When I was 17, I got involved with someone who was abusive. Now, you have to understand, he was incredibly charming, charismatic, and good-looking. I was this little ugly loser girl who had never had a real relationship, many friends, and was often bullied. Any time anyone good-looking was nice to me, it was always a set-up. But not with him. Yeah, I fell hard.

Things started out great. Andrew was very kind to me, said all the right things at the right time. He wanted to join the military, and sad as I was, I encouraged him because it's what he wanted. Things started to worsen when his mother's break-downs started. She was a paranoid schizophrenic, and Andrew would call me while she was having episodes, saying there were FBI agents in her trash cans coming for her. My family took him in, but being that he was under 18 as well, we couldn't legally keep him when his mother came to get him. I know his mother was sick, and we tried to help any way we could. But I soon learned how Andrew treated her. He talked to her so nasty, so berating, he would tell her when to shut up, and controlled the conversation. It was almost like SHE was afraid of HIM. Red flags started popping up, but I was young and stupid.

He slowly started wiggling between my friends. He would cut them off, and always want me around him. He hated my male friends for no reason other than that they were male. Eventually he required my passwords to sites, saying that "I would give him the passwords if I had nothing to hide." Again, stupid. But I did. He would routinely go through and delete my friends on facebook, delete messages, and keep a constant watch on me.

He started pressuring me for sex. I didn't want to at the time, but I didn't want to lose him. I didn't enjoy it, but it made him happy, so it was worth it in my mind. He really started having me under his thumb then. He told me what I could and couldn't wear, who I could and couldn't talk to. I actually had to tie the straps on my tank tops to avoid showing cleavage (since, in his words, any girl that shows even a little cleavage is a slut). I wasn't allowed to talk to other guys, not even look at them without being questioned. I wasn't allowed to wear high heels in public. No skirts, dresses, he even had to approve of my halloween costumes.

My 18th birthday rolled around and it only got worse. The fights were worse, the control was worse. He started pressuring me for marriage and children. I was NOT ready to be a bride, and certainly not a mother. I still to this day have no desire for children. But on he would push, and I had to keep pushing back. Eventually, though I gave him everything, he still cheated on me. He either cheated, or the "girl" never even existed. He was no stranger to making up fake people, I found some when I borrowed his laptop one day. And found he hacked into my art site profile and changed shit around. Of course he lied about it, but his facts weren't adding up at all and the evidence was there. I was a dumb kid, but not THAT dumb. It crushed me. I was an absolute wreck, but little dumb me stayed with him still. I even moved in with him and his mother to try and rebuild our relationship and because I was going through rough patches with my own parents. This got much, much worse.

He failed the psych test for the military. He would go into episodes of psychosis where he would cry and claim people were outside of his window coming to kill him. I didn't know how to handle any of this, I was a kid. He would cry almost every day, we would fight constantly, he even tried cutting me off from my family (I put my foot down with that one). During the fights, he started threatening violence against me and my few belongings. He hated my dog, he hated my art, hated my sister. Threatened to burn them and make me watch so I would hurt. By this point, I was terrified of him. Any time I wanted to call my mom, he would grab my arm so hard, it would leave a head-print bruise until I would drop the phone.

I started to grow numb. He would refuse me food because he wanted me thinner. He would lie about everything, even things that made no sense that he didn't have to lie about. I didn't even know if I really knew him.

At 19, we got engaged. I really, really did not want to marry him. I was terrified of him, of what he would do if I said no. I was in too deep now, I thought I had no way out. He kept pushing to get married as soon as possible, but I fought back on it. I was still in high school, after all (yeah, late to graduate at 19).

One morning, I woke up and found him at the table face down in his own vomit. I tried to wake him, eventually succeeding, but he was very slow and unable to speak or comprehend anything. I cleaned him up, he kept vomiting. I woke up is mother, who seemed more annoyed than anything. She didn't take him to the hospital, but instead left him there alone while she insisted on taking me to school. His mother never liked my much. He later claimed no memory of the event and that it was just a normal night. To this day, I think he probably took some kind of drugs, though he would never tell the truth about anything.

