“The Search Bar Knew Before I Did”
(TW: Abuse)
I asked the internet
if it was normal
for a man to slam you
into drywall
for keeping your phone.
They said:
Did you provoke him?
Was he just angry?
Are you sure you’re not overreacting?
I asked if a threat
still counts
when he doesn’t follow through.
I asked
if packing a bag “just in case”
was dramatic,
if fear without bruises
was still fear.
I asked questions
like I was shopping
for permission
to feel unsafe.
I asked strangers
because I couldn’t ask myself.
Because the voice in my head
had already been replaced
with his.
Because no one taught me
that abuse sometimes wears
a wedding ring,
or that survival often begins
in Google search bars
at 2 a.m.
And no one ever said
that by the time you’re asking,
you already know.
That the question
isn’t really a question—
it’s a grief song,
it’s a whisper:
please tell me I can leave.
please tell me I’m not crazy.
please tell me it counts.
please tell me I still count.
I scrolled,
hands shaking,
screen lit like a confession booth.
And somewhere,
between “he doesn’t mean it”
and
“this isn’t who he really is,”
I realized:
The search bar
knew before I did.
If you find yourself here—
reading between the lines
of a silent scream—
know this:
You are not alone.
Your fear is real.
Your courage is already in motion.
And even when the night feels endless,
there is a dawn waiting to hold you.
