My early twenties were a depressing and dark time in my life. I thought it important to never let your friends know you have a problem. My juvenile fear was that their pity would be more than I could bear. I was more concerned with them thinking I couldn’t handle my situation than the fact that I was hiding my misery from the only people who could or would help me.
I was terrified of being loved and helped. Trapped in an emotionally abusive relationship I thought I wanted what I had. I thought that because I had something it was something special. I worked every day to justify that unhealthy relationship. I was convincing myself that working through it means forgiving a man everything and asking for nothing in return. I thought I couldn’t leave because I didn’t have any fight left. I was completely exhausted by being the relationship and couldn’t put forth the energy to fight out of it. I allowed myself to be controlled and beaten down because I thought that was love. And I wanted to be in love more than anything.
Had I only allowed my friends to be there for me, I could have saved myself four years of hiding in a cocoon of covers all day long. The tears and self-imposed exile could have been avoided. I have learned from my mistakes and firmly resolve to let people in, even when my news isn’t great. My only hope is that no young person feels the way I felt from 19 to 23. If the only voices telling you that this is a good relationship are yours and his, consider the value of talking to others. If it is a friend, if it is a sibling, parent, or a complete stranger, it is someone. When you have to create a way to make the story sound good or make that person sound nice so others will like them, chances are you’re not convincing the person you’re telling. You’re convincing yourself.
