My names Rhianna and I’m me.

I could never articulate how my last relationship changed me, until I was introduced to the term “gaslighting” on 27 February 2018.

Gaslighting is a form of persistent manipulation and brainwashing that causes the victim to doubt themselves and ultimately lose their own sense of perception, identity, and self-worth.

Toxic relationships fucking suck. They suck up your friends. Family. Eventually they swallow you up whole. I always imagined my ex-dude sitting on a throne, something out of a Vikings TV series, and he was bestowed on some moral fucking high ground I could never reach. It was a climb. And with every step I had to leave something behind.

First it was your “whore” friends who encouraged you to flirt with other dudes in town.

Second it was your “whore” clothes because god-forbid other dudes might see your curves.

Thirdly it was your best dude friend because you always flirt with him.

Fourthly it was your beliefs because you can’t take a simple joke. And finally, you reach the top and realise — what a fucking wasteland. Empty. Everything is so empty.

When we broke up, I felt exactly that — broken. I was nothing. I had nothing. For months, I searched for the answers at the end of bottles until I remembered something. My tattoo. Under my heart, the quote reads “I am not searching for my other half, for I am complete”.

Fuck this. And fuck that dude for making me suppress every single thing about what makes Rhi, Rhi. Three fucking years of my life I spent climbing. Climbing to meet someone else’s expectations at the top. I love my friends. I fucking love my curves. Every day I am consciously making decisions that embody everything Rhi.

My names Rhianna and I am 6 months me.