When people learn how long I stayed with him, how long I dwelt with his violence and his control, they often remark upon it. Specifically, they question: how could someone like me—someone as smart as I am—stay in that sort of situation? How could I let him treat me that way for so long? Even if they don’t say it, I know they’re thinking, “I wouldn’t have stayed; I would have left; I wouldn’t have let myself be treated that way.” Yet, when I respond with a bare acknowledgement of my own stupidity—my own complete and foolish disregard for myself—they’re equally quick to backtrack. “No, I didn’t mean to say you’re stupid.” What did you mean, do you think? Do you even know?
I’ve always been this person inside. Always this strong, this caring, this kind, this careful, this carefree. I just buried it deep beneath insecurity and neuroses; beneath the conviction that he was right and I can help and don’t be so selfish, Elizabeth. Selflessness, charity, putting others first. It isn’t sustainable if you’re only a ghost of yourself, a shell emptied and hollowed and beginning to crumble apart.