. We will go to the Court and get married. I poo pooed the idea and went about my life. I didn’t want to tell him that I didn’t want to … I didn’t want him yelling at me or preaching to me.

Stephen would page me numerous times throughout the day while I was at work; if I didn't call back he would get angry. One time I was in a meeting for a few hours and he was enraged. He told me that he talked to people I worked with and that he knew I wasn't at work and that they told him that I was slutting around with other people. He would tell me that he knew I dressed like a slut and he would treat me as such.

This went on for weeks. He would play the religion card, "if you just had strong enough faith, you would just come here and trust that our marriage would work." He would yell at me if I went out at night, "I know you are going out and sleeping with guys, you are such a whore." He would get angry if I was out with my parents and didn't call him back, "You should drop everything when I contact you. God says to obey your spouse." (I often wondered, since when did you become my spouse?)

I was in so deep, and so brainwashed by his maniacal ways that I didn't know what to do. I wanted out but didn't know how any more. Even though he wasn't with me physically, I was afraid every moment that he would call, that he would call me more names or threaten me.

Things finally came to a head the week before Thanksgiving. He wanted me to come visit him for the holiday. My Grandma was coming into town, and quite frankly I just wanted things to go away. I kept telling him no. He blamed his loss of his job on me (I think it was because he spent too much time paging me that he got fired, he claims he quit ... either way, I didn't give a fuck anymore). I remember driving home from work late one night and talking to him on the cell, he shouted at me "I am more important than your Grandma, I am the most important person in the world, you should obey me and come here. We will walk to the justice of the peace and then you will not have anyone else to listen to or be with ... you will be mine."

That was my trigger. I paused. I thought. And with no tears, no fear, no pit in my stomach, I calmly said, "Stephen, I do not want to marry you. I do not want to be yours. I do not want to live with you. I never want to hear from you again."

That was the end. For a few weeks I would get random pages and then it stopped. I was free ..... But then the story started really making sense.

My guy friend and I sat down one night and had a heart to heart (while I was with Stephen he basically cut me off from everyone, I am surprised I had any friends left after the ordeal). He finally told me what he knew about Stephen's previous "girlfriend." (Whom Stephen would only say, "we broke up, that is all you need to know."

Apparently Stephen dated this girl and one day they went out on his lunch hour and got married at the justice of the peace. She moved in with him and he began the control. One day their fighting got out of hand ... he got angry at her and walked out (as he had done to me in the past) and she locked the door on him. He came back and broke the door in (the entire time that he lived in Florida I often wondered why the molding from the front door was just leaning on the wall). Then one night they were fighting in his car and he got pissed at her and threw the car into reverse. He was arrested for domestic battery and she field for divorce. I have no clue who she is, where she ended up or what. The scary part? My sister looked his name up and found his arrest record and mug shot with the Hillsborough County Sheriff.

Want to get a chill? See the guy you were sleeping with, the guy who wanted you to “be his,” on your computer screen with a mug shot for beating up his wife. I often wished my friend had told me these things ... then again, maybe he thought I knew, people who apparently love each other are supposed to talk, right? With Stephen, who knows.

A few months later, I was living in my new apartment and getting my life back in order. I had written Stephen's crap out of my life. I was going out with friends, guys ... I was being a normal 24 year old.

One day my Mom called me at work, she NEVER called me at work. She said, "Lisa, I have to tell you what just happened." My Mom picked up the phone and a girl said, "Is Lisa there?" My Mom first told her that I was at work and that I had moved into my own place. The girl started to get flustered and said that is was really important that she talk to me. My Mom told her that she could take a number and I would call her back. The girl's response, "He would find out. I cannot do that. He would get mad. Can I please have her new number?" My Mom gave her my number.

I knew who it was. I knew Stephen was the "he" this girl was talking about. When I got home and checked my caller ID I was right ... I had received a number from the area code that I knew he was living in. The cycle was continuing. I wanted to call the girl back ... I knew how she found my number .... Stephen never threw anything away ... when I was dating him he had bags and bags of old bills, papers, etc. I was too stupid to investigate ... had I done so, maybe I would have gotten the story about Stephen long before I was caught in his trap. This girl was smart enough to look ... but was she smart enough to leave him? I hope so.

So ... when I saw Stephen today, standing on the sidewalk in his khaki pants and blue dress shirt, rubbing his hands together (without a wedding ring, I might add) like he always had, looking smug and so sure of himself, I felt sick. I felt angry. I wanted to turn around and scream. I wanted to tell him that it took months for me to regain relationships with my family. Months for me to feel safe outside of my own home, away from a phone. YEARS for me to stop looking in the mirror and questioning if I was a slut or whore or dirty. Years for me to trust men again. I wanted to lash out and make him feel everything I had felt, and then some.

I hope he is alone .... lonely. I have no idea if he recognized me ... I know we made eye contact. Although Stephen was so psycho and such a liar that he probably convinces himself that his past never really happened .... I hope I never see him again, ever. But, now, I have that funny feeling in my stomach every time I leave my office ... I wonder how long it will last this time.

Most people think that abuse has to be physical; that you have to have a bruise to prove that you were abused. Sometimes emotional and verbal abuse is just as bad, if not worse. The bruises that one feels in their heart and mind can take years, if not lifetimes, to heal. Stephen is an abuser … maybe he has changed, I pray that he has changed. But, in my mind, he remains an abuser. He is no better than the man that slaps his wife around. He locks you up in a web of lies and truths that he spins until you are so tangled that you cannot escape. He takes away your independence, your passion, your energy. He leaves you feeling worthless. Too bad you cannot get jail time for emotional abuse … he certainly made me feel like I was in jail for a long time. Time that I can never get back … but wish I could.

People often ask me, what is one thing you would change in your life? Stephen is my answer.