It’s really surprising how much words hurt, especially when they come from someone you love. People who have been emotionally or verbally abused as kids or teenagers tend to have trouble forming stable relationships and trusting others. They also have a low self esteem and question themselves a lot. 

My Story.

I read an article about physical domestic abuse today, and how the woman who was abused has video clips of the abuser hurting her (as he was sick enough to record it.) 

I thought how this man will definitely be arrested, because she has proof. I thought how, even if she didn’t have video proof, her bruises would be enough. And how people (including myself) who has been in violent domestics that aren’t physical, have no proof. There are no visible scars, or marks. And there is no video footage. 

Thinking back to that abusive relationship reminded me of a party I attended a few weeks ago. 

I remember that particular ex attending. I remember feeling on edge, and telling someone how in all honestly, I didn’t feel safe alone in a room with him. 

I remember the girl he’d been sleeping with running around, so overly happy it ached my core. And I remember him saying hi, and me turning away. 

I remember not wanting to leave, and let him have control over me, even after we’ve broken up. But, I remember leaving at around 2am to see my friend. 

At around 4am, my friend said a girl starting asking if I was alright that night, and if it was because my ex was there. My friend proceeded to ask the girl if she knew; if she knew what went on during and after the relationship for me to be on edge. 

This girl lied, she said yes. I barely knew this person, we’d barely spoke, and she barely knew my ex too. 

My friend said that my ex was sitting there the whole time, allowing this girl to talk about my privacy, publicly. 

The girl went on to say I should be friends with him, and that my ex is ever so sad I won’t be. She said that he wanted to be my friend, and that I should be. 

Understandable my friend was taken back. Who was she to intervene? And if she knew the extent of the situation, why on earth would another woman ever expect me to be friends with him? 

Of course, she had no idea. 

She had no idea about the time he crawled through the window drunk, and told me in front of my friend that I had settled. Only to accuse me of being in love with another ex later that night, calling me a slut, spitting on me and taking my duvet away from me. Exclaiming I didn’t fucking deserve it. 

She had no idea how the next day he threw a pint of toilet water and another pint of tap water over my head because I wanted to shower first, and then spat on me again and pushed me against the shower.

She had no idea that he called me slut, bitch, cunt, loner, loser, failure and too many names I could remember; not just that day, but for months. 

She had no idea that I locked myself in the bathroom as he kicked the door and called me names. 

Or how he threw plates at the wall, and how bitch just ended up being my nickname. 

She didn’t know about the night he went crazy, accused me of being a racist, sexist bitch… when I offered him chips. (I know, it made no sense to me either.)

How that night amongst others he’d leave for hours, sometimes over 24, with no explanation. Just a ‘fuck off bitch’. 

She had no idea how he told me all my friends were shit, and nobody liked me. 

Or how he’d push me over and warn me that the site of me is making him angry again. How he constantly demanded me to ‘go to your room’ for being a bitch and making him mad again. 

How he left me to walk home with over eight bags of shopping as ‘punishment for speaking out of line.’

She doesn’t know how scared I was, how forgiving I was. Or, how gullible I was to believe every nasty word.

She had no idea I had to live at a friends for a month before finding a new home because I was too scared to stay. And that the one night I did stay he arrived home covered in someone else’s blood, and got out a knife so I had to phone the police. 

Yesterday was national woman’s day and it’s the only reason I’m speaking out about this. 

Domestic abuse isn’t always obvious. The people involved could seem happy in public. Scars aren’t the only sign of an abusive relationship, verbal abuse is invisible. 

So next time, don’t assume you know the full story of any relationship, don’t assume what you see on the surface is all there is. 

He never hit me

That’s right he never hit me, so I stayed.

On our wedding night we lay in bed and he ‘playfully’ told me how dumb I act when my brother is around. “Like a little bitch, trying to please him” and he was right, so I laughed. Gazed in his eyes and convinced myself that this is what love is, this is what happens, your soulmate knows you so well that their commentary is valid, helpful, even if it hurts. I didn’t know shit at 21.
I didn’t know shit at 21, but I was fly. NYC fly. Career path, education, supportive parents, pretty face, nice ass, top gear, head on straight fly. He was lucky to scoop me, move me to the midwest where he could isolate me and break my confidence down. I thought it was love. I didn’t know shit.
The shit I knew was that being single was hard, and the attention from a loyal man was comforting. I no longer had to worry if he was into me or not. We had matching rings and we were together. He knew me since my bra was filled with kleenex and he still cared. He cared enough to tell me moment to moment how every one of my actions was flawed, and he STILL loved me.
Mine is not a story of defeat, he never hit me. I never felt physical pain. It took me 12 years to realize that verbal abuse is a slow, unconscious demise. Words slowly eating away at my emotions, tearing apart my self worth. It only took me 3 years after that to sever those emotional ties with him. Now I am free to raise my children without my every move being attacked, combatted, stifled.
Every other weekend we have to communicate, just long enough so that I know when our kids should be waiting curbside. They squeal with glee when they see him. He never hits them either.

This new book that I’m reading is giving me chills up and down my spine. Stories of other women that are nearly verbatim to situations I just went through. The difference is that their relationships continued whereas mine ended and theirs resulted in physical violence and some death. This is so surreal to read. I feel like I’m reading my own journal. To know other women struggled with suicidal thoughts/attempts/successes as well. Wow!

