When one thinks of an abusive relationship, they think of bruises. They think of scars, and marks and all of the things that come with being physically abused. What happens when the abuse isn't physical? Do the scars fade any quicker? Do the memories go away as if there are no reminders of the pain that was endured?

Before the abusive relationship, you think 'I'll never be that girl' or 'I'll always see the signs coming.' You don't. Even if you do, you don't admit that they're there. You refuse to admit that there's something wrong with your relationship. Maybe you were blinded by love, or scared of letting someone down. Maybe you were scared to leave because that person was all you ever knew. Your mom can tell you that there's something wrong till she's blue in the face, and you still won't believe her.

You can watch that person be awful and mean to your family, and you'll still defend them. You can be so dependent on a person that you mentally refuse to see how they treat people. You refuse to acknowledge that they treat the people you love as second-class citizens. Even worse, you refuse to see that they treat you like you're less than dirt, like some disposable person that they can just pick up when they please, and drop you on a whim. When they drop you like that, you yearn for their affection. You lust after it like it's a drug and you need another quick fix to get by. After you yearn for it for long enough and they give you the time of day, you're relieved if only for a while. Only for them to drop you again and ignore you a few days later.

The thing about mental abuse is that half the time, you never realize it's happening. You never realize it, and you never believe it, even when there are half a dozen people telling you that it's very real and very prevalent. Sometimes you deny it for years, sometimes for months. The most painful moment in that relationship is not the abuse. It isn't the constant berating, or the constant back-handed compliments. The most painful moment is when the entire world you have built comes crashing down. You've built this false reality that everything is okay and that something good will come of this. It won't. There will never be a future in this relationship that isn't full of grief, constant highs and lows, and that yearning for their attention.

It is so incredibly true when it's said that you have to hit rock bottom before you can slowly pick yourself back up and climb to the top again. My relationship ending hit me like a ton of bricks. I went out a lot. I questioned my inner self, and I questioned what I wanted to pursue in life. I shopped a lot, and spent a lot of time driving around at night to be alone with my own thoughts.

In the months following picking myself back up from that awful time in my life, I met so many people. I met people that would show me how to feel again. They would teach me how to feel both pain and pure happiness again. There was one person in particular that would teach me how to trust again, and to know love on a platonic level. I met people that would break me down, to leave me there with my only task to build myself back up with the help of nobody else. There are friends that were there before, during and after that relationship that would teach me that it's okay to not know what I want, as long as I continue to put one foot in front of the other. The most pivotal and important person I would meet after pulling myself out of that relationship is the person that saved me. They saved my soul from myself, and they taught me how to love myself again. In teaching me how to love myself, they taught me how to love another person without having fear of recourse or false intentions.

When the abuse isn't physical, the scars are less visible but they are still there. They may never fade completely, but I can promise that they'll fade in time. They'll fade with the unwavering support of friends, the relentless love of family and the premise that there is something better on the horizon.