From 17 to 20 I was with a man who, at the time, I thought I loved. My family loved him too. Over time. I started to wonder if I was being abused, but I never left him, and my family never questioned if anything was wrong.
Early on, he started showing signs of what I now realise was control. I didn’t go to my prom because he didn’t want me to. I stopped seeing my friends. We worked together and I was too frightened to talk to my friends there, so I removed myself to a different part of the building from them where I could. He would criticise what I wore, and tried to force me to wear his clothes on my first day of university. At uni, I was too scared to make friends in case he found out. At work, if a male manager spoke to me he’d stand behind them shaking his head.
He was obsessed with the couple of boys I’d had sex with before him, and would endlessly call me a slag and a slut. He’d drive the car too fast when he was angry. He’d often punch walls. He’d tell me I was causing him to have depression.
And yet even when our relationship ended I still wanted to be friends with him and seen him a few times, and congratulated him when he did eventually marry and have a child.
I am so frustrated when I think back. Why did I put up with it and why did I keep it hidden?