Dear Fifteen Year Old Me:

Dear Fifteen Year Old Me:

If I could only warn you of what there is to come, I could save you. Save you from unbearable heartaches. Save you from terrible events and loneliness. Save you from falling asleep every night crying and hiding in your closet because you want to kill yourself. But I cant change what happens… so what I can tell you is that it gets better. Eventually you will find that light at the end of a cruel dark tunnel. But you must stay strong.

-Love, Twenty Year Old You

I wish I could have told myself when I was fifteen to stay away from certain people. I should have seen the signs to turn away. I created this blog (this is my first post) in hopes to guide those who will go through similar situations that I have already endured. My struggles began when I was fifteen. I am now twenty. It’s unbelievable to think that all these horrible things happened to me in five short years. But, I guess I must first tell you a little background information about myself before I get started.

Ever since I started school, I was never the most popular. I was shy and never considered myself pretty compared to the other girls.  I had that awkward tummy that my older twig of a sister never failed to make fun of me for. It rolled over the front of my jeans. I couldnt hide it. I was called fat everyday. “You have more rolls than a baker’s dozen” “Fatty Fatty 2 by 4 cant fit through the double doors”. The jokes never ended. Once in elementary school, a boy I liked found out I had a crush on him. He stood up in the middle of class and across the room he shouted “ewww you like me? I could never like you! You’re ‘fugly’” That was the first of many times that I was called that horrid combination of fat and ugly. The whole class laughed. I cried. Once I entered middle school, I thought that there would be more people to try and be friends with. Turns out it was just more people to make fun of me. It seems that the only reason people talked to me was because I was smart and they wanted homework answers. Finally, after enough ridicule, I joined track in 8th grade. I continued to do track until I graduated in 12th grade. I joined the swim team in high school for all 4 years. Also, I did cross country for 3 years and was in marching band for 4 years (alto sax). I finally seemed to grow out of my awkward body and looked like a pretty young lady. The jokes stopped for the most part (except from my older sister who thought it was 'tough love’ and not what I considered to be a self-esteem damager). Still, for about 2 years I was happy. Truly happy. Except for one thing… no one ever liked me (greater than a friend). I just wish I could feel complete with a boy to call my own. Someone to share love with and be loved by. Of course, I was young and nieve and thought that if I couldn’t find a boyfriend in high school then I would be lonely for the rest of my life lol.  I had just turned fifteen when it all happened. My first kiss. My first boyfriend. But at fifteen, that was when all my struggles started. What some people would consider to be their worst nightmares. The struggles that drove me to my closet wishing I could just curl up and die. I wish none of it would have ever happened, but it has shaped me into who I am today. Strong. 

Next Blog: Tim, The Womanizing Maniac

June 26th, 2015

Yesterday my parents yelled at me for posting stuff about gay pride because it’s finally allowed and 1 post about me being bisexual. They said I was too young and apparently they got calls from family members freaking out. It resulted in me crying because I’m so fucking tired of the verbal abuse and them never accepting me for who I am. Long story short, they yelled at me so I went downstairs and they called me back up but I didn’t go because I didn’t want to get yelled at more. They came downstairs banging on the door and told me to get out of the house so I was like okay (it was like 10pm) so I got up and my dad pushed me and I was like what are you going to do hit me? Go ahead, you always threaten to. And he looked like he was going to and my step mom pulled him away. They were calling me stupid and yelling at me. They just wouldn’t stop. They wouldn’t leave me alone and I kept yelling at them to leave me alone so I could calm myself down. I said that they were making the situation worse and I wanted to cut and they just kept going and going and called me stupid and weak for wanting to cut. Said it was my fault and just wouldn’t stop. I was crying for at least 3 hours and they were yelling at me for about 2 hours. My step mom (Ange) said I didn’t deserve the technology I have and I was yelling at them saying I was tired of the verbal abuse and they were yelling at me saying that yet don’t verbally abuse me. So I said everyone I talk to about you guys, ex. my therapist says it’s verbal abuse and they said it was me being dramatic and over exaggerating. They even said I was acting like my mom and throwing a fit for no reason. They just wouldn’t stop yelling at me. I almost cut and they took away my laptop. I was in my sisters room so when they finally left I hopped on my sister'a computer an texted them. I really almost cut but I managed not to. They calmed me down and I ended up calling my sister. It was just so bad and they never stop. After a while they came downstairs and apologized but it’s bullshit. It’s a fucking cycle and they always do this. I haven’t been taking my anti depressant in like 5 days because my dad hasn’t been reminding me (he has them) or isn’t home, I haven’t seen or talked to my therapist in like 2 weeks and I’m just so tired of it all. All of this started over fucking Facebook. Like I am who I am, just accept that. I can’t change who I am and I’m sorry I’m never going to be your “perfect” little daughter. I just can’t anymore. I’m going to call my therapist and talk to her. Hopefully she picks up. Just ugh…I’m so tired of this bullshit.

In homeroom, someone who I thought was my friend heard this girl singing Hannah Montana to herself. He started verbally abusing her and ridiculing her. This wonderfully kind girl who was singing to herself has a form of autism. She can’t help what she does. Even if she could, she has a beautiful voice,let her sing her heart out !
People who make fun of other people make me feel like our worlds going to shit… but people who disregard that bullying and do what they love really disprove the prior statement💕