What Domestic Violence Did To Me

There was a time when I was happy, healthy, whole, and fun-loving. Before domestic abuse, I had hope. Even during the hardest times, even while living with HIV, I believed there would always be a brighter day ahead. Fifteen years of abuse left me a shell of who I once was, and I grieve that person every day.

Undoing the damage and conditioning he inflicted has been incredibly difficult. I tried to numb the pain through drug use, but that only created another problem. I am now in intensive outpatient therapy for CPTSD and addiction, and it is helping. I highly encourage IOP to anyone who can access it. 

 For 15 years, I minimized what was happening. The abuse was a gradual process of grooming and control. Before I realized it, I was financially trapped with someone who monitored and controlled nearly every part of my life. He followed me to work, put up cameras in the house and outside the house. After my parents died, that trap felt inescapable. 

Eventually, the abuse became physical, and I knew my life was in danger. I may not have understood narcissistic abuse, but I understood physical violence. I had experienced it from my birth father, and I knew where it could lead. I was fortunate to have a coworker, friends, and family who helped me plan my escape. One Saturday, I packed a U-Haul and fled across the country. 

 The sickest part? I was afraid he would be angry with me for leaving. 

I thought that once I escaped, my life would immediately get better. It didn't. I spent the first few months crying constantly. Everything was unfamiliar. I was living in a state I had never even visited before, surrounded by people and sounds after 15 years of extreme isolation. I felt completely lost. I still feel unmoored. 

It wasn’t until I began learning more about domestic violence and narcissistic abuse that I understood how deeply unhealthy and damaging my experience had been. I thought that once I left, I would magically become happy, that I could simply release the “bad stuff” and move on with my life. But complex trauma runs deep and requires a deliberate effort to reprogram how my brain and nervous system respond to the world. 

How has CPTSD expressed itself in my life? 

I remain agoraphobic and often struggle to leave my bedroom. My nervous system is constantly scanning for danger, anger, or hostility, and that constant vigilance is exhausting. Leaving my safe space requires exposing my hyper-aware nervous system to unmanageable amounts of sensory input and potential perceived threats. 

I am also extremely sensitive to sudden or loud noises. Living with my brother and his family is challenging because the environment is often noisy. I explained early on that yelling was triggering for me, but my concerns were largely ignored. As a result, I spend much of my time in my bedroom with fans and air scrubbers running on high to help block out the noise. Loud noises, sudden yelling, or chaotic living conditions signal immediate danger to a traumatized brain. Retreating to my room with white noise is a survival strategy to create a predictable boundary when my external surroundings feel overwhelming. 

The chronic, long-term stress of the abuse, combined with my current chaotic environment, has left me feeling constantly anxious and on edge. When you live in an environment where safety is unpredictable, your brain and nervous system can become conditioned to constantly look for danger. My amygdala feels as though it is perpetually on high alert, and even almost two years later, my nervous system is still working overtime to protect me from being caught off guard again. 

Extended exposure to elevated cortisol and adrenaline disrupted my immune system, metabolic balance, and inflammatory responses. Developing an autoimmune condition, hair loss, and cardiovascular strain are direct physiological consequences of chronic, long-term toxic stress. My body kept the score when all my mind could do was to numb or minimize the reality to survive day-to-day. 

I still experience fear, although it has gotten better with time. For a very long time, I found myself looking for my ex everywhere I went. I was afraid he would suddenly appear and hurt me, or even kill me. 

That fear has diminished, but it has been replaced by a different kind of fear: the fear that if I allow myself to become vulnerable to love or friendship with a man, I could once again become a victim. As a result, my sensitivity to red flags is extremely high. I am constantly watching for signs that someone might hurt me, and while that vigilance may protect me from danger, it also makes it difficult for me to let my guard down. 

I have not yet felt safe enough to become truly vulnerable and allow the love of a good man into my life. People often tell me, “You will find love again one day, when you least expect it. Be happy with yourself first.” I know there is truth in that. I know that learning to be happy and comfortable with myself is important, and I am working toward that. 

 But there is another truth that is harder to say out loud: I am lonely.