I sat there watching an episode of Oprah that I had only recorded for one reason; Tyra Banks was supposed to be talking about her emotionally abusive relationship. I was a big fan of The Tyra Banks Show, so this subject intrigued me. And while I sat there and watched teens talk about their experiences in abuse and as Tyra talked about her own abusive relationship, I ate fettuccini alfredo. Then an elderly lady appeared and began to speak about abuse. Then as I put down my fork, and reached for the remote to fast-forward something caught my attention. As the women on the screen began to list signs of emotional and physical abuse I recognized some of the things she was saying.
No. I was just imagining things. I immediately pushed the thought out of my mind. I was not in an abusive relationship. I loved my boyfriend and he treated me like a princess. Then as I turned to grab my fork and once again resume eating I caught a glimpse of purple out of the corner of my eye. I looked down at the bruise on my arm. “Where’d you get that?” My mom had asked me earlier. I had told her it was from softball, but I wasn’t entirely sure because I easily could have attained it a few days previous when my boyfriend and I were messing around and he had pinned me. Once again I pushed the thought to the back of my mind.
As I continued listening to the signs of abuse I realized that there was one thing that seemed to particularly relate to my situation; they always put the blame on you. “Ow! That really hurt!” “So you hit me, what did you expect?” I snapped back from the flashback of a few incidents and glanced down at my legs. My pale legs were covered in small patches, some green, some purple, none bigger than the size of quarter. I had never really paid attention to how I had acquired them, but thinking about just then I realized where they came from. All of the times that we were just messing around and having fun… ended with bruises. He always ended up hurting me and when I tried to tell him to stop he kept going.
I don’t know if he meant to do it, but watching those teens talking about being trapped in relationships where they were being abused, scared me. I didn’t want to end up in a situation that I couldn’t control. I loved him, and I still do, but we are no longer together. My bruises, some still fresh, remind me every day why I cannot answer when he calls. I try to stay strong and some days it is tough, but I look at the people who love me and know that I must stay strong for them, because if something were to happen to me I would not want them to suffer.