S.M.

By expectation, a relationship is supposed to be loving, full of mutual respect, support, and joy. Unfortunately, that was not my experience. As a teenage girl, at the age of fifteen, I never expected someone to come into my life and change the way I thought of myself forever. For two and a half years, I was involved in what can only be described as an extremely toxic and harmful relationship. Really, we only dated for a few months on and off, but this person harassed me for years. It all began after the breakup, when I refused to get back together. To this boy, my refusal of his pursuits was totally and undeniably unacceptable. He decided that I was now his target, and determined to make my life nothing but my own personal hell. That’s when the rumors began swirling. Suddenly, my classmates and friends began hearing untrue things and gossiping about me, things that were maliciously and outlandishly fabricated, only intended to throw slander on my name. Little did they know, there was much more behind the scenes: abuse that I was hesitant to even bring to light. 

During the short relationship, much occurred. I was the victim of devastating physical, emotional, and verbal abuse. I was told I was ugly and overweight on a daily basis, as an attempt to make me insecure enough to not interact with anyone but him. His goal was complete isolation and control because for some crazy reason, he was the one who felt threatened. I was told that no one would ever like me, no one would ever be my friend, and that I should simply kill myself because I would be alone for the rest of my life, a waste of space. He tried to build a wall between the ones I held closest, my family. I was told that they didn’t love nor care about me, and that he was the only person I had. Soon enough, I began to believe the lies and I slowly began to shut down. I emotionally withdrew from everyone and everything. I hated myself and felt worthless. I allowed these hurtful words to stick so deep into my psyche that I was physically ill. I couldn’t even bear to get out of bed, let alone eat, most days. I felt lost, that I was drowning, trying to call out for help and feeling like no one could hear me. 

As if this wasn’t enough, the abuse began to escalate physically. It started with grabbing my arm here or there, just hard enough to leave little marks that would fade. Then, on several instances, it progressed to grabbing me around my neck, kicking me to the floor and holding me down until I screamed and sobbed. The assaults manifested as bruises all over my body, which I hid tirelessly, until my mother saw them. She thought I could be sick, so she took me to the doctor. Upon just examining me and asking basic questions, my physician knew what was happening: she knew I was the victim of abuse. At that point, the relationship was nonexistent, but retaliation was always on the forefront of his mind. This led him to vandalizing my home and my car, to such an extent that law enforcement had become involved, filing a police report. This finally and thankfully ended any attempts from this boy to contact me, but the lasting effects are something I still deal with to this day. 

This experience made me incredibly insecure, constantly questioning every aspect of myself. It made be timid and quiet, afraid to put myself out there, stripping me of my confidence. I felt completely broken, that I would never recover. I wanted to know what was wrong with me, and why I deserved to be treated like I was nothing. Though this experience took everything from me, it taught me so much. I learned that I am so much stronger than I ever gave myself credit for, stronger than I could have ever imagined. I learned what the definition of love truly is, what it is not, and that one day I will be loved beautifully. I have learned how to love myself and that my worth is immeasurable. 

My experience is not something I talk about often. Not one person, in my hometown or in college, knows the full extent of my story. For so long, I did not want to be seen as ‘that’ girl or damaged goods, so I kept it hidden. Now, I feel like it is my responsibility to share what happened to me, so that I can be an advocate and supporter of girls who are going through something similar. My struggle taught me to be kind to everyone, friend or stranger, because you never know what story they aren’t sharing. Every day is a constant struggle to work on accepting myself and coming to terms with my past, but I am so thankful for the personal growth that I have gone through, in return. My story has given me my strength.