Hell on Me
Grief is hard. It’s heavy to realize that the people you trusted to love you could let you down so completely. I’ve given my all to people who ultimately abused me: sexually, mentally, and physically.
Because my first encounter with harm came from my own mother, it makes sense that I ended up in such a tumultuous relationship in my twenties. Growing up, I was a quiet, shy little girl who wanted nothing more than to keep the peace in a home filled with constant conflict. I hid what was happening to me, but I survived by dreaming of an escape- away from her, and into the arms of someone with the capacity to truly love me.
I’m a hopeless romantic at heart. I’ve wanted to be a wife and a mom for as long as I can remember; in so many ways, it still feels like my calling. As a child, those dreams were my lifeline. Imagining a better life filled me with hope, and I clung SO much to the idea of building a future far away from the prissy streets Palmyra, PA. I never lost sight of that possibility.
Now that I’m older, holding onto that hope can feel foolish. Foolish, because I thought I had found it.
After graduating from Penn State in 2019, I reconnected romantically with someone I believed wanted to build that dream life with me. We had been distant friends in high school and kept in touch off and on through college. Graduating left me feeling deeply vulnerable. Going back to my mother’s house wasn't a safe option now that I’d tasted independence, and he was right there, advocating hard for a relationship with me. Though skeptical at first, I eventually softened to the idea of having him as a permanent presence, and he moved into my first solo apartment in October 2019. 53 North Plum Street in Lancaster, PA, ended up being a beautiful place of growth for me. For the first time, I’d felt love, acceptance, and kindness from a human being that I (foolishly) trusted to care for me. I landed a fun gig as an Orangetheory Coach, and I was having fun raising golden retriever puppies who always kept the mood of the apartment light and joy-filled.
What felt like everlasting love to 22-year-old Maria, 29-year-old Maria now recognizes as the classic love-bombing. Any concern I raised about how fast we were moving escalated into an argument, leaving me apologizing for expressing my feelings. Then came the cycle of repair: flowers, handwritten notes professing his undying love, and an overwhelming physical presence that made it impossible to step back and see the emerging abuse.
Yet, there were good times. The first two years carried more positive moments than negative ones. Despite my underlying worries, the good moments felt strong enough to outweigh the bad ones. We were already sharing a home and a life, so moving forward felt like the natural next step.
I loved him with everything I had. I am a lover at my core. I love with my whole heart. It’s just who I am. From the day I committed to him on May 29th, 2019, I was dedicated to making it work, even when fear began to take up space in my own home.
There was no major breaking point: no single, dramatic moment where I could look back and say, "Ah, that's when his true colors showed." In reality, I only saw the full truth after I’d escaped and began to heal away from him all together.
It took me nearly a year to speak publicly about my story. I held back because I wanted to believe we could reach a peaceful, mutual resolution over the damage he’d caused at the end of our relationship. I wasn't looking for a romantic reconciliation- no, I am far beyond that. What I desperately wanted was a quiet resolution to a traumatic four-year chapter after we relocated from Wyomissing, PA, to Austin, Texas in 2021.
I wanted validation. I wanted to know the relationship had been real, at least at one point. Now, I understand it never was. That is a heavy & painful pill to swallow. It’s my life, after all. Just like my mother, he was someone I trusted to love me and he never had my best interests at heart. It was always about him. I was simply a pawn he used to push toward his own financial success, and the moment I was no longer useful, he discarded me like trash.
When you’re discarded that way, you feel like trash. I dedicated so much of my adult life to him, and he never had the decency to apologize for how deeply he used and abused me. This reality still stings. i still grapple with the effects of that.
The people who consume my content often respond with the notion that I must be crazy in some way, for speaking out loud about this. I disagree, though. I think its normal to expect decency and respect from someone that you’ve shown decency, respect, and love to.
From 22 to 28 years old, I loved him. Fiercely, and with my whole heart. Walking away, escaping that abuse, is still the hardest thing I’ve ever done. I’m only 29, so everything I know about being an adult is intertwined with him in some way. I’m healing through that, and I remain hopeful that because I’ve broken free from the pattern of abuse I’d become so accustomed to, that there MUST be better out there for me.
Two things can be true though: I deserve better, and he hurt me, and that hurt still lingers.
I'm not sure what’s next for me. I have big goals, big dreams, and big wishes, but life feels shaky for me. I feel fragile, and yet strong. I’m going to keep writing, because I find its healing for me to let it all out.
He was Hell on Me, but I’m pursuing a Heaven far greater than I’d ever get to experience if I’d stayed another day in a home shared with him.
