I remember the fifteen-year-old me, infatuated with the twenty-five year-old you. You were beautiful, smart, elegant, independent, you stood your ground, but you were abusive.

All it took was one slap to make me afraid of you. All it took was for you to see me with a girl, and you’d think I was cheating, then you’d beat me all over again. Why? Why were you so insecure? You had it all; my love, my respect, above all, you had fear of you instilled in me.

How do I mention your name in my social circles without feeling this heavy weight on my chest that makes it hard for me to breathe? I was just a little teenage girl, infatuated with you. A beautiful smile, for a gorgeous lady, yes, that’s you were. All it took was for you to say, “Sorry, it will never happen again,” and I’d foolishly believe you. All it took was just one subtle touch from you, and I’d forget about the pain you constantly made me feel.

You were older and experienced, and I expected love and warmth from you. Probably because of your motherly ways. You were a warm woman, but sometimes you turned cold and rigid, and me being the little girl I was made it easy for you, didn’t it?

Your abuse left me with scars, not physical scars, but emotionally I’m scarred for life! Sadly, I’ve adopted your abuse, and made it mine. Because of you, I now use my hands to get my way.

I didn’t want to beat her! I didn’t! But I can’t even stop myself any more. Somehow I see you in myself. Somehow I’ve turned into you. What have you freaking done to me? How do I escape this? Tell me! How do I get myself out of this predicament alone? Wherever the hell you are, you’ve managed to change me. You’ve turned me into a monster like you.

I don’t want her to be scared of me. I’m her lover, her girlfriend, her safe place. But she now gets alarmed when I lose my temper. She now gets startled when I put my hands on her, lovingly. It’s like she’s already waiting for me to hit her. Like she’s prepared for it.

No! I refuse. I refuse to be like you. I refuse to be the vile person you were. That is not me. I am all about harmony and peace. You didn’t succeed, you couldn’t turn me into an abuser. I stop myself before my fist lands on her face, she’s already covering herself. I help her get up and hug her. She cries and says she loves me. I love her too.

So you see, you couldn’t turn me into an abuser. I am not one. I will never be one. Whatever I went through in the past doesn’t define the me I am now. You lost the battle. I won.

I am not an abuser.