A year ago, today, I was hurting. My heart is sad and sympathetic for the girl crying on the floor screaming for the pain to stop—the girl who I was a year ago today.
A year ago, today, I was shattered into pieces because he broke me more than I ever thought I could be broke. I had to see his face, the face I loved so much, everywhere I went because he was in all my classes, and I couldn’t escape him.
A year ago, today, I still believed his lies when he said, “I still care about you so much” or “I can see us getting back together, just give me time.” I was wrapped around his finger and the lies he fabricated to spin me tighter and tighter into his manipulation.
A year ago, in November, I forgave him for throwing me on the ground out of sheer anger. I blamed it on myself. I said, “it was my fault, I shouldn’t have provoked you,” even though I did nothing wrong. I saw the best in him because I was blinded by the love that I felt for him.
A year ago, in December, He told me he wants absolutely nothing to do with me for no reason. Just like that, he flipped a switch that caused me to stay in bed for days without talking to anyone.
And a year ago, in January? A year ago, in January, he spread rumors that I raped him. A year ago, in January, I was crippled by anxiety to walk campus without thinking about who thought I was a rapist and who he didn’t tell. When I confronted him about it, he said it was a joke. Some joke considering it kept me up for hours at night—replaying every single thing in my head wondering if I did something wrong.
A year ago, today, I was broken.
And a year from today, I will look back and laugh.
But for today, I am healing and forgiving.