The Things I Carry

By Ellen Claire Williams 

Creating a blog has been a dream of mine for quite some time. But it was never the “right” time or I was “too busy.” The truth is… I wasn’t ready. I was afraid. I was ashamed. I didn’t want people, more people, to know the weight I had been carrying… the weight I still carry.

My first blog post is dedicated to my own story. A story that takes place over the past 3 years. This is my journey where at times, I only saw darkness and felt heartbreaking loneliness. This is my journey where the only thing I feel now is unimaginable freedom. Everyone has a story; I am finally ready to tell mine. Please bear with me. It’s lengthy but I believe it’s important.

It’s the very beginning of my sophomore year at The Ohio State University. Classes haven’t even started yet. I am introduced to a boy through a mutual friend. We quickly hit things off and begin spending more and more time with one another. He is so charming, kind, outgoing, and funny, like really funny! All of the things a girl my age could want. He has a big group of friends. He makes me feel special, the kind of special I have always wanted.

Fast forward a few months into the relationship:

He’s lying about various things, not big things, but still, things. Playful insults are next to come. But it’s no big deal, I mean we all know how college boys can be, right? He doesn’t really mean it like that. Who do I think I am not to laugh at his moderately hurtful “jokes?” He is nice to me, he buys me flowers whenever he messes up. He still makes me laugh A LOT. Seriously, he loves me and I love him. Relationships aren’t supposed to be perfect.

A few more months:

Well, he cheated on me again. But he cried about it and apologized. He seems really sorry. I truly believe him when he tells me it won’t happen again. Realistically, he is a college boy and we are so young; I can’t expect him to be perfect all the time. And did I mention that he’s sorry? He practically begged on his hands and knees for me to stay.

Things are better for a few weeks and he takes me out to dinner. But now his once “playful” insults are not in the slightest bit playful; and sometimes I cry when he speaks these words to me. But at least he’s only shoved me once this week… he was drunk after all and I should’ve known better than to start a fight when he’s like that. But the next day he slaps me. This time, across the face, hard. My cheek is red and soaked with tears, but he said he is sorry and is back down begging on his knees. I love him so much it hurts, but is love supposed to hurt? Continue reading…