for those who are afraid to speak

CW: mentions of suicide and abuse.

I always knew, somehow, that he was a bad person. "bad person" doesn't even begin to describe this creature. A true embodiment of narcissism and fear, standing tall enough to intimidate those below him. I never told my mo how I felt about him, because, in the beginning, I could see he made her happy. I thought it was maybe just my anxiety or stranger danger for the first few months, but it persisted for years.

His energy was unsettling to say the least. Some days, I couldn't even stand to eat dinner with my family. and him. Like an eclipse, he took away the light of every room he came into and we all knew it. Nobody ever said anything though. Not until they broke up the second time.

On a summer afternoon, my mother came into my bedroom, crying as she used my window to look at the street and watch him drive away. I nonchalantly told her I hate men. She replied, "He's not a bad guy", through tears I scarcely see. That's not what I said mom. I never said he was a bad person. Though I wish I had. Just once.

A few weeks after that, my mother and her two best friends were drinking in the dining room. I came down for presumably a snack of sorts, and one of her friends asked me what I thought about that man. Him. Something came over me- despise or anger, I don't know- and I raised my voice. I told all three of them that I hated him, I know how evil of a person he is, and that I never wanted to see him in my house ever again. I remember walking upstairs and having a panic attack.

During the pandemic, everything got worse. For me, at least. My siblings and I had to hear and witness and experience everything that had been going on in supposed secrecy. For months on end, I had anxiety spurts and sobbed every night. Trying to fall asleep to the classical music I put on in the back to stop my cries. Trying to fall asleep with the overwhelming smell of cigarettes in the house, and to the sound of angry lovers tearing each other apart. I still can never sleep, no matter what drugs I take, medical or not, not a wink of rest so often.

I used to ball my eyes out until I gagged. I almost took my life. But I just couldn't let him win. I couldn't leave my mother to fight this monster herself. She already almost was. And for a while, I regretfully thought she maybe deserved this. Maybe I deserved this. Maybe I deserved to fight sleepless nights listening to a grown man yelling at my mother that she's a liar and a fucking bitch. She never was. Never. But when she didn't come visit me after a Halloween party, stuck in the hospital, I knew it was the climax. Several stitches in her mouth, my mom broke up with him. For good. For real. She called the police, and I haven't seen him personally since. I hope he dies.

My mom, though we still have a rocky relationship, is clearly doing so much better now. She broke her own shackles, and I'm honestly proud of her. With so many tipping points, breakups, chairs thrown. Holes in my basement wall, A secure lock on my back gate. The restraining order hanging by a magnet on my fridge. She's free. We all are.

For those who are afraid to speak, I love you. You are never alone. It's hard sometimes. Sometimes, it's hard most of the time. But it gets better, I promise. Even if it sounds corny, or you can't see the light ahead from where you are right now.