I used to dream about a life when you were standing beside me. Faithfully taking my hand and helping me through everything. But then I realized you gripped my hand a little too hard. At first, I thought you just didn’t want to let go, but then the “comfort” of your touch became the sole reason I cringe when someone touches me. You stole any ounce of innocence I had left inside of me. It was when I was close to ending everything I had ahead of me that I finally got the courage to leave you; little did I know the battles were far from over.

No, because every demeaning thing you ever said to me still courses through my mind when I finally get a little bit of courage to do anything. When I’m finally getting better, I remember the bruises and marks you left on more than just my body. When a guy tells me it’s a woman’s job to care for the man in a sexual way I will believe them, because of you. I will continue to believe that I mean absolutely fucking nothing. I will continue to believe that the only purpose I have is to serve a man sexually. I will continue to believe that I need to keep my mouth shut and my legs open–because that’s what you taught me, right?

I will continue doing these things because of You. You have stripped away any identity I had and filled those holes with hatred and impurity. Now I’ve left you, and I still don’t know who I am. Now I’ve left you and I realize I’m lucky to be alive.