Getting over it is a life process.

I am divorced. Many, many years divorced and remarried far longer and much happier to no longer categorize me as a divorcee but as a twice-married. I qualify, if anyone was truly interested that I was very young when I married the first time. At this present time, that is it. My life is my marriage and my two sons, the oldest is the son of the first husband but has been beautifully raised by my current and beloved husband. We are well into our second decade of a wonderful life together and that first marriage is so distant and of little consequence to my life at present.
Ah, there are times when it rears its ugly little head, jabs me in the throat and makes a dogs breakfast of my entrails. Most of the nastiness has to do with dealing with Mr. Ex regarding our son. That is the one point of leverage still although so much time has passed and the pieces fell where they should with my belief that if I held to what was best for our son, things would eventually work out well. They have, bad behavior revealed itself and my darling son has been able to hash out the difficulties and live a reasonably harmonious life, balancing between two people who do not like each other one bit. What a challenge, I marvel at my son's resiliency when I think of it.
I was young when I married. Not too young to marry but I was certainly a young bride. I was far too young to be involved with my first husband when we began our relationship. It was inappropriate, for he crossed a perilous line and took an enormous chance that I'd go along his scheme. I was so smitten, overwhelmed by his attention and his conviction that I had a magical power that drew him, a power that he had no control to resist. He made it seem to me that I was the one who was manipulating him to be in the relationship, that he was the puppet while I controlled the strings.
It was compelling and convincing to me as a 14 year old (he was 22 at the time). The emotional binding and mental control took place for nearly a year before the relationship became physical. I believe, whether he actually planned this or not, that he had to be certain of absolute power before he took it to a physical level because he would be in jail or on parole if he crossed the line with me at the age of 15 and I didn't keep my mouth shut about it.
I did, he's a free man. It's too late to do anything about it. I married him when I was an appropriate age and to dwell upon it for me is useless and fruitless. I used to gnash my teeth, rend my garments, pull my hair. WHY, WHY, WHY, WHY? It was a deep, cold, black well for many years. Why did he do this to me? Why couldn't I see what it was and not let it happen? I did not ask for any of it or the abuse that followed. Why did my son have to have such a wretched father? If I could truly find those answers, I would still not find the peace I yearned for in seeking them.
The peace I found was in working myself out of a victim's role and image. My peace came when I was able to live independently in my own apartment, send my son to school and after-school so I could work to pay for all I had without him and his terrible presence: the crushing, overbearing, abusive being that he is. My peace continued to expand and free me to meet good friends, to not avoid people who might become close enough to me to figure out how truly awful my life was. My peace is nearly complete now, over twenty years later: married to a good man and living a genuine, fearless life. My joy has been seeing my oldest son grow and become who he is, not who he could have been while living with such a manipulative, aggressive parent.
There are huge pangs. I know my actions made scars on my son. I know I could have done better, felt I could have been stronger at times and fought harder for what was right, but those convictions are through the eyes of one who is well into midlife, not one who was the age that I married, coincidently that is the same age as my older son is now. I look at him and say, "He is still so young."

I promised there was a reason for my deep loathing of the "Twilight" series and it is all of the above. Stephanie Meyer, unintentionally I am certain, described the foundation of my miserable abused life with my first husband: a forbidden relationship with a much older man, isolation from parents and friends and complete, absolute power over this young woman who was supposed to be so powerful in her innocent ignorance. It was destiny. The manipulations of the older man stating he is powerless in her presence, that he does not want the attraction but can't help it because she's the one with the power that he is helpless to resist. It's an extremely seductive and skillful way to gain control easily, completely over a vulnerable young woman.
Ms. Meyer's heroine "Bella Swan" is her muse for her fantasmagorical vampire love/lust ouvre and I'm thankful it was so laboriously long, just overrought with simpering and snivelly passages. BUT(and that's a pretty big but) it has the blueprint for how to be a real predator which obviously jangled a very raw nerve for me.
I read (while cringing, groaning and throwing the books across the room) the rest of the series to see if it continued to maintain the seductive notion that a young woman is truly fulfilled when she's helplessly, hopelessly in love with a dangerous and forbidden man. It did but it was unrealistic, immature and rang with a hollow, completely false tone. It imploded upon itself in the end and when the dust settles it appears it is just a badly written series about forbidden fantasy love. Most young girls adore this stuff at some point in their lives then move on unscathed, uncaught by a real-life predator.