I got a job while in school to support myself a little. His mother complained that I was just a money sink and burden, though I didn't eat any of their food and took short showers. The only time I would have food for the day was during lunch in high school. I worked fast food, most day until 11 at night.

Then it happened. We got a call that he had been in a motorcycle accident and had to be air-lifted to a trauma center. I'm not proud of it, but for a moment, I thought of how much better life would be if he died. He didn't. Andrew shattered both wrists and arms, and broke his femur in three places. He couldn't walk, couldn't feed himself. After surgery, when he was released back home, his mother had me tend to all his care. I would wake up at 7am for school, go to work until 11pm, and take care of Andrew all night. He would sleep during the day, and keep the light on and TV loud at night because "being in the dark depressed him". I've always had trouble sleeping with any kind of light. He would wake me up anywhere from 7-14 times a night to get him food, water, medicine, rotate him, bathe him, etc. This went on for 2 months. I started falling asleep in class, it was the only place I had any peace. One day, I couldn't keep awake no matter how my teacher scolded me, and she yelled at me to get out of her class. She came out and talked to me, and I just broke down crying. I am so thankful I had my teacher. She was really my best friend. She was harsh and no-bullshit, but she was always there for me and really cared about all her students. I just unloaded everything. She comforted me as best she could, and had me go home to get some sleep for the day.

Shortly after, my sister moved back home. I've always been really close with my sister. She was bringing me for a visit with my parents, one of the rare times he wasn't with me. She just asked one question, I remember it well: "Are you happy with him?" Again, I broke down. I rarely cry, but I had been breaking. We must've sat in that damn car for 3 hours, just me spewing my story. My family loathed Andrew. They could see I was afraid of him, my mental health was dwindling. I even planned and attempted suicide while with him because I thought it was my only escape. My sister just held me for a while and agreed to help me move out subtly. And so I did. I had moved all my stuff to her car on the break-up day. He noticed as I was leaving what was happening. He screamed and pleaded and cried. I just gave him back his ring and left him screaming. On the drive away, I shed no tears, not one. I felt like for the first time in now almost 3 years, I could breathe again. For weeks after, he would call me and just cry on the phone. I started to ignore him.

Fast forward a year and a half later. I had broken up with my boyfriend at the time, and Andrew began to message me again. He now had a kid, and was wanting to hang with me sometime. I'd grown much more backbone since we last interacted. I wanted to tell him how he made my life hell, what I thought of him, so I agreed. We met up, and sure as shit, I laid the hell into him. He just laughed and said I had gotten mean. I wasn't mean, I was honest. Later he said he had to pick something up from his old apartment before they threw his stuff out. Reluctantly, I went with him since I had no way home from this point. Once we got there, he convinced me to come up and see his old place, it'd only take a minute. Red flags went off and I started feeling afraid of him again. He wouldn't let up, so I got out of the car and walked with him. I made sure to subtly grab my pepper spray and keep my distance. By the grace of god, the landlord had changed the locks that day, so we couldn't get in. I still fear what might have happened if he'd gotten me in there, and I know I was really stupid. He tried for a while and got really angry, but just decided to take me home. I was finally home and away from him. He stopped contacting me at all, and I was super happy.

He would come by my house and tell me to meet him outside for mail. I would just tell him to leave it on the porch and go. I'd only get the mail he left hours later. He'd drive by my house sometimes. My whole family was afraid he would try something. Though one day, he up and moved to California out of nowhere. I've not seen or heard from him since. Hell, I don't know if he's even still alive. I'm 23 now, and still in the back of my mind, he haunts me. I still fear "what if he found me now", and I hope my current boyfriend never meets him. If he ever comes back to my state, I'll rest much more uneasy.

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