I have been asked to share my own story of strength and to this request I am a little leery, but I have decided to go ahead and share it. I am not sharing it because I want anyone’s pity, I do not pity myself and I do not want you to either. I am sharing it so that just maybe someone in a similar situation as what mine can draw their own strength from a survivor. I wake up every day thankful for everything that has happened in my life because without it, I would not be the person I am today, and I would not be able to inspire other people with my stories. For those of you going through a hard time, take my story of strength to help you through the journey for your own strength. Caution: This story may contain disturbing content for some readers, but the story needs to be told.
Here is my Story of Strength
All through school and the beginning of college I was the quiet, shy type that stayed in the back corner and observed the world around me. There was the “public me,” and then there was the extremely sarcastic and witty me that lived in my head. “Witty me” would only come out when I was very comfortable with my surroundings. When I was uncomfortable I became an inanimate object and shut down. This method served me well through the early years of my life; it kept me out of situations that I didn’t want to be in. I don’t want to admit that I was sheltered growing up, but because of the lack of a better word that is the one that I am going to use.
It was not until I entered my first year of college that I understood just how hard this world could be. That was when my first major “crisis” happened, and looking back now it doesn’t seem like that big of a deal, but at that time my world crumbled into my hands. I was devastated with the discovery that my first love cheated on me, I convinced myself that the world would never be the same. I thought that I would never again feel the thrill of the connection to another human being. Then entered the monster lurking in the shadows of our souls, depression. He takes us away from the outside world, our families, and even ourselves. He traps us in doubt and fear, and we are nothing more than a shell of what we once were. Eventually I pushed past the monster and escaped depression happier and wiser but never the same.
That is when I met him. I will call him “black out.” Black out was a lot of fun. We always went to parties, movies, out to eat, and hung out with friends. There was never a dull moment, but boy could he drink. That is where the problem lied. I knew what the night would be like depending on how much he would drink at dinner or at the party. I had seen him hit the wall and get into fights with friends that he didn’t remember the next day. I ended up falling for another guy while I was with him and although I didn’t cheat, it still caused a lot of stress on our relationship. We broke up once for 3 months where I perused the other guy but that didn’t work out. So Black out and I ended up getting back together promising each other that things would be different. But things were rough. His drinking escalated and one night he blacked out and we got into a fight where he ended up pushing me. I went home and he called me the next day and did not know that he had put his hands on me. I realized that I did not want to be in an abusive relationship because if he did it once he would most likely do it again.