Well, She Chose That.
Yes, I chose that. So give up on me. Don’t help me see that maybe I was manipulated, brainwashed. Let 19-year-old me flounder and drown. Let me waste years of my life, formative years, career-building years.
No, no one can save another person. But you can show them what other options they may have. You can show them examples of what could be, so they don’t have to stay where they are.
Well, she chose that, they say. Yes, I chose that. I chose that because I didn’t want to admit I had been violated and used. I chose that because I thought it made me dirty, and now I didn’t deserve the love of my life.
I had agency, I guess, the agency to go along with what an abuser wanted. Is that agency, or is that survival?
Well, she chose that, they say. I guess I did. But I can also say that I definitely didn’t know what I was choosing. Things got worse and worse. He was nice at the beginning. He would have never asked me to stop seeing my family and friends at the beginning. He never would have tried to police what I wore, what I studied, what job I had.
All of that came later. It came slowly. It came dressed as “this is a compromise people in relationships make” at a time when I had no framework for what a healthy relationship looked like.
Yes, I chose to be hurt and abused because I thought that’s what love was. I thought there was no way out. I thought that was a part of life. I thought I had to accept it.
Well, she chose that, they say. Sure, I chose that like a child chooses to put their hand on a hot stove for the first time. I chose that like a baby bird falling out of a nest.
I chose that like, well, a teenager dating an older man.
