I think sometimes when I tell my story people think it was eons better after moving to Madison and that instantly my life had transformed. It did evolve, but not in the way I had expected and no where near as fast as I would’ve liked. The abuse stopped. I wasn’t being assaulted anymore, that’s true. My life now is so much more amazing than I could’ve ever imagined, but the path to get here hasn’t been linear or easy.

Like I mentioned, I moved to Wisconsin on a Saturday. 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 feel 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 and sometimes still are, relentless. As long as I can remember- this has been my experience with sleeping.

One morning, maybe 6-7 weeks after being in Madison, I turned to Sultan and said: “what am I suppossed to do all day?” I still remember the puzzled look on his face. “What do you mean?” He asked me. “I only work 8-9 hours today, what should I do with the rest of my time?”… he paused for a moment and when he realized I was serious he turned to me and said: “you can do whatever you want, I dont know, go to the movies, go to church, go shopping, whatever you want…” Some might see this as liberating after the life I lived… but, for me, the endless possibilities were terrifying. I was so scared. As he showered and got ready for work I talked myself down. ‘You dont even have to leave the appartment, he’s just giving you suggestions, staying here is completely fine’.

I had never in my life had these options. I worked at my mom’s store from the time I was 11 [unpaid]. Once I was twelve until 16 I was raped approximately biweekly. [That sentence is so hard for me to write…] I told when I was twelve. It continued to happen. I thought I wasn’t lovable enough to… my point is: I had other things on my mind. I maintained all A’s and B’s in school, I took so many classes I didn’t have a lunch and most of them were AP classes. I was also practicing gymnastics, part of 3 clubs, and trying to get into college. In between there were trips to the ER… explaining away injuries… and lots of talks with myself where I promised myself things would get better. Let me be clear, I never imagined my life without him in it. Better was always relative.

I learned skills that were helpful at the time: I knew how everyone in my family walked and the sound their footsteps made on the hardwood floors. I knew where every little thing in my room was (so I could tell if he had been there). I learned to move if someone ever raised their hand. 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. 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.