By an anonymous contributor.
I say Dear because you once were. I wanted you to remain Dear but you’ve become a distant, almost insignificant. Pity. We were happy at times in the beginning, our lives were full of promise and hope, but were we happy in the present?
I was content to let happiness come.
It did not.
At first I was shocked by your cruelty, the nasty one liners, the put downs, the mocking. I was shocked that my Dear could hurt me like this. Then, I was upset and angry. How dare you treat me like this! Who the fuck are you?
Your affairs started, small at first, just one night. I didn’t know. I was raw with emotion but I didn’t know why. Then it was a few weeks with one girl, you told me then. It shattered me. I told my friends, cried on their shoulders, and made plans to move out and leave you forever.
You said it had ended and you were ready to be with me again.
The next time it didn’t hurt so much, I didn’t care as much. If only I knew what that meant. It meant I was dying inside, losing my Self. The third and fourth times you strayed, it was a relief that I could have time alone. I stopped getting upset. Stopped reacting.
So you hit me.
We had gone out. You made me feel like a complete embarrassment in front of our friends and you left to play the pokies. You lost money we couldn’t afford to lose. We argued at home, you were drunk. You punched and kicked me in the kidneys. Floored me. Stood between me and the door watching my helplessness, laughing at my dilemma.
It was my fault. Why was I still with you? Who in their right fucking mind could stay with a lying, cheating, violent partner? I couldn’t go back to my friends with this, I’d brought it on myself for staying. The embarrassment was too great.
And you know what? When it comes to physical or emotional abuse, the emotional abuse was the worse and there was fuck all I could do about it. It’s almost a relief when it’s physical, at least then there’s something real to work with.
The fifth time…….I left.
You followed, then……you left.
It was the final humiliation, when you walked out on me. I was crippled with self-loathing. Waves of emotion coursing through me with hateful, bitter dialogue screaming at the pathetic thing I’d become. But there was finally emotion. I felt better in that state than the numb zombied existence I knew with you. I was healing. Me and my emotions were here to stay in all their vast glory.
Now, I am loved as an emotionally honest, real me and I don’t try. I don’t need to.
I wonder, have you healed from the many self-inflicted gaping wounds you earned yourself? I have no doubt my superficial scratches healed far better and quicker. I don’t think you’ll ever be free from your pain.