When I talk about my past, people often ask “what finally made you escape from it all?“ It’s hard to answer because I don’t want to be rude. It’s not an escape from it. The definition of escape is “to break free from control”. It wasn’t breaking free. Even years later I still find myself retreating from my own confidence, feeling worthless, and struggling to be completely honest because after over 8 years with that person this is what I amounted to. I say, “It wasn’t an escape. One day I had a little more strength than other days to walk away.”

It didn’t start right away. Or maybe it did. But that’s the thing with emotional abuse, you don’t recognize it because they do so well at hiding it. I didn’t even know I was in an emotionally and psychologically abusive relationship until a year or two after. No matter how many people told me he was, I didn’t believe, I couldn’t believe it, I wouldn’t believe it.

I tried leaving several times before. I thought I was strong enough. And then I would imagine my life without him and convince myself I was nothing. He would over shower me with love, gifts, tokens of his affection. He would leave apology cards on my car window when at work, send me videos of him holding up apology letters. And the promises! Oh, the promises of things will be different, he will be different, we will be different.

The one time I actually left, I stayed gone. It  was hard. It’s never easy. But I didn’t have an supporters. I didn’t have an believers. I had lost many friends because of him. And the friends that I had left weren’t cheering me on because they didn’t believe it. But I did it.

After I left, I found out it was easier for him to let me leave because there was someone new. This destroyed me. How could there have been someone new if he loved me that much? I became worried if I was prettier than her, smarter than her, more personable than her. People I thought were my friends took those concerns right to him, feeding into his ego even more. He contacted me the next day and told me all about how he heard I was an emotional mess, begging others to tell me I’m prettier. He said if I were concerned about those things I should have never left him, but it’s pointless now, he’s happy with his decision to move on. It was his last attempt to control me and my emotions. And it worked. He was successful, and part of me thought he knew it.

The dagger really hit hard when he told his mother, who was my only ally, that I was the reason we broke up. That I cheated and caused him pain. That I refused to fix it. His mother knew her son. She knew how he treated the relationship. She had seen the signs for years. She defended me once and he treated her like crap for years, blocking her from his life, sharing intimate details, visiting, the things a mother and son should be doing together.

But after years of therapy and emotionally uncomfortable conversations with private confidants, I’ve realized I can’t worry about the relationships he has anymore. I can’t feel guilty. I can just try to do better. So here I am, making my promise to anyone who reads this. I promise to try better, to do better, to be better.

-BellesBurden