For years, I lived a life filled with silent suffering, my words unheard, my feelings dismissed, my spirit bruised. I wrote countless letters, pouring my heart onto paper, each word carefully chosen and each plea steeped in vulnerability. I begged—not for grand gestures, but for the smallest breadcrumbs of love and kindness, for tenderness and a trace of softness. Instead, my words were met with harshness, insults, and cruelty. He threw my heartfelt letters away, discarding them as if they were meaningless scraps.
When words failed, his actions spoke volumes. He would retreat to a room, locking himself away, forbidding me from disturbing him. Days would pass in cold silence, my existence ignored, until he reappeared, acting as if nothing had transpired. Any attempt to address the pain, to speak of the void he had created, was strictly forbidden. I was expected to carry on, burying my emotions in the same way he buried my pleas for connection. This cycle repeated itself, an unrelenting rhythm of neglect, particularly on special occasions or before social gatherings, as though to tarnish what should have been moments of joy.
Even the simplest acts, like buying something for our home, became a battlefield. I was forced to justify every purchase, scouring for bargains, sales, or even secondhand items to avoid his wrath. I kept every receipt, each a token of my obedience. Yet, when it came to his desires, there were no such constraints. He lavished himself with expensive, full-priced items—fishing equipment and other indulgences—without hesitation, without question. His needs were paramount; mine were an afterthought.
In my desperation, I turned to friends for solace, seeking comfort in their understanding and support. But even there, he sought to destroy me. How dare I speak of his cruelty? How dare I expose the truth? One by one, he shattered those relationships, isolating me further, ensuring that my voice remained trapped in the echo chamber of his control.
Years passed, marked by a relentless cycle of physical, mental, and financial abuse. I was trapped in a web of manipulation, my worth diminished, my identity eroded. I didn’t deserve this. No one deserves this. And yet, it became my reality—until now, as I finally find the courage to put these words into the world.
This is not just a story of suffering. It’s a story of survival. A testament to the resilience that flickered within me, even when the darkness tried to extinguish it.
