Nwaru
unhappy egirl
- May 29, 2026
- 2
Today is the day before the anniversary of my mother's death, and I learned that I may never get my cat back—the cat I consider to be my son.
To explain everything properly, I need to go back a long way.
When I was very young, my parents separated, and both sides of the family hated each other. I would occasionally spend weekends with my father, who never set any rules for me, while the rest of the time I lived with my mother, who struggled to afford food for the two of us.
When I was around four years old, my mother met my stepfather. At first, he treated me like his own daughter, but everything changed when my mother became pregnant with my younger sister. After my sister was born, the abuse began. I was beaten, deprived of meals, and deprived of affection.
School, which had been my only refuge, also became a place of suffering. Because I was slightly overweight, I became the target of bullying that followed me until the end of my education.
When I was nine years old, my mother died in a household accident. I was left alone with my stepfather and my four-year-old sister. Some people even accused me of causing the accident that took my mother's life.
After her death, my father's side of the family fought to gain custody of me, separating me from the family I had actually grown up with.
My biological father was practically a stranger. After my parents' separation, he never rebuilt his life. Instead, he moved back in with his parents and ruled the household through fear and intimidation. I ended up living with my grandparents and my father.
The first few months were bearable. I struggled to adapt, but everyone was kind to me. However, once I started middle school, everything changed. My father became increasingly violent, both physically and verbally, toward me and even toward his own mother. Once again, I was living in an abusive environment.
For the next ten years, I endured daily death threats. I was beaten for things as trivial as not bringing him a drink quickly enough. I was forbidden from going out and sometimes even prevented from attending school. I also believe I may have been sexually abused.
During those years, I suffered from severe depression and overwhelming suicidal thoughts that led me to several attempts on my life. It was also during this period that I first heard about Borderline Personality Disorder.
Every day seemed to bring a new traumatic event. Little by little, I lost my footing and felt myself falling apart.
When I was fifteen, I met someone online whom I will call L.
L was struggling with depression when we met because he felt he would never find the right person to share his life with. Over time, as we grew closer, he began to feel better.
Many things happened during those years. Some were positive, such as meeting my closest friends. Others were devastating, including an argument during which he told me I should end my life.
Eventually, he became tired of seeing me trapped in my abusive situation. He resorted to emotional blackmail and pressured me into leaving my family.
I ran away and moved in with him. For a year, I lived with him and his parents. His mother became the maternal figure I had always lacked.
After that year, we moved into an apartment together. In February 2025, I adopted a cat.
At the time, I had no income because I was waiting for government assistance. L covered all the expenses, but he always insisted that he was happy to do so. In fact, he often volunteered without me even asking.
That cat became my reason to live.
I loved him more than anything in the world. He was the only source of love I was capable of feeling and giving in return.
Months passed, but toward the end of last year everything fell apart. L became abusive as well. He slapped me several times and then informed me that he was moving out and that I would have to "figure out somewhere else to live."
Overnight, I became homeless.
Thankfully, a friend offered me a place to stay while I got back on my feet. However, I could not bring my cat with me. L agreed to keep him temporarily on the condition that I would reclaim him one day; otherwise, he said he would return him to the shelter.
Recently, I finally received confirmation that my government assistance had been approved. I will soon be able to rent an apartment and finally bring my son home.
Today, I informed L that I was ready to take my cat back.
In response, he insulted me. He blamed me for his own decisions and for having had to help me in the past. He refused to return my cat and used false arguments to claim that I never loved him. His final argument—the one he had sworn he would never use—was that the cat was registered under his name.
By the end of June, he will have had my cat for six months.
I had my cat for a full year before that.
What he either ignores or refuses to acknowledge is that while the cat was originally registered under his name for the adoption process, the ownership is now legally under my name.
Because of that, I am in a position to begin legal proceedings to get my cat back.
But this is where my dilemma begins.
I want to fight for him.
At the same time, my cat does not appear unhappy where he is now. I am afraid that forcing a change after everything that has happened could be stressful or traumatic for him.
