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To speak about an experience with any form of interpersonal violence is difficult, but it is also empowering. Breaking the silence reduces shame and helps others to speak out about their own experiences.
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Thursday, April 26, 2012
For three years, beginning when I was fifteen, I was in a verbally, and occasionally physically, abusive relationship. We believed that we loved each other and that we would get married, and it never occurred to me that abuse happens even in high school, even in your first relationship, even when you are practically still children. When I was with him I felt dirty and empty and useless and scared, and I didn’t realize how wrong it was until years later. That’s not really the problem anymore, though; just how the problem arose.
The problem is that in fictional portrayals, the abused girl realizes her strength and immediately finds a man who respects her and loves her – when from what I’ve seen, bad relationships are followed by self-loathing, sexual recklessness, and shattered confidence. I know that I have not had it nearly as hard as many of the people posting to this site. I know. But too many times I’ve woken up the morning after and cried on my floor, brushed my teeth, scrubbed my skin, and brushed my teeth again. Too many times I’ve been too scared and confused to try to say no, or I’ve been ignored when I do. Too many times I’ve been screaming in my head and not known how to scream out loud.
My body is mine and I want it back. You can’t touch it unless I want you to, and if I don’t want you to, don’t try to convince me. I’m sick of not feeling like I can respect myself and I’m sick of not feeling like others should respect me.
Tuesday, April 10, 2012
I was about to start my senior year in high school. I was so excited for all the events that I would get to finally take part of that year. I was finally clean from drugs, had over come my eating disorder, and was ready for a fresh start. Two weeks before school started, he raped me. The one man who I thought a woman could always count on. The man that was supposed to teach a woman how other men should treat her, how to get respect, how to not let anybody ever hurt them.
I wish my mother would have believed me two years ago. Maybe this could have been avoided. I wish she believed me now. I wish it never happend. I wish I didn't have to run away because of it. I wish I could sort the thoughts in my head that have kept me up at night for the last 3 years. The thoughts of not knowing what to call him when I see him every time I go home. Are you really my father? no. You are a monster...disguised by a joke, a "hard working man", nobody knows what names you called my mother, sister and I, or what you did to me. Even after I told you to stop. Even after I ran away.
How do I tell the man I love now what has happend to me? how do I get him to understand? Does this make me less of a woman? How do I tell him I can never fully be his because you decided to claim me? and you continue to claim me saying i'm yours. I lost the baby you forced onto me...I guess God had mercy on me.
I hope to one day be able to look into the eyes of the man I once called father and say, "i forgive you". Maybe then and only then will I be able tolive again. you broke the heart that was once so full of life. So happy, and ready to start fresh. You killed me when I was just about to start living. When will I taste life again...