Tuesday, April 5, 2016


I don't think he reads here anymore, or even would think to, so I'm going to write what's been in my mind since I last saw Steve. Since I decided I had things to say again, things that mattered to my soul and itched to be free.

In some ways, I've been stifled knowing he'd be on here reading my words. That's no longer a problem.

I can finally say the way he ended things was one of the most heartbreaking things someone has ever done to me. It nearly killed me. It's what pushed me off the fragile edge into oblivion. I had arrangements made. I knew what day I was going to end things.

After everything and everyone who tried to break me, he managed to do it by accident. I couldn't let him "see" in that annoying way he "sees" me. If he thought, guessed for a brief moment, he would stop me.

The Ex moving two and a half hours away helped a lot. My therapist says that's when he saw an improvement. But that's not what rekindled the fire, no. I helped a friend get out of an abusive situation. I saw the fear firsthand. A look I know all too well. One I didn't just wear around The Ex. One I've wore most of my childhood. I know abuse when I see it.

They'd already broken up. She was packing up her things as quickly as she could with work. He was being an asshole about it and was trying to convince her to reconsider. So while he was off on a job over a long weekend, I got her out. I pushed my body and my mind to its limits, but we did it. I slide into a disassociative state about 5 minutes after everything was done. Not completely gone, but I lost the ability to speak for a while. I kept shaking.

I want to shake now. When she admitted to our friends, with my help, that her ex was abusive no one believed her. They still don't. They thought I was projecting my Ex onto her situation. Want me to live? Make me angry. Give me a reason to defy people actively. Give me something to prove wrong.

But nothing has been right these past few months. The lynch pin, my therapist calls her. The center around which all my abuse and trauma can be tied back to. One of my first abusers. Someone I used to call "mom" but isn't my biological mother. We talked in December. The nightmares started then. Restless nights. Meds no longer working. Weeks of unrelenting migraines.

And his girlfriend. Seeing her name show up on FB. We're not friends but she's tags him in things all the time. She's integrated in his life in a way I never was, maybe never could have been. And I hate her for it. I hate her. I have no reason to; she seems like a really nice person. They connect really well.

Yet, I hate her. The idea of being around her puts very bad thoughts in my head. Bad dreams. I say I want him only to be happy. Then why is there so much rage? It's not like she's someone bad for him. I'd understand that. But she seems great. A total sweetheart who's been through her own miseries in life. I should connect with her.

He says he's surprised that I'm not vindictive. I could be, and he has no idea of the levels I'd go to. I can be ruthless. But not to him, never to him. And she's now part of his life...my brain should transition to a protective state.

It's not though. I see competition. I see prey. I see something to eliminate.

If this is who the medications make me become in order to "help" me, I think I'll take my depression and anxiety and ptsd instead. Kthnx. Because that person sure as hell isn't me. 

No comments:

Post a Comment