I was abused.
I think about it all the time.
It doesn’t knock. It doesn’t warn me. It just creeps in.
I can be in the best mood, doing nothing that even remotely has to do with it and it’s still there.
Actually… that’s not true.
If I’m in the car, I remember what it felt like.
If I’m out in public, I remember pretending I was okay.
If I’m at home, I remember I wasn’t safe there.
If I’m in the bathroom, I remember trying to quiet everything down.
If I’m at work, I remember holding it together like nothing was wrong.
If I’m watching TV, I remember flinching.
If I’m sleeping, I remember waking up panicked.
If I’m making dinner, I remember walking on eggshells.
If I’m cleaning, I remember trying to make things “good enough.”
If it’s my birthday, I remember it didn’t matter.
If it’s Christmas, I remember it didn’t stop.
If I’m with my pets, I remember I wasn’t the only one getting hurt.
There isn’t a place it didn’t follow me.
There isn’t a version of me it didn’t touch.
Four years is a long time.
Four years being afraid in my own home.
Four years of my body not feeling like mine.
Four years learning how to take it and stay quiet.
Four years pushing everyone away.
Four years forgiving someone who was never sorry.
Four years believing it would get better.
Four years being wrong.
Forty-eight months trying to fix someone who didn’t want to be fixed.
Forty-eight months watching my animals suffer the same abuse I did.
Forty-eight months pretending my relationship was perfect.
Forty-eight months shrinking myself after every time it went too far.
Two hundred and eight weeks protecting my animals at all costs.
Two hundred and eight weeks lying to everyone.
Two hundred and eight weeks trying to be someone who didn’t exist.
Two hundred and eight weeks learning how to disappear.
Almost one thousand four hundred and sixty days of it happening again.
Almost one thousand four hundred and sixty nights crying myself to sleep.
Almost one thousand four hundred and sixty afternoons replaying it in my head.
Almost one thousand four hundred and sixty mornings waking up knowing nothing would change.
Thirty-five thousand and forty hours blaming myself.
Thirty-five thousand and forty hours pulling away from everyone who cared about me.
Thirty-five thousand and forty hours asking what I did to deserve it.
Thirty-five thousand and forty hours living in a body that remembered everything.
One hundred twenty-six million one hundred forty-four thousand seconds loving someone who hurt me.
One hundred twenty-six million one hundred forty-four thousand seconds trying to be enough to make it stop.
One hundred twenty-six million one hundred forty-four thousand seconds wishing I could be someone else.
One hundred twenty-six million one hundred forty-four thousand seconds
of staying.
One hundred twenty-six million one hundred forty-four thousand seconds
of taking it.
One hundred twenty-six million one hundred forty-four thousand seconds
that I will never get back.
And somehow, I’m still the one who has to live with it.
This is something I wrote to help me process what I’ve been through im sure many of you in this community can relate and I just wanted to share it in a safe space.