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My Crooked Room

OCTOBER 2017

Although I am still a young person, I was a much younger when it all began. I was thirteen to be precise. Along with my adolescence, I was also incredibly naive and insecure. I did not have a satisfying social life as I also did not have many friends. I wanted so desperately to feel a connection with someone, whether it be romantic or platonic, that when I rushed into my very first long term relationship, I had not the slightest idea of how abusive it was. I didn’t even have a clue as to what consisted of an abusive relationship; healthy relationships are not taught in the general curriculum. I’d like to start this by stating my partner never hit me in the four years that we spent together, however, there are many other ways I suffered at his expense. The first year and a half of our relationship, he hurt me with his words. He called me awful names, some too horrible to even type. He said sexist and degrading things. He treated me coldly and always made sure I felt stupid and inferior to him. Then, as if the first 18 months of our relationship weren't harmful enough, the next two and a half years were even more damaging. He began sexually assaulting me. I felt disgusting and I hated him for it, but I never called attention to the situation because he convinced me that that was love. He made me believe that I was not worthy of the attention of other men and that I was lucky that he wanted to have sex with me. And finally, I convinced myself everything was okay because he was my boyfriend and therefore, myself and my body belonged to him. Afterall, boys will be boys. I was not a victim. How could I be? He loved me.

I eventually and only recently escaped the relationship. However, I have not and I am not sure that I will ever be able to escape the horrible memories that still haunt me. The abuse that I endured deeply affected me in so many ways. One of the questions I’ve received countless times is “Why did you stay with him so long?” To be perfectly truthful, I do not have an excuse other than the fact that I truly and wholeheartedly loved him. While we were still together I knew I couldn’t love him, for he was a parasite; cancerous. But the thing about cancer is that it consumes its host until nothing is left. And he was so deeply rooted in my heart that I couldn’t leave him, so instead I let myself suffer. This is an example of how our relationship has negatively affected me. I know that what happened to me is in no way my fault, however, I sometimes I think maybe I share the blame. I shouldn’t have been so promiscuous, I should’ve listened to my friends’ advice, I should’ve told someone before now. Too often I think about the many things that I should’ve done and I tend to forget that there is one thing he definitely shouldn’t have done.

Unfortunately, these conflicting thoughts of who to blame are accompanied by a considerable amount of self-hatred and mental illness. I have been diagnosed with ‘life-endangering depression and anxiety.’ I detest feeling like a wounded animal, because I know that these dark and ominous feelings are just chemical imbalances in my brain; but I am so exhausted and I am so sad. I always feel flat and grey, like I am devoid of color or shape. It is difficult to find distractions, because activities and hobbies I once adored are now so emotionally and physically draining. Often I like to imagine different worlds. Sometimes I think about using substances that would alter my own world; ones that would temporarily erase what happened. Or worse yet, sometimes I imagine a world where I don’t exist. These imaginations terrify me and I want to scream and curse and cry. Many people want material things like the latest iPhone or a new car; I just want my sanity.

Along with mental instability, I have found myself extremely untrusting of others. I live in fear that someone will hurt me again. I have also discovered that I have almost no confidence or self-respect. Sometimes when I’m out in public, men will whistle and yell obscene things at me. Rather than feeling furious at them for objectifying me, I immediately shrink and feel as though I deserve it. In these moments, even I forget that I am more than my curvaceous body. I am a considerate person with complex thoughts and maybe a little too much empathy for others. I am a witty person with a weakness for musical productions and winged eyeliner. I am a person.

I know this may have been very difficult to read, and for that I apologize. Coincidentally, it was also very difficult to type. I considered writing about something else, and even now I don’t know if this was a wise choice, but I wanted to prove that I am in a better place now. For almost three years, I refused to tell anyone. I feel that by typing this out and sharing it with others that I am taking another step towards healing. And I do not want any pity for what happened to me, frankly I just want a good grade on this paper. While I may still have trust and anger issues; while I may still suffer a mental plague, I can now talk about what happened. I am learning to accept joy into my life, and am slowly forgiving myself and my abuser. I continue to push myself in my academics and my extra curriculars. I have the support of wonderful friends and family and the added bonus of medication to aid me. I call this progress. I may still be sitting in my crooked chair in my crooked room, but I have found the key to unlock the door. Soon I’ll be able to turn the knob and walk across the threshold.