Never in a million years, did I imagine that I too, would be just another number in the domestic violence statistic, but here I am. I spent years buying into the narrative you sold me, of my irrefutable guilt for your behavior. It is time for me to forgive myself for all the times that I loved you blindly, for the trust I had placed in you, and for the false sense of security I had in you. I nearly lost my mind trying to understand yours. I will no longer stay silent so that you can stay comfortable. Protecting your reputation is no longer a burden that weighs me down and I make no apologies for how I choose to repair what you broke. I have never claimed to be perfect. In fact, I’m far from it. But I damn sure tried to be. For you. And in return, you spent all of your time acquiring evidence of my flaws. You were constantly finding faults in me, while I was busy overlooking all of yours. You tricked me time and time again into failing to meet your ever-changing standards. I wanna know — Did you enjoy crushing my already broken spirit? Did you delight in verbally stripping away my integrity? Did you find pleasure in watching tears stream down my face? Did it make you feel like more of man to hurt my feelings or to leave bruises and scars on my body? Your coward ways of hiding the abuse from an audience shows who you really are & you have become so secure in your role of victimhood that I doubt you could even be convinced of your fault in any of this. You see, the difference between you and I, is that I was built to conquer my demons, not become them. Obviously, you want a woman that doesn’t call you on your bullshit, and that woman isn’t me. I’m sorry that I appeared in your life as a weak, vulnerable woman, ripe for control, who then turned out not to be. I have come a long way and still have a long way to go, but if you don’t know by now, obviously, you can’t break me. As we finalize our separation, I am choosing gratitude and forgiveness over resentment and anger. Hating you would drain me of the very last bit of grace and hope that remain. I choose to reflect on the moments of hope and joy. I recognize that underneath the manufactured facade of a callous monster, hides a broken little boy. With that being said, I hope one day you find out how to be happy, without it being at someone else’s expense. We all deserve to be happy, even you.
My Story of Abuse
By Survivor Iris This story of abuse happened over the course of eleven years. I was a single young mother of one beautiful boy. Later, I found a man who seemed almost perfect. As time went by he began to show his true self. The Warning Signs By the time...
