Dim recessed lighting.

Broken beer bottles.

A sticky floor from spilt alcohol.

He says he’s sorry.

He says it will never happen again.

Until the next time it happens; and your mascara is running down your face and your shoulder is throbbing and you’re paralyzed with fear from the man standing right in front of you. He blames you saying you shouldn’t have provoked him. You shouldn’t have made him mad. Then you’re questioning your actions and kicking yourself for bringing him to the edge. Maybe you're not smart enough, or maybe your intelligence threatens him. Maybe you're not pretty enough, or maybe it was the way that guy at the restaurant held his eyes on your body for more than just a passing glance. Maybe you're not funny enough, or maybe his sense of humor simply does not match up with yours. Maybe it's just you. You tell yourself that it's you, not him. You tell yourself that it's okay.

Your eyes are bloodshot and your mind is racing and you can’t fully stop the sobs that are lodged in your throat no matter how hard you try to stifle them. He hugs you and kisses your forehead. He gets you a glass of water and tells you to calm down; he tells you that he loves you. He tells you that it’s okay.

You wake up the next morning to a dizzy mind. Your shoulder no longer throbs, but it aches just the same. You're suddenly electrocuted with a hundred images of regret, and your eyes sting while your throat feels swollen as the details of the night rush into view. You pick yourself up and out of bed and rearrange your broken pieces into something that resembles nothing more than the hollowed out carcass of an exhausted girl. He left you a note, a scribbled little nothing of an "I love you," which makes his inebriated state of rage okay somehow.

But broken tables and bruised body parts and secrets wrapped in long sleeved shirts and under layers of makeup are not proof of love. Words and actions of brutality and bribes to suppress the emotions of fear and anger and sadness are not “normal.” Your body is not only a temple sometimes, and no — you’re not overreacting. Canceling a girl’s night out and not speaking with your family and secluding yourself from the world to make your man happy leaves you with nothing, not even your man. But he tells you that it's just you and him against the world, that you'll be okay and they'll come around.

They say, “boys will be boys” and “girls will be girls”; but that is no excuse for tears to soil your face or blood to soil your clothes or embarrassment to soil your pride or darkness to soil your heart. You scrub your skin in the shower until all you see is red and all you feel is the sting from your worn-out loofa. You scream into your pillow in fear of anyone hearing a broken girl break a little more. You think about taking a shot of Jack or a hit off a J or one pop of Ambien so just maybe you won't jump at every creak, knock, or horn honking. He texts you a while later telling you that everything between the two of you is okay.

Us girls are taught at a very young age that a boy pulling your hair or pushing you down on the playground is “cute,” and it means that they like you; yet, we are taught about our self-worth and that we should be valued as more than a mere object. We are told through the voices of society that we should take off our clothes, and we should be grateful to a man that has chosen us over all others. We learn that we are to be respected — both our bodies and minds, yet we see that boys like girls who don’t respect themselves, who give themselves up with promises of nothing. The contradictions run so high that we, as women, suffocate under the "do's" and "don'ts," the "rights" and "wrongs," and the "yes's" and "no's" of what we are supposed to do and who we are supposed to be. Society tells us that it’s okay.

Black and blue bruises and flashbacks of holes in walls and broken nights cannot be fixed with flowers and “I’m sorry” or “I love you.” Spackle and paint can fix a wall, but nothing from Home Depot can fix the hole in your heart and the unsteady darkness in your mind. You can't stand to look at yourself in the mirror, so you stare at the sink and tell yourself that it will all be okay.

You cry.

You fight.

You shake.

You sleep.

You cry.

You fight.

You shake.

You sleep.

Repeat.

Repeat.

Repeat.

You get wrapped up in this cycle, and you become complacent because you think that this is what you deserve. You think that this is all that life has to offer you. These are the things that he tells you, but there are some things he would never dare say.

His actions are not a reflection of the person you used to be, the person you are, or the person you are going to be. It is not your fault. You do not need to apologize to him, to yourself, or to anyone else. You do not deserve the pain you have been put through. It is not okay, and that's okay. Let me say that again: it is not okay, and that’s okay.

It’s okay to leave a relationship even if you love him. It’s okay to want more for yourself. It’s okay to stand up for yourself and walk out of the door and unchain yourself from the temper and the screams and the lies and the pain. It’s okay to be sad and to be afraid of leaving the one who gives you nightmares. But it is not, and never will be, okay for a man to take away your light and your hopes and your dreams. It is not okay to blame yourself for the actions of others. It is not okay to lose sight of who you are because another person tells you you’re not good enough. It is not okay for a man to physically, sexually, emotionally, or psychologically abuse you; but it is okay to know you are worth more than what you have been given. It’s okay to admit to yourself that what happened to you was not okay-- that it was never your fault. In fact, it’s actually pretty freeing.