I gave you every ounce of myself that I had left that I didn’t know I had left in me, to be honest. When I saw you in the entryway holding a beer and I wanted nothing to do with you, yet everything to do with you, it confused me. And that bungee cord of emotion stretch and Snap back between love and loathing, up until the day I walked away from the chaos. You will never forget the sound of my voice, the tone you hated so much, before I resigned. I know it rings in your head when you’re trying to sleep at night, just as I will never forget the silence you gave to me when all I could do was weep. The sound of my own screams, alone in my car in the dead of winter. The snot, the tears, the fears, pouring from every orifice of my face while I somehow managed to shamefully drape my lifeless body across the front seats of my car. I was ashamed of myself for having emotions, for allowing myself to be so close to someone again when I had not yet healed from finding my only love had cheated on me three years ago. I felt pitiful for not being “strong”, for openly revealing to this new human see my weaknesses, which he contently slipped me and my fears into the garbage. Throwing his hands in the air on my bad days where spells of depression consumed me and I wished a semi-truck would hit me head-on. He used his silence as a way to punish me for not being as perfect as he hoped. He used his silence as his momentary resignation, because if he ‘didn’t speak to a woman he could always have his foot in the door because he left with no confrontation, therefore she can’t be angry with him’. No remorse. No compassion as my levels of anxiety escalated at an alarming rate and my body became a slump of mush, which he would comment on how sometimes I seemed to just “drag myself around and not be present”. It was hard to be the only one fighting for love, honesty, stability. I’d told him time and again, “you’re hurting my feelings when you do that! I can’t trust you!” Yet he’d take pride in driving the stake further, twisting it into my old wounds, splintering into what had taken me so goddamn long to heal. I felt pinned down by these stakes, trapped. I couldn’t stay detached, he somehow always found a perfect lure and cast it out to me once I had escaped to sea, each time I had finally felt free and built my self-esteem. I became gullible that he’d changed, that he wasn’t sleeping around or pursuing other women, that he actually loved me and would respect me.
Repetition continued. Eventually I began feeling unlovable. I walked with my head down every day, the lights were out in my mind, my creativity was just as dead. All I could think about was, “I wonder if my boyfriend will talk to me today? Will he want to see me this week? Did he actually delete his Tinder? Who were all those girls snapchatting him that he quickly flicked off the screen?”I never deserved the selfish love you gave me. I never deserved my arm to be twisted behind my back when I had already fallen to the ground, no release despite the amount of times I had screamed “uncle!” The bruises ached to the bones, keeping me awake at night. Restless, nightmares. Convincing myself that I was truly an utter pathetic waste of a human, riddled with anxiety and manic-depression. Surely I had to have a mental disorder to feel so… Emotional! God forbid my feelings are hurt for being ignored for days on end and ran around on, for being let down on plans, time and again, and told, “ugh, I just can’t handle being around your family today.” Those were normal things and I was surely overreacting because I was so sensitive to how relationships worked now. I must fix myself.
I scheduled a doctors appointment. I got put on medications. My first dose I accidentally two of the antipsychotic. Both scripts- bottles, pills and shape, nearly identical. Needless to say, it threw me off the handlebars. I panicked when it made me feel high, not a good high, a horrifying high where I had no depth perception and my emotions went from bleak and empty, to gut-wrenching fear and sadness in a matter of moments. I was afraid and alone. I called and he refused to visit me, despite the fact that he had ditched our plans earlier that day. “Please! You said we’d get through this together! I’m so scared, you promised you’d be there for me, I really need your comfort right now!” I’m scream-sobbing, heart racing, mouth dry, and I feel surreal, as if my mind shot out of my head. There was silence, I started at my wall.
“I don’t understand what you’re going through or why you’re so out of control right now…”
“I just don’t want to be alone! Please come over, I need you so bad right now…”
“I can’t.”
He refused my calls, any contact with me whatsoever. I almost crashed on my way to work the following morning, the medication hadn’t worn off in my sleep. It was foggy, a deer ran out, I couldn’t feel my body and had no sense of direction on the road I had driven hundreds of times, I was lost and found my way home and called into work. I didn’t leave my bed for the weekend, I induced sleep for 74 hours, occasionally waking up to try to contact my boyfriend to no avail.
This continued for a week, until he finally asked to speak to me and showed up at my home with all my belongings.
He cast out his line two months following and we ended up together again. The same shit, the same runaround. I moved two blocks from him yet he still couldn’t manage to make much time for me! but I was so fed up with being taken advantage of that my fuse was so short, any small disrespect was like fire to the wick. The explosion was finding him drunkenly straddling a good friend of mine on my bed, shirt off, massaging her back with my door shut. After breaking up I discovered he had been on tinder, pursuing other women the whole time we were together. I spoke with a few of his interests that were pursued when we were in a relationship which is how I found out. Which would explain the illness I caught from him last summer, suddenly.
I have never felt so liberated than to be out of the madness, to not worry if the man I’m seeing wants to spend time with me or if I have to bribe him to come over with dinner or sexting. I realized I’m not fucking crazy, either. That my anxiety has improved immensely since he’s been gone from my life. I feel human, I have no worries, I’ve been creating, learning, I’ve been overall happy and content with my life. Had I pulled my head out of my ass and realized he was the one provoking my illness, I would have chosen myself alone. Unfortunately when I attempt to go off my antipsychotic medication it sends electrical shocks through out my body, like mini seizures, I’m hoping I won’t be on it for life.
Never will I receive an apology I deserve, nor do I believe his pride will allow him to feel any sense of guilt for the gaslighting-hell he wove into my mind and pursuing women behind my back, or for all the mistrust and fear instilled in my heart that I am forced to battle and conquer when I wake each day. But I know one thing is that he will miss me, the me he saw on my good days at each beginning of our “starting points”. The me who voluntarily scratched his back endlessly while he dissolved into pudding, yet started asking more and more. The girl who cooked dinner for hours for him and his friends, and cracked wise jokes. The girl who cleaned his house, spoke with his cat so softly and chirped to greet her. The girl who always tried excessively to please him and win his heart, the one who walked into his house and made everyone smile and laugh. He’ll think of me alone at night with anger, but the root of anger is always pain, this I can contest to. And if there’s anything I know, it will eat away at him slow.
(Source: comasummer-blog)
