Many victims and survivors of relationship violence feel that sharing their story, or even just portions of their story, has empowered them and has been a key part of their healing and activism.
The following stories were shared by survivors of relationship violence at Colorado State University. The rawness and vulnerability in these narratives speak to the courage of survivors on our campus, and beyond. May these words encourage all of us to remain steadfast in the fight to end relationship and domestic violence.
I never thought of myself as a victim, and it took me a long time to realize that what happened to me was wrong. I was 15 and I was in a ‘relationship’ with a guy. I went over to his house after school, he offered me a rip of a cart, I took it, and then he offered me water. I drank the entire bottle of water, it was a mini bottle, and I didn’t think anything was wrong. He asked me a moment later if I tasted anything, turns out the water bottle was full of vodka. I am not entirely sure what the truth is because I never tasted the alcohol, but it effected me quickly. I was led up to his room, everything was ok until he started initiating sex with me. I didn’t say anything I didn’t do anything I just let it happen until
Throughout my experience, I have found that expressing myself through writing has helped me find peace and relief. Below are a few of my favorite pieces that have helped me overcome these experiences. I do want to add a trigger warning, and conformation that I am safe and okay. An Artist by Any Other Name She was never good with a pencil or pen. What she was good with, was a blade. Her skin as her canvas. She drew beautiful art that only she would ever see. Only she would ever understand the intricate lines that decorated her curves. Smile It’s about a girl. Just as she was beginning to climb out of the darkness she had once succumbed to, she tripped. She begins to fall back into old habits, bad habits. One night she begins to realize she can’t think of much that makes her smile anymore. So she
He said I’m… A Stupid Bitch. Disgusting. Ugly. Fat. Annoying. Smelly. Embarrassing. Boring. Too Intense. Too Loud. Too Emotional. Too Much. Controlling. Emasculating. Intimidating. Abusive. A Slob. Uptight. Unappreciative. Confused. A Liar. A Cheater. Trying Too Hard. Not Trying Hard Enough. Worthless. A Piece of Shit. Trash. Not Worth It. He said I should… Calm Down. Shut the Fuck Up. Get Out. Drink More. Stop Expecting Support. Stop Being Emotional. Stop Asking Questions. Stop Talking to Friends. Forget My Family. Quit School. Focus on Him. He said… Fuck You. I Wish We Never Met. You’re a Bad Mom. I Can Do Whatever I Want. It’s All Your Fault. You Make Me Do This. You’re the Abuser. I Didn’t Do Anything to You. I Never Wanted Our Kids. I Wish We Never Met. I’ll Kill Myself. I’ll Kill You. He… Lied. Cheated. Screamed. Broke Things. Isolated Me. Pushed. Squeezed. Shoved. Threw.
This is a story I haven’t really told in a lot of detail. I mean, people know it happened, but I’ve never taken the time to really describe it. Maybe I haven’t even taken the time to think about it fully. It is one of those things that lives inside of me, pushed down as far as it can go. Maybe it’s time to bring it to the surface to dissect it and discover what’s in the hole it leaves behind. Once, when I was younger, I was hanging out with friends. One of our friends lived in a tiny apartment, so we all went to his place to chill. This was pretty cool to a group of high school sophomores. The guy who lived in the apartment had some friends over and kept telling me that one guy liked me. Let’s call him B. I looked over at B,