POLLSee all polls and results
Tags#mentalhealth abuse addiction alcohol body image boyfriend bullying college contest contraceptives cooking cyber bullying dating depression domestic violence drugs exercise family fitness friends future girlfriend grief healthy holidays hygiene leadership LGBTQ love money nutrition parents peer pressure relationships safety school self-esteem sex sports STIs stress suicide teen pregnancy tobacco volunteering
Posted By iamincontrol | January 28, 2014
One of the most difficult things that I faced in high school wasn’t bullying or anything like that. I faced the struggle of power and freedom with my parents.
I started dating a guy when I turned 15, and that’s when it all began. Everything started off okay. I was always home by curfew, and he followed my parents’ rules. Then he started demanding more time with me. It got to the point after a few years where it seemed I was always picking him over my family because he always made everything sound better.
It wasn’t until after about 5 years when I truly began to open my eyes and see what my family and my closest friends had been preaching to me about for so long. I realized finally that my relationship was very toxic. I did whatever he wanted to do and on his time. I was afraid of how he would act if I didn’t. He was mentally and emotionally abusive towards me. He changed who I was as a person. I quit talking to my parents. If they asked me any sort of question that somewhat related to him, I would automatically snap. I did that because I didn’t want to talk about it. In the back of my mind, I knew I needed to get out, but I never knew how to.
Finally, after 7 years of hell, I got out. I’d had enough. I was depressed and lost interest in everything I loved. I even went to extremes and found other ways of dealing with the pain. I started cutting. The first time I did it, it wasn’t much more than a little scratch. It was nothing really to be concerned about…or so I thought. It eventually led to more frequent episodes and deeper cuts. One day after working out I looked down to find the scars on my body and it hit me like a bus. What was I doing? Why was I putting myself and the ones I love through this? For what? I clearly wasn’t happy, and I saw that.
A couple weeks after this, I broke up with my then boyfriend and didn’t look back. He drug me down to rock bottom, and it’s been a hard way back up. I stumble here and there, but I’m working on myself. Honestly it’s hard to see things such as this when you’re young and “in love,” but you’ll know when it’s real and when you’re just getting used. I just hope someone else doesn’t have to go through the years of hurt that I did.