A story inspired by images.
He wasn't always like this.
He was loving. Caring. Kind. Honest. Respectful. He was someone I could rely on. I thought he was too good to be true. I should have listened to those thoughts.
It was subtle changes.
His words changed first. Compliments became backhanded. Endearments became insulting. Suggestions became mandatory. His words slowly changed me.
I changed my hair for starters.
It was long, so incredibly long and glossy. It was my best feature. And I took great pride in showing it off. I knew I looked good. I felt good. And he knew that. So he destroyed it.
My hair, clothing, weight, height, how large my nose was to the color of my eyes. He changed my values, my thoughts, my emotions. He molded me into this perfect doll that fit his every need.
The worse part?
I let him.
I thought it was love.
At least, that's what everyone told me. If you love someone, you need to be willing to compromise. They actually told I looked better with short hair. That my blue eyes were better than brown.
It was insanity. All of it.
Because once I became the person he wanted me to be, he was no longer interested. He moved on. Affairs. Cheating. Adultery.
The first slap didn't wake me up.
Neither did the shoves. Or the bruises. The cracks. Breaks. Concussions. Tears. None of them. It wasn't until he tried drowning me in our master bath, that I realized it.
It was like I awoke from a long nap.
Everything was suddenly crystal clear. This wasn't normal. This wasn't love.
This was abuse.
And it needed to stop.
I'd gotten help. I was lucky.
So many other women are lost to domestic abuse. They are so lost in denial or so afraid to do something about it. Some have known no better.
I've learned many things from life,
but this may have been the most profound lesson I've gained. Love is selfless, unconditional, and most importantly,
So choose who you love wisely.