How does one explain being in an abusive relationship? It’s really such a weird concept. No one chooses it. You honestly don’t even know. People say there are red flags. But not when you fall madly in love with someone, there aren’t. And I don’t believe in playing victim, I think people will put up with what they will. And that’s not to say I’m perfect, I’m so far from. I fought back, I fought back hard. Maybe that’s why I never thought anything was wrong. I remember the first time he hit me. I don’t remember what it was over, just that we were at some party he was throwing and he didn’t want me to leave. I remember it like it was yesterday, we were babies. He felt awful though, and he did for a long time. Sometimes he’d even cry harder than I did. But that ended very quick. There’s something about literally giving yourself to someone. People say, “Oh, I gave my everything to so-and-so”, but you haven’t given someone everything until you give them the power to hurt you. Really hurt you. Not everyone experiences this type of hurt either. This type of fucked up hurt. I don’t wish it upon anyone. It started off slow, breaking up and getting back together. On and off. All the time. Never consistently good. It’s a weird thing when you love someone so much, you put up with a lot. This last time was the time that really got me good though. Last year, end of summer, caught me off guard when I was over him. I went out and was partying. Shots of jaymo with every beer I got from the bar. He kept calling and I thought he was just blowing me up so I finally answered and he was in the hospital. I freaked. I don’t know why but I just up and left. I didn’t tell anyone. I got up and ran to him. I literally ran while he stayed on the phone and I told him that he better not hang up. After that, it was back on. It was back on hard and more fucked up than ever. He was as the peak of his drug use and me finding him foaming at the mouth and non-responsive still wasn’t enough. Anything I did, everything, nothing helped. Not that I had much room to speak, I jokingly say I’m the devil, right? I could see it, bright as day. The drugs couldn’t even be hidden from me, I did them too. Well, some. I had my favorites and hated the rest. The ones I hated, of course, I was against. But that’s not okay when you do some things and not others. Our relationship went so far downhill based on drugs and sex and alcohol and chaos. But God, did we love each other. Like no other really, and I’ll never expect the same. I know I had a problem and work was my only escape from this fucked up world I made for myself. Even then, I let my shitty relationship affect it. Constantly lying. “God, I shouldn’t get so drunk.” “You know me, getting in bar fights.” “God, I’m so clumsy.” The fights though, they got worse and worse. We’d get fucked up and fight, we loved to do that. The harder we fought meant the more we loved each other, right? We’d scream and fight and then have this ridiculous make-up sex and make up only to do it all again the next day. I loved him. I loved him so damn much. More than the whole world and myself, that’s for sure. In fact, I grew to hate myself. I figured I deserved every bit of the shitty treatment I got on the daily basis. Getting beat regularly? Yeah! A broken hand? Why not!? Fuck it, a broken nose. Still not enough for me to leave him. If anything it made me need him more. I NEEDED his love. Him treating me like shit made me want him more. Like oh God I can make him love. I can make him love me. I can make him want a family. With me. I couldn’t. The more I pushed, he pulled. I weaved, he wobbed. I went up, he went down. It’s honestly kinda fuzzy. A lot of drugs were involved. That and I would never want to make him out to be anything short of amazing. Because God he was. I always told him too, told him that he never gave himself enough credit. But, fuck man, he fucked me up. If it wasn’t the constant accusing of lying or cheating it was picking fights over nothing. Not that I didn’t do the same. Fighting until the sun came up. Yet it was ALWAYS my fault. I did this or I did that. It was never the drugs or horrible behavioral patterns. Just me to blame. He wouldn’t beat me if only I didn’t make him so angry. And I say “beat” lightly because fuck yes I’d fight back. Fuck yes I did. But I’m still just a small woman, no matter how tough I act. And when it comes down to it he’d always overpower me. He’d always get me to shut up, whether it was breaking my things or simply breaking me. He’s so good at being the good guy. Of course, he’s beautiful and charming. I’d always cover him when he left a real bad mark, usually because he would convince himself and I otherwise. I don’t know what story he told when he broke my hand but I know it was big enough to make people question. Don’t remember the “stories” but I remember the instances. Just like I remember him breaking my nose and giving me a concussion and a hairline fracture on my cheek. But it’s okay because it’s all my fault. Always something I did. I loved him. Still. If not more. The more pain he inflicted the more I craved his love. It was honestly fucked up. I feel that anyone who knows us must know now. There was no more hiding it. He was fucked up and I was fucked up and everything was fucked up. We were high and drunk all the time and that was easy because it was always around. Drugs and money means anything and everything you want. But it’s so jaded, it’s so fucked and not as glamorous and any of us have ever made it seem. It was all at my disposal. It was easy. I had even tried speed and heroin. Hated them both, felt gross on both. But cocaine was a different story. I loved it when I didn’t have it and hated it when I did. My drug was this man. This beautifully fucked up man that I thought wanted nothing than to show me love. He knew what it was to hurt, like me. The more I suffered the more it showed I cared, right? You hurt the one’s you love the most, right? But I stayed. I let it happen. I’m no victim. I could have left him at any point but I held on because I swore one day it’d be better. My friends and family no longer knew me. I didn’t know myself anymore. I became this shell of a woman, a cold-hearted bitch. I was a mess when he left me. So depressed. I dropped twenty pounds just like that and I tried literally everything to make him stay. I begged, I used sex, I even tried committing suicide. I tried everything, even this abortion. Though “I faked it” even after I swore I’d have our child after our miscarriage. You were fucked up and I was fucked up and everything was fucked up. Yet he was still everything. The toxicity kept me coming back. The calmness of a normal life when he’d leave would bore me and honestly drive me crazy. I needed the chaos. It’s taken me a while to enjoy the calm. It truly does feel good. Opening up does not mean I blame him for anything, though it’s still my fault. I’m far from perfect, I have many faults any anyone that knows me knows them well. The last almost four years have affected me a lot though, I think they’ve toughened me up a bit. But I was made to love and to be loved and it took me going back a thousand times to realize that. I still care. And I still love him. A big part me forever will. But I love myself now. Something I haven’t done in a very long time. They say that the longer you dance with the devil the longer you remain in hell. It’s time I step out of this warmth I love so much and take care of myself. I still have those weak moments where I break down and crave his attention and that doesn’t help shit. But it gets easier. Why want someone’s attention if it’s constantly negative? I’m healthier and working hard and moving on with the good life I want and deserve, with people who actually love and care for me. And as my mom always said, “Life goes on”, right”?