I think sometimes when I tell my story, people, they think that when I moved to Madison that instantly my life had transformed. Like when a missing girl is found after being held captive for years- people think that transition happens instantly. Those girls and their families can tell you it doesn’t.

I often wish when I left NY that everything was like the abuse never happened.

Unfortunately, it doesn’t work like that. Prolonged abuse messes with your mind. It messes with my sense of who I am; it completely changes how I act and respond to situations, and sometimes it means I still can’t do things I want to do. I learned strategies that helped me survive the abuse I endured and it’s likely I wouldn’t have made it if I had not learned to adapt to the abuse. It’s sad to think about, even for me, sometimes I feel so separate from it. Sometimes this is because of the awe I have at my own ability to survive. When I look back, I often think: ‘man that must’ve been exhausting’ or ‘how did I do it?’. My counselor asked me once: “and…” she said, “how do you think you survived?” I remember chuckling before answering confidently “by sheer force of will”. I said it so instantaneously I didn’t even recognize that I had an answer to this question… as long as I can remember I have had that strong force of will. My older brother can tell you many stories of how stubborn I am. So can pretty much anyone else who knows me well. Some days I think it’s my sheer force of will is the only part of me that survived the abuse.

When I moved to Madison, it was December, there was snow covering the ground, I got off the plane with my carry-on and as we drove to my friends’ apartment, I tried not to think about anything, I just stared out the window at the endless farm fields covered in snow. I forgot that this part of Madison can seem so remote. I don’t remember what we did in the afternoon, but that night while my friend was asleep I began to look for a full-time job. I was a survivor after all and I knew at some point I’d need money to live here. At this point in my life, I averaged about 3 hours of sleep each night. No joke. 3 hours, usually from 3am-6am because I fell asleep watching some show on TV. That’s it. I used to joke about not knowing how ‘normal’ people got anything done because they spent so much time sleeping. I was afraid if I fell asleep I’d dream about him hurting me. Or worse- him hurting my family. Or worse than that- he’d actually be there when I woke up. The nightmares were relentless. As long as I can remember- this has been my experience with sleeping. Some nights it still is.

Safety was something I struggled with and even once I moved to Madison, it was hard to break the habit of looking over my shoulder every 2 minutes. It has gotten better, but there are still times when I wonder if one time I’ll look behind me and he’ll be there. The thing is no matter how much I work to change these things- the abuse still has it’s moments where it seeps into my life… even now.

Recently, I went to a Women’s Hockey game at LaBahn Arena. On my way there I realized that there was a state wrestling tournament going on, so it took me longer than usual to park. I parked about a 20-minute walk from the arena. I knew all the people rushing out at the end of the game would cause me anxiety, and by the time I walked to my car most of the traffic, would be gone. So I decided to park farther away. I had chosen to stand near the top instead of sitting because I was already having some anxiety and I knew that standing would help. I laid out my scarf on the chest-high bar in front of me, just enough where I’d be able to stand in my own space with my arms crossed and lay my arms on my scarf. There was a young man standing about 3 or 4 feet away from me and enough space between us for one more person to stand comfortably. I was there early, so I talked to my friend until about 5 minutes to game time. Minutes into the game, a guy comes and stands on my left. He was about 6ft1 maybe 210 lbs. I notice him, but continue watching the game (with my headphones in to block out the screaming and yelling in the arena). At 9:35 [minutes into the game] two people, clearly a couple come up to watch the game: she stands next to me and the guy stands behind her hugging her at the waist. I notice and then go back to watching the game while jamming out to The Score. Then, the guy who is standing behind her physically inches closer and closer to me until he is bumping into me every few seconds. My anxiety is rising. I take some deep breaths, utilize my coping skills, and remind myself that I am okay. A few more minutes of this and my techniques are not working. I need this guy to stop touching me. I stand tall, broaden my shoulders and widen my stance, then I take a selfie with his arm now pressed completely against my body. I caption it in big font: ‘I deserve to take up space’. I did this so he could see, and he did notice it. Then I sent it to 4 of my friends or family. Suddenly, he shoves me out of my space, so hard that I now don’t have space at the bar in front of me. He is standing directly next to his significant other. No one seems to acknowledge what has happened. My pulse is racing, I’m losing a sense of where I am, feelings and emotions are coming up from when I was a kid. Him pushing me was the physical way of saying ‘no, you don’t deserve to take up space’. I walked out of the arena, texted my friend to let him know that I was leaving, and walked towards my car. I tried to distract myself with Pokemon Go, it did kind of work. Then, like a damn rushing open I was flooded with all of these thoughts, they came on so powerfully and so forcefully : ‘I can’t even make it through a hockey game’; ‘It has been 6 years and I am still not ‘over this”; ‘I am never going to be able to do these things that other people can do’; ‘why do I even try’; ‘I could’ve stayed at home and hung out with Sultan and been okay’; ‘I just shouldn’t do anything when I have anxiety’; ‘when am I going to realize that I am never going to be normal and that I am not strong enough to do these things’; ‘he was right; ‘I will never get him out of my head’.

Let me be clear: when I was little, I never imagined my life without Alex in it; better was always relative. It feels weird to look back and acknowledge that, but he’d never given me a choice before and I was pretty damn sure he wasn’t going to just let me leave. So anytime I dreamed about the future, I dreamed about things like classes. When I was younger I learned skills that were helpful at the time: I knew how everyone in my family walked, the sound their footsteps made on the hardwood floors, the path my brothers took to avoid the creaky floorboards. I knew where every little thing in my room was so I could tell if he had been there, or was there: to give myself even a few more seconds to react if he was there. I kept track of where everyone, yes all six people, in my family left their things even when the house was messy. I learned to move if someone ever raised their hand above my head. I learned that there were very few things I had control over. I learned how to deal with pain: broken bones, cuts, wrist marks, and mental pain. I learned how to tell if he was mad: measuring and mentally keeping track of changes in tone, posture, body changes, and language to determine how upset he was and how much I could fight without another broken bone or worse. I learned that ‘no’ was never an option, but I could fight and resist as much as I wanted because he enjoyed that part. I learned that my body wasn’t mine. I learned that I wasn’t worth love or protection. I learned that every touch was bad. Loud noises are bad. Sudden jerking movements- whether mine or someone else’s are bad. When I moved to Madison, I had to unlearn each one of them, one-by-one and sometimes, in spite of all the work I have done, one of these is all it takes to bring my brain back.

Sometimes I think about how much weight was placed on my little shoulders back then and at the end of the day, I am proud of myself. I did it. I survived. Through ‘sheer force of will’. I am still here and on the bad days, I need to remind myself that being here is a big deal, and that is enough. I am still alive. You didn’t kill me. I am surviving. I can do more than I ever imagined. I am loved. I am believed. I have the right to decide what I do with my body. And yes, I do deserve to take up space.

Also, fuck off, to you and anyone else who tried to tell me otherwise.