I had always been a healthy girl. I never struggled with any major illness, and the only time I was in a hospital outside of childbirth was to accompany my parents when my little brother needed stitches or had an asthma attack. I rarely took medication because I rarely needed it, and the only knowledge I had about remedies other than baby aspirin and Mercurochrome was from reading the expired boxes of Alka-Seltzer in my dad’s medicine cabinet.
But that was then, before I turned thirty and fell hard and fast in love with a man who would later be diagnosed with Narcissistic Personality Disorder. It wouldn’t be until sixteen years later that I would escape, and with only a shred of my spirit intact due to the emotional injuries I suffered silently from, injuries that weren’t visible like bruises or broken bones and therefore left me nothing to show in demonstration of my pain.Read More