What The Strange Bond Of Sharing An Abuser Taught Me About Recovery

By Ashley Chupp

“Honey, if you ever want to get drinks with a stranger and discuss how much knowing Jake ruins lives. I’m your girl.”

I had not spoken to or heard from Jake, or anyone who knew him, in over a year. In seeing his name in this private Instagram message from a woman I did not even know existed a moment ago, I just about passed out.

Around the time that I left Jake for good, I had moved apartments, got a new job, and changed my screen names. I had cut my hair and bleached it. I had no real support network and no access to mental health care. The only way I knew how to move on was to burn everything to the ground and start again.

My solitary goal for the next several months was to stay distracted at every minute. I drank well vodka out in bars, dancing until early morning with acquaintances and strangers. I drank economy jugs of cheap wine at home alone and played immersive video games for hours on end. I worked two jobs and never took a day off.

I didn’t talk to a professional. I didn’t write about it. I didn’t deal with anything.

It never occurred to me that the truism “the past will always catch up to you” was actually, well, true and not just a recurring theme on Mad Men. I said all the…