Sometimes, it still doesn’t feel real. Sometimes, this doesn’t feel like it could be my story. But I remember the power of hearing other’s stories and the strength they gave me to face my own past. I hope maybe my story can do the same for someone else.
I was young, in college and out on my own for the first time. I hadn’t dated much. And a boy liked me. He was funny and in his own awkward way, charming. Our relationship started out normal enough, although looking back I can’t believe I missed the warning signs—how much he drank and how often, how much drinking changed his personality and how he would subtly demean my intelligence and capabilities. His aggressiveness leaked through in little ways—a grab of the wrist or the slam of a fist against my door if we fought.
He broke it off with me abruptly…
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