The Story of My Life: Surviving Abuse, Addiction, and Finding Strength

I met him when I was 20.

He was 22—young, charismatic, and full of energy. But there was something off about him.

I should have seen the signs, but I didn’t. Or maybe I didn’t want to.

The first red flag wasn’t so much a red flag—it was a disaster. He got so drunk one night, he shat himself. His parents had to come and clean him up. At the time, I told myself it was a one-off—a fluke, something that wouldn’t happen again. But deep down, I think I knew it wasn’t.

Six months later, we moved in together. And that was the beginning of my nightmare. He’d disappear for days at a time—walking along train tracks, lost in a drunken haze, not even able to remember how he got there. He wouldn’t come home until 3 AM, and sometimes he wouldn’t come home at all. And when I found out I was pregnant, the chaos only intensified.

I started hiding the keys to his motorbike because I knew he’d try to ride it, drunk as a skunk. If I didn’t hide them, he would get violent. He would try to punch me—frustration, anger, and alcohol all mixing into something I couldn’t stop.

I don’t know what was going on in his head. I don’t know if he even understood what he was doing. But I do know this:

• It wasn’t love.
• It wasn’t normal.
• It wasn’t okay.

What I went through wasn’t just a rough relationship. It wasn’t “just a phase” or a few “bad nights.” It was emotional and physical abuse, masked by addiction and erratic behavior. And it hurt.

I stayed because I was pregnant. I stayed because I thought I could fix him. I stayed because I didn’t know what else to do. I stayed because I loved him… or thought I did.

But that kind of pain can’t be fixed by love alone. You can’t love someone into not being a monster.

There were moments I felt like I couldn’t breathe, like I was trapped in a nightmare I couldn’t wake up from. And when I finally left, the trauma didn’t just go away. It stayed in my bones, in my heart, in my mind. The effects of living in that kind of chaos—that kind of terror—stick with you, even when you’re physically free.

So why am I telling you this? Why am I sharing such painful memories?

Because I need to say it. I need to say, “This happened. It was real. And it wasn’t okay.”

Because there are people out there right now—maybe you—who are going through the same thing, feeling trapped, feeling like no one understands.

But you’re not alone.

You are not alone.

And if you’re in a relationship like this, I want you to hear this:

You deserve better. You deserve safety. You deserve peace.

This isn’t about making excuses for someone else’s behavior. This isn’t about blaming yourself.

This is about breaking free, taking back your life, and saying, “Enough.”

If you’re stuck, if you’re hurting, if you’re in a cycle you can’t get out of, please, reach out. Talk to someone you trust. Or even if it’s just you and me right now reading these words, know that I see you. I hear you. I’ve been there. And you can get through this.

There is life beyond abuse. There is healing beyond the pain. But it starts with you—acknowledging what happened and understanding that it wasn’t your fault. You were never the problem. He was. And no matter what, you are worthy of love, respect, and a life free from fear.

If you’re reading this and you’re struggling, there are resources out there. Don’t be afraid to ask for help. No one should have to live in this kind of chaos, and you don’t have to face it alone.

This blog post brings your truth into the light, while offering compassion and encouragement to others in similar situations. It’s not just about recounting your pain but turning it into a message of hope and survival.