Shattered

The beginning

Pain. Pain is the only thing that I feel.

Freshmen year was meant to start off the journey I was going to share with my best friend in high school. Our plan for the next four years was to make the best of our high school experience and create memories filled with smiles and laughter.

But that wasn't the case for me.

I had been seeing this guy for six months, and it was filled with everything but smiles and laughter. Every day consisted of something new, but he made sure every day left me scarred and in pain. For him, this was a pleasure. For him, he had to make sure I felt no ounce of happiness and no ounce of love. It was hard at first to prevent myself from breaking down in front of my best friend, but eventually, I got used to it. I got used to covering up the bruises. I got used to trying to hold my tears. I got used to covering up the pain. I got used to the pain.

I don't think he understood the brutal, gruesome pain he was putting me through. I like to believe that he didn't understand what he was doing, but he might have. Who can't see the pain they are putting a person through? Oh yeah, a majority of the population.

My best friend tried to calm me down in the middle of the night when he would leave me weak, beaten, and threatened. He would blackmail me if I decided to leave and beat me mentally, emotionally, and physically if I didn't show him attention and affection. He would become violent and angry when I chose to spend time with family and friends, and not stay home. I would come back to angry voicemails and be threatening messages. I had to either choose to spend time with him or just stay home and spend the day speaking to him. I was not allowed to have any freedom to do anything unless he was there. He had no mercy on me. I cared about him, but now, all I wanted was a way out of this relationship. He was tearing me apart and making me suffer. I begged for mercy, but he looked at me and pretended like he was doing nothing wrong.

He would accuse me of things that I never did just to torture me. He would claim that his friends saw me with another guy or he would claim I was seeing another guy behind his back. Why would I even go next to a male creature when I knew how insane you were? Why would I do the things you claimed when I knew the beating that would be coming my way? I didn't bother making friends with guys because I knew the pain he would put me through.

He had to go through my phone, and I had to give him my password for all my social media accounts. If I refused, I knew I had to pay the price for it. He would purposely block every single guy on my accounts, including my brother, Zachary, or any male family member in general. This was his way of making sure I never spoke to any guy, his way of making sure that he was in control. You may say he was insecure and maybe he was, but during the beating, all that goes through your head is, "Oh god help me."

I experienced significant difficulty with controlling my emotions around my house. I couldn't control myself if I were angry or frustrated. My feelings were all directly thrown at my brother or my mom. They always questioned what was bothering me, but they never got an answer. No one at home knew what was going on. No one at all knew what was going on, except for Hazel, my best friend.

Hazel and I have been friends since the first grade. She has always had those beautiful green eyes that would capture your attention and leave you hypnotized. Her hair was long, elegant and blond. She was the strongest girl I knew, and she always stood by my side and fought my battles with me. She could've left, but she chose to stay and still have my back.

My bond with Hazel was unique and rare, which caused others to try to break us apart. Girls didn't like me, and until this day I don't understand why but they all wanted to be Hazel's friend. The problem the girls faced was that Hazel and I were inseparable. So the girls never got the chance to have her to themselves because I came with the package and they hated me for that.

I was a straightforward person in our relationship while Hazel would be shy and not deal with confrontation. She would just give her deadly death stare. Hazel was able to make my life in high school manageable and hell. We have fought about boys, drugs, school, everything and anything. Although we fought, she was my best friend. She knew what I felt before I could figure out my feelings. Most importantly, Hazel knew I was in depression before I could.

The only reason I would survive high school was that of Hazel. High school wasn't how movies, books, or people described it would be like. Anytime I've heard about the high school; it's has been said, "High school will be the best four years of your life." I couldn't see what was so good about high school. Teachers were there to crush your dreams and make you feel awful about yourself. Students had their cliques and just cared about gossip and materialistic things. No one bothered to care about what would happen after these four years were gone. No one bothered to care about what kind of impact their actions were going to have on their future. Teenagers cared about messing around, getting high or drunk and just living in the moment.

While students enjoyed and wasted away their high school years, I was stuck here with an abusive boyfriend named Damon, who was a senior in my school, scars on my wrists, and dealing with depression and anxiety. I've had fear since the first day Damon got violent and angry with me. Since that day, I'm always anxious and never at ease. Depression came shortly after which lead to self-harm. I remember when I first cut myself, it was with a scissor and it wasn't intense the first few times. The longer I stayed with Damon, the worse my anxiety and depression got. When my anxiety and depression got worse, the scars gradually increased in depth and amount.

I would always think about cutting a vein open and bleeding to death or jumping off the Brooklyn Bridge. I would sometimes consider overdosing on my heart pills, Metoprolol. Oh yeah, did I forget to mention? I developed an irregular heartbeat due to this relationship.

I am Eva. I am a fourteen-year-old in an abusive relationship with an irregular heartbeat. This pain was just the beginning.