TRIGGER WARNING - PLEASE PROCEED WITH CAUTION.

My primary reason for writing today is a realization I stumbled upon, or rediscovered, a little while ago. I realized/remembered that I'm pretty much completely over my first bout of PTSD, which came about after an emotionally abusive relationship that took nearly everything from me. At the time, I was isolated, I was scared, and quite frankly, I thought suicide could be the thing to free me. When I told Anthony and Jon in gym, they shrugged it off. I now know that it wasn’t because they doubted me, but because the behavior I was describing was typical for my abuser. Harrison accepted it, but didn't really care. I later concluded that it was because he had feelings for me at the time and wanted me to be single so he could try to pull something, but that's trauma for another time. David was the only one who really heard me. He wasn’t the only one who believed me, technically, but he was the only person who made me feel believed. Having recently gotten out of what he described as an emotionally abusive relationship, he understood how trapping it felt. He couldn't really get me out of my situation, but he tried to do what he could. He'd ask me about it from time to time, to see if I was still stuck, and make sure I didn't feel left out in gym. One specific instance I remember is when my abuser came to our gym class and tried to get really close to me, asking why I was talking to other people while he was there. David said “you should get to class,” he countered by saying he had a break between two periods of science. David once again said “you should get to class,” and he eventually left. I do admit that I romanticize David a lot, and getting me away from my abuser was kind of a bare minimum thing, but after seeing how horrible people could be, and after growing apart from even my closest friends, it was a really special experience.

April 15th, 2016 is what I call my “independence day.” After fueling my thoughts with “David will be so proud of you,” “Sam will be so proud of you,” I broke things off with my abuser, claiming I was too stressed for a relationship and that I wanted to stay friends. I don't talk to Sam anymore, but he was also part of how I recognized that the relationship was abusive. We had a bit of a thing running towards the end of the relationship, and I know it sounds horrible, and I admit that it's horrible, but I'm clean. I'm fully willing to admit to that “thing” now that I’m older and understand why I was drawn to it. I’ve realized, too, that it's the same reason I was initially drawn to David. I told Sam about David and Logan, but I didn’t get to tell him about Danny. We had stopped talking by then, and I don't quite remember why. I think we just grew apart and got busy, which is a shame. I guess it's symbolic in a sense. He left around the time that part of my life ended. I tried reaching out to him a while later, but he didn't answer. Also symbolic, I suppose.

I know I’m straying from my main point, which is my own growth through all this, but I figured it would help to get this out somewhere. It's been stirring for three years, and while I've told people most of the story, there were things I would leave out. I feel like writing about it could serve as some form of closure. I may post this on Genius later, in hopes that maybe it will reach someone who needs it, and in hopes that publicizing this in some way will also close the story. An apology of sorts, although none of this story is entirely my fault. I admit that I did things wrong, but I can't take the blame. This feels like a Halsey song. At first it felt like “Getaway Car,” but now it's Halsey.

Thinking about the aftermath, I can't recall anything but sheer terror. On that day, April 15th, 2016, I went to my lunch table, as per usual, and sat down as far from my abuser as I could. Not that it affects the story at all, but I just checked when I messaged Sam to try to reconnect, and it was in March 2017. I could try again, but I know better now. Anyway, I sat down at lunch, keeping a safe distance, but I was still subjected to alarming discomfort. My abuser was aggressively grinding colored pencils against a piece of paper, making some sort of cryptic, startling comment that I don't quite remember. Maybe something about life being meaningless and useless. A few years ago, recalling this would make me tremble, and my heart race, but now it's more of a distanced numbness, as if this story were just that: a story.

Apart from that, and him asking for “space” almost a week after I broke up with him and cut off communication, I don't remember anything specific. I remember having blocked him months before I broke things off, out of fear. I told him my parents had taken away my phone after I did something unmentionable, and when he asked what, I said, “no, it's really bad. I don't want to say it.” I felt bad lying, even to someone like him, but at the time, I was pretending to be taking my vitamin pills and my parents weren't onto me yet. So technically I was doing something bad, but it wasn't horrible. I remember one time when I slipped, as I was talking to Harrison about something we were discussing the night before. My abuser asked how I talked to him without my phone, and I just said we talked over Genius. He accused me of cheating on him with Harrison as well, solely because we hung out in study hall together, even though he ditched half the time. That study hall was also the one I sat in after admitting my feelings to David, but again, another story for another time. He had no clue about Sam. David thought Sam and I were dating the first time I mentioned him, and I had to stop myself from saying “I wish.”

The only distinct “trauma attack” I remember was some point in my junior year English class. I don't remember what unit we were on, or what book we were reading, or what we were discussing in class. I just remember my heart starting to race, my vision starting to slightly fog, my leg bouncing up and down, and my concentration going out the window I sat in front of. I couldn't tell anyone about it. Jon sat in front of me, but at the time, I still thought he didn't believe me. I had to pretend to be not only okay, but also attentive in that dreadfully boring class.

I knew I'd be losing David eventually, but I didn't know what to expect. In his last few weeks of school, during his internship, he let me have lunch with him so I wouldn't have to sit with my abuser. He invited me to go to pre-prom so I could see him one last time before he left for Pittsburgh. He sent me pictures from his trip to Vietnam and Cambodia, including one of him holding a snake. He was across the world, and I was pretty upset about it, so I sought consolation from Harrison. What started as just friends confiding in each other turned into a near-relationship with everything but a label, but we didn't spend any time together. Once school started, he wanted nothing to do with me, and his addiction started soon after. Unfortunately, that's not a story of healing I foresee being able to tell any time soon.

Around sophomore-junior year was when I realized the severity of it all. I lost my old friends, the first “love” I thought I could be safe with, a friend-turned-lover who lived across the country and was virtually inaccessible, my actual first love who was leaving home, and my best friend whose substance abuse turned him into a completely different person that I didn't feel comfortable with even just through a screen. So what was my proposed solution? Start liking Danny. He was sweet, and still is, but completely out of my league. Not to call on overused metaphors, but it's only in the movies that you see a sports star falling for the weird quiet kid. We became semi-friends after some text conversations, and I ultimately admitted I liked him. He was chill about it, kinda like David was but more detached, and although it was awkward for a while after that, we were eventually back to normal. A few weeks after I told him was when I got really sick and missed a few weeks of school; he even texted to make sure I wasn't dead, which was kind of him.

Once I got better, I decided I wanted to reevaluate my priorities, focus on myself, and leave boys behind. I started dating Justin two months later. This went in a whole lot of directions, and I'm not sure if it went how I want it to, but I'm gonna cut off my rambling and ranting. I'm gonna put it on Genius, though I doubt anyone will read the whole thing, because I tend to overshare on there and it's probably a bad idea because it's the internet and Harrison has a Genius account but whatever this isn't news to him whatsoever and he hasn't used Genius in years so it's whatever and I might hide/delete it eventually. But anyway, if you skimmed it, or were even bored enough to read this whole thing, thank you for caring enough to do so, and I hope that hearing my story made you feel less alone, or more hopeful for a happier ending than the one you currently have.