Life after abuse

When I finally got away from my abuser, I thought I could ‘bounce back’. As if some how I could return to any form of normalcy. I moved from the apartment we shared back to my parents because I couldn’t live where everything took place. My life was in unpacked boxes while the nightmares plagued me, from the discolored patches on the walls that covered the holes to the sickening stench the place possessed. I blindly believed that the independent woman that lived before I was abused would immediately come back and I could shrug it off.

I didn’t want to talk to anyone about it, I didn’t want to hear any empowering “You’re free now.” statements. I didn’t want to go see a counselor. I just wanted to forget it all happened and bury all the feelings I had regarding the situation and leave them behind. It wasn’t until I was sitting with my sister in the car one day that I realized exactly how wrecked I actually was inside. She wrapped her arms around me and I just cried.. I cried until I was gasping for air.

My mother tried to do everything she could to help me through the pain I was experiencing but it felt different coming from someone who was unbiased. My sister didn’t judge, she didn’t tell me what a monster he was, she just sat there silently with her arms wrapped so tight around me. Sometimes we just need someone who will listen to us get out every little bit of what’s eating us out even if they don’t say a word. In that moment, I needed someone to just BE THERE.

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