No one ever imagines that they would allow themselves to be in a domestic violence relationship; however it's more common than one would think. No one can begin to understand how it happens until it does. I know this because it happened to me. My first love as a teenager was also my worst. I met him when I was fifteen; he was the funny and fun, the cousin of my best friend. As our friendship blossomed we confided all of our teen secrets to each other. We spent hours upon hours on the phone, writing letters, and finding every way possible to see each other and hang out. Being my best friend's cousin made it that much easier, and definitely helped my immediate comfort level and connection with him. I had heard stories of his horrible childhood, thus why he was living with his grandmother. I also knew his mother had been killed when he was six years old as a result of domestic violence. Instead of putting up red flags, this made me feel sympathetic and even more intrigued by him.
As our friendship deepened he told me stories of what he remembered about his mom. The loving, caring way she had been with him. He had just as many terrible stories too. He recalled his mom crying, hiding, and being hit a lot. He even confided sitting in his moms lap on the couch while she was explaining to him that they were going to leave and go stay with grandma, when his dad came in with a gun, firing above their heads into the wall telling them they weren't going to be going any ware. That was a week or so before he had a sleep over only to be told his mother was dead the next day. He was returned to his father after a year or so once his dad was released, only to be abused and witness the abuse of several step mothers. Around the age of fourteen when his dads continued abuse sent him back to prison, he was sent to his grandmothers to live. He would cry and worry so much about how he never wanted to end up anything like his father.