This finding highlights part of what makes being a woman so terrifying — that we not only have to fear the strangers in dark alleyways, but also the people we trust the most in broad daylight.
Imagine being told repeatedly that you’re the reason you can’t be with the person you love, by the person you love, and yet they won’t leave you alone, no matter how much you beg them to.
The woman who loves me lost both her parents. My mom lost a tooth when my father touched her with his fist, because the kitchen knife failed to hit her.
I am a survivor of domestic violence. You have failed me in the worst possible way, and you have let my abuser retain access and control over me. You have aided and abetted the control.
I understand not wanting to vilify a man who may be innocent, but Amber deserves the same respect. She deserves at least the equal support Depp is receiving, if not more.
We need to engage in open, healthy, civilized online discussions instead of calling the people in question derogatory names to satisfy our own self-righteousness.
It’s been too long since we last contacted each other, but the memories still hit me when I least expect them to. I can be drinking tea, singing or talking to a friend and suddenly an image comes to my mind. And even as I try to avoid it, I watch everything in slow motion.
When your boyfriend pounds the door, grabs your wrist, you see it as the red flag it is, leave a post-it in the night that says, “Fuck off, lunatic douche!”
