At Least, I Think So

It's a story on my life a few years ago to let everyone have an insight into my life. This is my entry for "Both sides of the story". This is the first chapter of my book "Behind Closed Doors".

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1. At Least, I think so.

I am not the strongest, prettiest, wealthiest girl in my group of friends but they call me the smartest because I can hold a long lasting relationship with ease as well as keeping my good grades at school. For me there is just one problem, my relationship just doesn’t feel right. I view a relationship to be where two people are equal and in love, supporting one another and living for the others happiness. That isn’t my relationship but what happens behind closed doors no one knows.

 

 I am a fairly average girl, goes to school, talks about boys and fashion and make up. I study making sure I pass my GCSE’s and get my grades. There is one very unusual thing about me and my life though and that is my relationship because we are two very average people going about normal day to day lives until we are hidden from the on looking eyes of others. That is the time I fear the most. He is a very controlling partner who tells me who I can and cannot talk to. He hurts me emotionally and physically but I guess I am a great actress for no one sees my hurt. My eyes sparkle. My smile gleams. I look like an ordinary girl but feel like a slave. I refuse to show my skin though because I love him. I hide the evidence like I am the bad guy, the one to blame. He tells me that if anyone ever found out they’ll look as black and blue as me and I don’t want that. I know deep down he means no harm. At least, I think so.

 

I seem like a bookworm during the summer months knowing the air con in the library is my saviour, knowing that when I read I become the happy fictional woman in the books who only suffers material problems like wardrobe malfunctions and bad hair days. I know these stories can take me away from reality even if it’s for a small period of time before I see him again. Don’t get me wrong he’s a good person but he has a fierce temper. When he’s had a bad day then its better to stay out of his way like you’re a butterfly avoiding a charging bull. I know he means well and he loves me. At least, I think so.

 

He makes me happy and I love him. I believe he’s here to toughen me up so I can face the big world as an independent woman. He’s here to make sure I grow up to be a perfect wife with perfect features knowing everything I have to do to please my husband. I want to leave this relationship for a knight in shining armour but this stuff only happens in fairytales. If I could I would be Rapunzel and lock myself away in a tower where I could cook and clean for myself. Not having to worry about anyone or anything but me, myself and I. That sounds very selfish but I feel so small and worthless sometimes I even wonder why I get out of bed on a morning. The stressed caused by having to clean, work and live up to my parents expectations is harder than I imagined. This makes me want to rebel. At least, I think so.

 

I knew that being a straight A grade student would be hard but that’s what I get for using my brain. Anyone with a brain works harder than those who are not so smart or make bad choices. This is because when the hard workers leave school they are given more responsibility because they have made good choices and been proven reliable. Also those who work hard normally have a high goal to achieve. My high goal is to become a fully qualified Architect with a masters degree in Architecture. My partner is one of those that makes bad choices and has a brain but I don’t get on his back about it because I want to keep things as calm as possible. He should at least past his GCSE’s. At least, I think so.

 

Why do I always get the bad ones? The drunken, violent bad boys who think they rule the world. I just want a boy who is normal and knows how to make the right choices so I could be more feminine and wear dresses and skirts. Is that too much to ask? I am faithful to God, why is he so harsh on me? I hate being covered in these bruises. I want to be free and like all the other girls who can wear short sleeve tops and not be embarrassed at the sight of themselves. I want to be normal. At least, I think so.

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