More than anything, I want what is best for my son. I want him to be happy, even if that means letting him stay with L.
And that is what hurts the most.
To explain everything properly, I need to go back a long way.
When I was very young, my parents separated, and both sides of the family hated each other. I would occasionally spend weekends with my father, who never set any rules for me, while the rest of the time I lived with my mother, who struggled to afford food for the two of us.
When I was around four years old, my mother met my stepfather. At first, he treated me like his own daughter, but everything changed when my mother became pregnant with my younger sister. After my sister was born, the abuse began. I was beaten, deprived of meals, and deprived of affection.
School, which had been my only refuge, also became a place of suffering. Because I was slightly overweight, I became the target of bullying that followed me until the end of my education.
When I was nine years old, my mother died in a household accident. I was left alone with my stepfather and my four-year-old sister. Some people even accused me of causing the accident that took my mother's life.
After her death, my father's side of the family fought to gain custody of me, separating me from the family I had actually grown up with.
My biological father was practically a stranger. After my parents' separation, he never rebuilt his life. Instead, he moved back in with his parents and ruled the household through fear and intimidation. I ended up living with my grandparents and my father.
The first few months were bearable. I struggled to adapt, but everyone was kind to me. However, once I started middle school, everything changed. My father became increasingly violent, both physically and verbally, toward me and even toward his own mother. Once again, I was living in an abusive environment.
For the next ten years, I endured daily death threats. I was beaten for things as trivial as not bringing him a drink quickly enough. I was forbidden from going out and sometimes even prevented from attending school. I also believe I may have been sexually abused.
During those years, I suffered from severe depression and overwhelming suicidal thoughts that led me to several attempts on my life. It was also during this period that I first heard about Borderline Personality Disorder.
Every day seemed to bring a new traumatic event. Little by little, I lost my footing and felt myself falling apart.
When I was fifteen, I met someone online whom I will call L.
L was struggling with depression when we met because he felt he would never find the right person to share his life with. Over time, as we grew closer, he began to feel better.
Many things happened during those years. Some were positive, such as meeting my closest friends. Others were devastating, including an argument during which he told me I should end my life.
Eventually, he became tired of seeing me trapped in my abusive situation. He resorted to emotional blackmail and pressured me into leaving my family.
I ran away and moved in with him. For a year, I lived with him and his parents. His mother became the maternal figure I had always lacked.
After that year, we moved into an apartment together. In February 2025, I adopted a cat.
At the time, I had no income because I was waiting for government assistance. L covered all the expenses, but he always insisted that he was happy to do so. In fact, he often volunteered without me even asking.
That cat became my reason to live.
I loved him more than anything in the world. He was the only source of love I was capable of feeling and giving in return.
Months passed, but toward the end of last year everything fell apart. L became abusive as well. He slapped me several times and then informed me that he was moving out and that I would have to "figure out somewhere else to live."
Overnight, I became homeless.
Thankfully, a friend offered me a place to stay while I got back on my feet. However, I could not bring my cat with me. L agreed to keep him temporarily on the condition that I would reclaim him one day; otherwise, he said he would return him to the shelter.
Recently, I finally received confirmation that my government assistance had been approved. I will soon be able to rent an apartment and finally bring my son home.
Today, I informed L that I was ready to take my cat back.
In response, he insulted me. He blamed me for his own decisions and for having had to help me in the past. He refused to return my cat and used false arguments to claim that I never loved him. His final argument—the one he had sworn he would never use—was that the cat was registered under his name.
By the end of June, he will have had my cat for six months.
I had my cat for a full year before that.
What he either ignores or refuses to acknowledge is that while the cat was originally registered under his name for the adoption process, the ownership is now legally under my name.
Because of that, I am in a position to begin legal proceedings to get my cat back.
But this is where my dilemma begins.
I want to fight for him.
At the same time, my cat does not appear unhappy where he is now. I am afraid that forcing a change after everything that has happened could be stressful or traumatic for him.
More than anything, I want what is best for my son. I want him to be happy, even if that means letting him stay with L.
And that is what hurts the most.
