Once upon a time, in the not so distant past, I left everything and everyone I knew to move four hours away because of a man. A man who presented as caring, kind, and understood me in ways no one else did. What I didn’t know at the time was that he was an abuser.

The fairy tale quickly turned into a nightmare.

He began controlling my every move, demanded I give him every cent I earned, dictated how much I ate and when. This was all accompanied by insults about how much I ate, my weight, my intelligence, what I was spending money on, where I went, who I talked to. Once he had broken me down, he would go back to being Prince Charming. This pattern continued throughout our relationship.

I could write a book about everything that happened during that period of my life, but I’m still working through the trauma of it, and so I’m writing it in bits and pieces.

The last several months of our relationship were the worst of it all. He was cheating on me, and after I found out, he blamed me for his cheating and decided to move the woman into my apartment. He often had the 3 of us sleep in the same bed together. Sometimes they would stay in the living room, and I could hear them having sex. She and him spent time together all day every day while I was at work, and even when I was home. He would sometimes take my car and leave to drive several hours away with her to buy drugs. Almost every time he was gone, he would call me and claim there was something wrong with my car that needed to get fixed, and that his “buddy” was working on fixing it. Because of that he would be gone for days at a time. At first I believed him. But towards the end, I knew he was lying.

On one such occasion, on a Friday, he asked me to call off work so I could go to the bank and take out “his money” (it was my money that I earned from working, but he declared my money as his) and the three of us would go on the long drive together. I already spent the majority of my paycheck on rent, but I hadn’t told him yet. When we got to the bank, I went to the ATM and tried to pretend there was a problem. My heart was pounding and my entire body was shaking. He didn’t believe me and began screaming at me about the money, hurling insults, among them calling me a “stupid bitch,” “worthless.” I broke down and told him the truth, that I had used the money to pay rent. He punched me in the jaw and screamed at me to get “his money” back. He then sped off and almost got into an accident because of his erratic driving while still screaming at me.

He pulled into a gas station and told me to get out and buy him cigarettes. I could barely walk because I was shaking so much. My jaw hurt from his punch. I struggled to hold back tears. I thought about asking someone in the gas station for help, or calling the police from my phone, but I didn’t. I was afraid. I feared no one would help me, or if the police did show up and nothing was done, he would do something even worse to me, or he would go back to the apartment and hurt my cat. When I “pissed him off,” he liked to threaten to harm my cat, who he knew I loved dearly.

After I got back in the car, I texted a few people I knew and was able to borrow some money. After I gave the money to him, he dropped me off at the apartment and left with his girlfriend, because I “had lied and pissed [him] off.”

We usually had some food at the apartment, though there were times when we didn’t have much. On this particular weekend, I was left with nothing but a can of beets and I didn’t have any money. So, I went from Friday to Sunday evening with nothing to eat but the one can of beets. I made the can last the three days, but it was difficult. I had thought about walking to the gas station that was a half mile away and begging for money, but couldn’t bring myself to do it. I was weak from hunger and feared him finding out that I had done that, as we frequented that gas station.

To this day, I can’t eat beets. When I look at a can or jar of them, I have flashbacks to those times.

I’ve reflected on my relationship with him so many times. Thought about why I didn’t tell anyone about the abuse. Thought about how scared I was, how ashamed I felt. I still carry that shame. I know I shouldn’t, but it’s difficult to shake. I felt so alone, so helpless, so hopeless. I didn’t think anyone could or would help me because I had chosen this man, had chosen to move far away from everyone. I thought about suicide daily; the only thing stopping me was fear of what he would do to my cat. Fuck, even now, writing this, I feel guilty referring to it as an abusive relationship because so many people experience so much worse. I know I shouldn’t compare, and I know that what he did was abuse. To this day, I catch myself thinking, well, he only hit me twice, it’s not that bad. Once is wrong. Twice is wrong. Any number greater than zero is wrong.

I’m glad I was finally able to escape him. I know not everyone who is in an abusive relationship is as fortunate.

There is help out there. You are not alone. You do not deserve to be abused.

National Domestic Violence Hotline 24/7: Call 800-799-7233 or text START to 88788