If you are Brazilian, you have seen something on tv and newspapers regarding a couple on big brother. If you like tv series and watches hbo, you have at least heard something about Big Little Lies (and how, once again, it seems Nicole Kidman has outgrown herself and delivered yet one more brilliant work). Both stories share one base line: abusive relationships.

I’m 32 now, but, as an 18 year old girl, I knew nothing. And I fell in love with the cutest guy at school (or at least I thought so). I was actually 17 and he was 19. And you think: boy, at 17 you already know one shit or two. But you don’t.

And you fall in love and the guy asks you out. And calls you every night. And you meet his sister and parents and dogs. You get familiar with his hobbies, likes and dislikes. And, one day you wake up and everything has changed.

On my mea culpa, let me state that I was not the most courageous or the most confident kid. I was always the witty one, always with a book under the arms and fairly always there for whoever needed me – I was just not really there for myself. Since a very young age I had to constantly prove myself and show people that I was worth whatever and that my sarcasm, sometimes, was the only way to be heard. Which, I guess, it has always driven my mother even madder at me. Oh well.

But then I was 17 and the guy noticed me. And we started dating. But on his terms. He would go out and cheat on me and every time I found out and confronted him, somehow I was the one saying I’m sorry in the end. He would say to me I was not pretty. That no one would ever marry me. That he was the only person in the world that would date me. That my family nickname was way too cute for someone so batshit crazy. That he could not see any great future ahead for me, I was not enough. So that is what stuck on my head: I was not enough.

When I finally got out of this relationship, I moved to another city. It took me 5 years to trust someone again – and the outcome is a little obvious: a guy that liked me, just not enough, and he ended up cheating on me as well.

Till this day – and, as I said, I’m 32 now – I doubt myself. I look in the mirror and it takes me time to say: ok, I’m nice looking. I’m constantly thinking I’m not smart enough, not good enough. I’m not enough. Work, family, friends, my boyfriend. Even my cats. Everyday I doubt myself. About everything.

This is what manipulative, abusive people do – they somehow crawl under your skin and take control. My ex had this way of laughing everything off, making me confused and think: wait, did he really or I’m just listening to crazy jealous friends? You become a puppet and every move you make, they know. I never left my house without him knowing where I was going and time I would go back. Once, I remember very clearly: I was on a diet and I hadn’t eat. I was also on my period. Needless to say after walking for about 20 minutes during a Brazilian summer day, I fainted. At least the store was door to door with the drugstore. What he did? He asked me to go to his parents house. Another 35 minute walk. And I did. Oh, and yes, I came all the way back, walking, to get a lift with my dad.

And now you must be angry at me, thinking: how could you be so dumb? You don’t see it. You don’t believe they are doing the wrong thing because you are so in love and so desperate to be approved and loved that you do. Because you are afraid of the consequences. You are afraid to be left, because they make you believe they are the world – without them, your life lacks sense, color, life.

Once he introduced me to his friends from college. Except, he didn’t introduced me as Lucila. He gave me another name, age and all the like. They never knew who I really was. Why? He was embarrassed. “I just want to protect you, they are pretty idiotic”. “It’s just so they won’t make fun of you”. Said the man that I dated for almost two years – the man I believed loved me.

So, you see, the problem with abuse (in my case mental and emotional) is that it never goes away – it sticks, forever. And I have seen dear friends repeat the same FUCKING pattern. All confident, intelligent, awesome women. And they fell, just as I did. No matter how bright you are, how fucking independent. They just know how to take control and you are the one finishig the night crying, away from your friends, feeling guilty. This is your number one companion: guilt.

Continue on the next post.

Picture is from the movie Mon Roi – the hardest movie you will watch on this subject.