I need to go home

NOTE: The following could be a true story. It could be any of us. And in fact, we are currently working to help someone afford a plane ticket to flee abuse and reconnect with their support system out of state.

What we need is you – if you’re able to help, even with $25, please visit our donate page and be sure to include AIRPLANE in the comments so we know how to use it.

UPDATE: The person who inspired this story has made it home! And we have created an earmarked fund specifically to help with travel issues - be they a tank of gas or a plane ticket - as they arise. Contribute to that any time by listing TRANSPORTATION FUND on the memo of your donation. 


I never planned to live here.

Don’t get me wrong, it’s beautiful. The leaves in the fall, the snow, the sometimes-sunny days.

But this wasn’t my choice.

When we met, he swept me off my feet. I’ve always protected my heart, but something in my gut told me he was different. After months and months of talking about it, we decided moving here was the best thing for us. But soon after, us turned into him.

We’ve all read about power and control, but until you’ve lived it you just can’t understand. I have no friends, I have no family. Not here anyway. We do what he wants to do, when he wants to do it. If I object, there goes the rest of the day.

“I brought you here, you should be grateful.”

“They never cared about you anyway.”

“Without me you’re nothing.”

Deep inside I know these things aren’t true. But after hearing them so many times, it’s hard to remind myself of that.

Isolation is one of the most common ways abusers control us. By making us feel alone, and over time creating a reality around that, they insert themselves as our only option. Without them we can’t buy groceries, can’t make rent, the list goes on and on… and on.

And my support system, my "people," they're so far way.

Getting home is all I want, all I need. I secretly look up plane ticket prices. Flight times. Layovers. But… his name is on the bank account. It would be easier that way, he said, I obviously would have access to everything. But I don’t.

My parents try to help, they really do. But they’re not wealthy. Besides, he checks the mail, not me. If they sent money, I don’t really think I’d ever know.

We Skype sometimes, but we’re never truly alone. They worry, I tell them not to. I want to protect them, and I want to go home to them. To pretend this never happened and just start fresh.

But… I can’t afford it.

Help me get home