*Trigger warning: this article covers depression, suicidal thoughts, and topics related to abuse. If you or someone you know is experiencing any form of abuse, please contact the abuse hotline for further support. You are valued.
I recently found my old journal: packed with poems, letters, and painting concepts, all inspired by the trauma of being in an emotionally abusive relationship. It’s been over four years, but sometimes I flashback and wonder how 15-year-old me persevered through a pain so deep many adults can’t escape. This is my story as a survivor of abuse and how I pushed through to become the woman I am today.
Usually when people think of abuse, they imagine purple bruises, bloody knees, and broken bones. Emotional abuse, however, consists of psychological manipulation like gaslighting, deliberately causing anguish, and gaining mental control over another person. During my two year relationship with James* I experienced all the common warning signs of emotional abuse, which placed me in a dangerous state of depression, severely impaired my self-worth, and isolated me from my peers, only drawing me closer to my abuser. Because what I experienced in high school was never physical, I kept my head down and allowed people to gaslight me into believing I was overreacting. Only when James publicly threatened to punch me were alarm bells raised. Through this article I aim to highlight the severity of emotional abuse.
I was a 14-year-old, naive child when James and I started dating. Through him I experienced the excitement of first love. We played sports together, our families traveled together, and we spent practically every waking moment together. Looking back, part of me was afraid to leave James, not only because being with him was easier than being alone, but also because I didn’t want the responsibility of breaking up my family’s close friendships with James’s family. This being said, if my mom didn’t spend days on end crafting with James’s mom, she wouldn’t have noticed my subconscious torment and saved me from further damage.
I have forgotten most of James’s comments as a coping mechanism, but I remember him always telling me not to laugh because I was too loud. He slowly turned me against my friends until he was my only social contact and consistently asked me if I was mad at him, which I later learned is projection. He also got mad at me and convinced me I was ill because I had a constant stomach ache when I was around him; to this day I cannot believe I was manipulated so much I experienced chronic pain.
After about six months of dating I was dealing with personal issues, and instead of supporting me, James broke up with me over the phone. I channeled all of my pain from my personal issues into the breakup; this opened up a rabbit hole of depression. After months of literally not feeling anything and crying gallons of tears, I started to find happiness in life again. This is when James re-entered my life.
At this point I was at my most vulnerable: I had no will to live, no friends, and the self-esteem of a banana peel. So, when James sent me an essay and voice notes of him crying about how much he loved me, I allowed him to woo me again. I ignored all the red flags: my stomach pain returned, his friends pleaded with me to block him, and even my teachers looked at me disapprovingly when I walked down the hall with someone I so publicly mourned. I knew the second he reached out to me I needed to run, and I tried to push him away, but he convinced me he would date my enemy if I took too long to decide what I wanted. I only officially started dating him again when he threatened me by saying if I rejected him he would kill himself. Getting back with James was one of the worst mistakes I’ve ever made.
The second half of James and my relationship consisted of him testing my limits and me giving myself reasons to stay. I would sit quietly watching him sing with friends and flirt with other girls but if I tried to join the conversation I would be punished. His punishments consisted of purposely ignoring me for days on end, yelling at me for “mothering him,” or crying to me about publicly humiliating him. I wasn’t allowed to laugh, dance, or talk to other people without receiving verbal threats, but every time I stood up for myself he flipped the script and casted me as the bad guy. Over Christmas, while I was out of town, I asked him to text me more and he said I ruined his last Christmas with his family and purposely ignored me for a week. Soon I was a “crazy psycho b*tch” not only in his eyes, but also in the eyes of his friends, my teammates, and even some teachers. The few people who believed me and comforted me when I sobbed in the bathroom or angrily ran down the hallway saved my life.
After months of building pressure, I decided to take my power back. I wrote the pros and cons and the non-negotiables of our relationship, and invited James over for a talk. I made him sit and listen to me, telling him if he interrupted or argued I would break up with him on the spot. When he questioned one of my non-negotiables, I calmly walked to my room, collected every piece of jewelry and gift he’d ever given me, placed them in his hand, walked him to the door, and told him we were over. He begged and pleaded with me, in tears, but I kept my composure because I had reached my breaking point and needed to respect myself before his demons infected my entire soul. I made him walk home and I never turned back.
Once James graduated high school, I could breathe again and had a normal senior year. I rebuilt friendships, started to laugh again, wrote less poetry, and only cried happy tears. Now, four years after kicking him out that rainy February day, I am so unapologetically outspoken, goofy, intelligent, and happy I don’t even recognize the victim I once was.
The pain I experienced during my relationship with James was almost unbearable. He made me cry until I threw up and banged my head against the wall, brainwashed me into entering a shell of myself, and tormented my every waking thought. There is no feeling better than when I told him to leave and finally began my overdue healing process. James taught me I deserve so much more than the bare-minimum, how to stand up for myself, and how to remain calm in arguments, and even though I have never been in a better place, I will never forgive nor forget the suffering he caused not only for me, but everyone around me. I am eternally grateful for my family and the few friends who stood by me through this whole experience: because of you I am a survivor and not a victim. No one will ever have the power over me that James did. No one will ever treat me the way James did.
If you are experiencing similar things as I did, please reach out to someone. It may seem like you are completely alone, but I promise you, there are people out there who genuinely care. You deserve happiness and not be manipulated by a narcissist.
* This is not the real name of my abuser