I used to think if I just stayed quiet, things might get better.
I stopped asking questions. I stopped reacting. I tried to shrink myself so small, maybe the yelling would stop.
But it never did.

My husband could yell at me in the home with our child nearby, and no one cared. Not even when I finally called the police. All I could get out was, “I need the yelling and the craziness to stop.” I was shaking. Frozen. Barely able to speak after twenty years of psychological abuse — silent treatment, gaslighting, emotional manipulation. Finding out much later the long term affair he is in managed to trigger his inner most demon to have created such a world of lies upon lies, rage and true evil.

He convinced them he was the victim. And I began to believe maybe I was crazy.

I wasn’t.

I was being erased.

Even now, I sometimes feel like I’m losing my mind. But I remind myself: feeling crazy is the aftermath of being systematically broken.

I’m healing now. Slowly. Honestly. Loudly.

And this time, no one gets to silence me.