Olivia C.
Photography by Mason Schlopy
If you're reading this, remember, abuse isn't just physical.
What girl doesn’t want flowers? Promises of undying love? The promise of forever?
I felt broken, like a bad girlfriend, when my heart would sink at the sight of him at my door smiling, holding the bouquet. I’d wince and smile and put the flowers in a vase, my anxiety and guilt mixing in with the water and wilting the petals. I’d take his love letter and skim it. “My love”, “forever”, “mine” “I love you”, “I’ll change”, “I’m sorry”. The words swirled around like alphabet soup and tasted salty in my mouth. I’d look back up at his pleading face, and I’d exhale, my lungs straining against the suffocating weight constricting my chest. I forgive you.
He was the perfect boyfriend, and I needed to be better for him. I should be grateful that he loves me. He’s been through so much, I understand him, I get why he does the things he does. I can fix him.
His fierce jealousy came out of love, out of protection. We were long-distance and I liked to go out. I never was fully in the moment, my fingers wrapped around my phone. On call, my face illuminated by the blue light of my screen as my friends danced around me. I knew that parties heightened his insecurity, and I needed to be there to soothe his anxiety, reassure him that I wasn't off with someone else. If my battery died, panic would swallow me and I'd rush to find a charger. I needed to answer within the hour. My delay in response was proof enough. I needed to be his doting girlfriend and give him the reassurance he demanded. Tell him that I was his forever. That I’d never cheat. That my love was undying. That I was his.
A quiver of hesitancy in my vow, and his wrath was imminent. I’d beg and plead, but his silence was deafening. He had the power to unleash a torrent of jealous anger, and then cut off the stream. A cold wall I’d scratch at till my fingertips were raw, apologizing for upsetting him, for making him doubt my faithfulness. Never once did I cheat, but I did something far worse. I made him question. I’m sorry.
I was utterly alone. The facade of our perfect relationship was a mirage I carefully created, my social media peppered with pictures together. He liked that, it showed everyone that I was his. My friendships fractured, one too many plans canceled. I never get to see you, he says. My friends didn’t need to know our relationship business, he says. A puppet on a string, I was at his whim, catering to his needs and performing the delicate dance of who he wanted me to be.
Truthfully, I didn't want to tell them. Deep down I was embarrassed, embarrassed to tell them about all my I forgive yous. Embarrassed to tell them that I stayed. Stayed after I came out as bisexual, and he responded with a rage that I never would truly love him. That my eyes would linger now on not only one but two genders. Stayed after I spent the night after my father’s heart attack apologizing to him, because I didn’t consider how the news would affect him. Embarrassed over the crumbled up notes of our conversations, ones I used as evidence of my sanity. Embarrassed that I allowed “forever”, and “I love you” and countless bouquets justify his abuse.
It was like a switch, my decision to leave. It had been a normal fight, a standard outlash where my support of his social life led to his attack of mine. He said he was going to turn off his phone, go to a party and pretend he didn’t have a girlfriend. His words slapped me, and while he’d said far worse in the past, for some reason that was what woke me up. I ended the Facetime and my phone buzzed shortly after. The text read, “You’re my forever. I love you”. And suddenly, it all seemed too obvious. I went to my friend's dorm and cried, shattering the facade of my perfect relationship and finally opening up for the first time in nearly 3 years.
I broke up with him at 20, the same age he was when he asked me to be his girlfriend. When I look back at the 17-year-old insecure high-schooler who said yes, who was wooed by his gifts and validations that I was beautiful enough, worthy enough of love, and my stomach turns at my naivete. At such a young and formative age, he molded me into who he wanted me to be, and subdued the parts of me that he said didn’t align. I squeezed my growing body into clothes too small to fit into his image of my perfection.
But now that I was free of him, the liberty of my control, of my independence, was terrifying. Panic consumed me for weeks, months after, as my body adjusted out of the constant state of fear response. I’d catch myself instinctively grasping my phone, worried there would be missed angry messages from him. I transitioned out of the rigid schedule of hourly check-ins centered around my reassurance of loyalty and lifelong commitment. I was sick with anxiety, my identity and worth shattered like china. I spent months, years gluing myself back together, and often nicking myself and others in the process. I was left wondering, what do I do now? Who am I?
If you're reading this, know that life is so much brighter after finding the courage to leave. I boxed-dyed my hair with questionable colors. I traveled through Europe. I reconnected with my friends and family. I accomplished new highs in my career. My friends say I’m unrecognizable to the girl I was before. I’m loud, I’m intelligent, I’m funny, I’m spontaneous. I’m unabashedly myself, and could care less if someone doesn’t like it. I will never dull myself for another person, or relinquish my control, my independence, over the fear of being alone. Because I know now that the loneliest I've ever felt was with someone by my side.
If you're reading this know that your friends and family miss you, and are here to help. Opening up is terrifying, and feels like a betrayal to your partner. But I promise, opening up shifts the suffocating weight on your chest. It allows you to share the burden, and see the light. You are not alone.
If you're reading this and you think a loved one is in an emotionally abusive relationship, treat them with care and check in on them frequently. Abusers isolate victims from their friends and family, so it is imperative to create supportive and understanding environments to allow them to open up. Isolation creates an echo-chamber that amplifies the abuser’s control and silences the victim’s doubts that they deserve better.
If you’re reading this, know that I’m proud of you. Acknowledging that my letter resonates is the smallest step on a long journey.
If you're reading this, know you are stronger than you think, and I am proud of your courage.
Olivia C., Syracuse University
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