Twenty year old me had just come out of a two year relationship with a thirty-two year old, who had damaged me emotionally and I would say, pretty severely.
Once free from his clutches, I began really living life like a young person should. There was nobody to control my every move and so I did whatever I wanted.
With no worries over his jealous rages, unfounded accusations and violent behaviour, I was free to talk to absolutely anyone. I dated, I went out. My social calendar was full.
What I had wished I’d done differently was when I finally broke up with him, I should have been braver. I should have told him off. I should have told him what an absolute piece of shit he was and how he had no business treating people the way he did.
Instead I slinked away, my tail between my legs, ashamed for some reason. In all fairness I guess I was afraid of him. He stalked me for nearly six months, and I had to get the police involved to get the point across that I wanted nothing to do with him.
But if I could go back in time, I would have been more brave. Stood my ground. He couldn’t hurt me anymore.
bloom.planted.north 
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