Member-only story
Free to Fuck and Love
From Prison to Fucking Freedom in Five Years
Five years…
Five fucking years of my life wasted with a man who confused love with possession. Five years living in fear of breathing, of looking sideways, of existing.
That son of a bitch was the type of man who makes you believe you’re crazy. Who makes you think it’s normal for him to check your phone at three in the morning while you sleep.
I remember it like it was yesterday.
Curled up in the bathroom corner, crying quietly so he wouldn’t hear me, after another fucking fight because I’d liked a friend’s photo.
“If you like him so much, go fuck him!” he would scream.
My self-esteem?
In the gutter. My will to live? Almost none.
The sex? Don’t even get me started. It had become an obligation, a bargaining chip. It was his way of marking his territory, of making me feel possessed.
There was no pleasure, no desire — just another form of control. When I didn’t want it, it was because “I must be fucking someone else.”
When I did want it, it was “suspicious behavior.” Fuck, there was no winning in this sick game.