Content warning: Abuse

In my freshman year of high school, I met a girl. Her and I fell hopelessly in love, and things were great. Until it wasn't.

To make a long and grueling story short, I have Post Traumatic Stress Disorder.

Now, for those of you who are uncertain of what Post Traumatic Stress Disorder is, it is a disease that develops in some people who have experienced a shocking, scary, or dangerous event. It includes symptoms such as flashbacks, nightmares, insomnia, loss of memory regarding the trauma, and more. To say it's horrible to live with would be a severe understatement.

And yet, I speak openly about my trauma every day.

Whenever I decide to open up about what has happened to me, someone will inevitably ask "why?" Why would I be so open about something that hurt me so badly? Honestly, at first I had a set answer: To spread awareness, and to help others feel less alone. But it's not that simple.

My trauma is incredibly hard to speak about. I find myself getting shaky and nervous, and I always worry that I am isolating myself. Usually, by the end I find myself in tears. Every single time I open up to a person, I have to take about an hour afterwards to recollect my wits. However, I'd take the shaky hands over what I used to be.

For a full year after I got out of my abusive relationship, I didn't tell a single soul what happened to me. I let it fester in me, and I turned it over in my mind over and over again. I remember feeling as if it was all my fault, and that if I told anyone what happened, they would hate me. I spent my days constantly wondering what I could've done differently, keeping myself up at night with the thought of what if?

Then one night, I couldn't handle keeping it all in anymore. I spilled everything out to my friend, and I wish I could articulate the weight it took off my shoulders. She was so incredibly kind to me, and for the first time, I was told that it wasn't my fault. I remember lying in bed that night and crying, not out of fear, but out of sheer happiness. And I haven't stopped telling my story since.

I know that what has happened to me doesn't define me, and I know I have a long road to travel before I come to terms with everything that occurred. I still get nightmares, and I still get flashbacks that shake me to the bone. But I know that I am not to blame. And I will tell my story, for those who have gone through the same thing, for those who will go through the same thing, and most importantly, for me.

And I think that's pretty incredible.