Once upon a time, I was in a war that I called home. I was so young that I didn’t understand what was going on or that it was bad. I would sit in my room terrified as I saw the shadows under my door, the arguing and the slamming of doors. I would try to wear long sleeves, so no one saw the scars.

Once in while I put up a fight, but it always ended worse than it began, I did what I could to survive; I couldn’t believe this was my life. Every day, I was afraid to come home of what I will see next. I can still remember how he kept me so afraid. With the look in his eyes that told me “Nobody can help you now.”

The last straw was when my brother threw me against the refrigerator and then threw me on the floor and said “you are a piece of shit and if think you can hurt me you are crazy, I could kill you right here and no one would care.” After he left, I lay on the floor in a puddle of tears. That was the day I knew I had to leave; I couldn’t help but listen to the voices in my head telling me to leave, “get out of this nightmare” saying over and over “you deserve much more than this.” I then peeled myself off the floor and ran away and never looked back.

Five years later, I’m rising from that, but people have no idea how bad it was, the physical scars may fade away, but the emotional scars will never go away. I know I have a college degree, great friends,and a good job. Now all I what to do is help other women and men who go through the same thing. Please if you need help call 1-800-799-SAFE (7233)