Saturday, September 3, 2016
Thursday, June 9, 2016
I feel like I have been writing this entry for ages, for months, for years. I'm not sure if I started writing it in my before, or my after. I never wrote an entry here while we were together. I was sure that once I put it into writing for public consumption that it would make it less real, that it would make him leave, just like all of the others before him. Well, I didn't write about him, and he still left. The hardest thing about it, though, is knowing that I should have been the one to leave, and I should have done it months before it actually happened.
But I loved him, and because of that I once again overlooked the things I tell my friends to NEVER overlook. I let things slide that the real me would never let slide. I was silent when I should have been screaming. Looking back on that and I get so angry with myself. I knew it would happen, and I could have been in control, but instead I chose to sit back and do nothing, to continue to ignore what I knew, and to be a doormat.
It was two weeks shy of a year together. It was ten days before Christmas. It could NOT have come at a worse time. Christmas day was okay, it was Christmas Eve that tore me up inside. I spent a good portion of it crying into my pillow in my sister's old bedroom while Aiden and I were at my parent's house for Christmas Eve and Christmas day. The original plan was for him, Aiden, and I to have a Christmas on our own. My first one ever without my parents.
I am not going to spell out all of the ways I was wronged. I am not going to tell all of his dirty little secrets, or share all of his lies.
I am pretty much over it, to the extent that someone is able to be over someone. Time does heal the wounds, but it doesn't let me forget them. At this point I don't even know to what extent I was lied to, and that is what made moving on the hardest. People grieve differently, that's what a class I took two years ago taught me. I know that I heal best when I have all of the answers, when no questions are left, and I am no longer without a period at the end of the sentence.
There are two things I value more in this world than anything else; The first is loyalty, the second is honesty. If you are these two things, we will get along well. Something I have told Aiden on numerous occasions is that I cannot stand liars. If I am asking you a question, chances are, I already know the answer. The truth I don't mind, even if it hurts, it's the lie that hurts so much more. Why do more people not understand this?
I know that right now I am not an entirely whole person, but I am working on it. I am trying every single day to get out of bed, to make myself back into the me I was before. Not the me I was after, because the two do not even resemble each other.
I have cut so much out of my life in the last couple of years, that cutting someone I cared that deeply for out of my life drilled a hole into me that I don't know if it will ever be completely healed over. I don't know that I am capable of letting myself go like that again. I don't know that I will ever trust anyone again.
I know I've said that before, and I know I say that after every heartbreaking attempt, but right now I
just feel a coldness within me.
"And I'm not holding on, and all your lies weren't enough to keep me here..."
Sunday, October 5, 2014
Saturday, October 4, 2014
The best of friends are the ones who show up at 8pm when you lock your keys in your car. Who offer you their beer and cigarettes and a nice warm blanket just so you can sit on their lazy boy chair in silence watching old episodes of the walking dead.
And sometimes, that is all you really need.
Thursday, October 2, 2014
There are angels all around us. Real life, tangible angels. You don't know who they are until they text you randomly in the afternoon, show up late with a bottle of wine, and leave $40 on your counter even when you protest. They are the ones you never see coming, never would have expected to be someone to help fix you, even if just a little bit. People need people.
And all I can say is thank you. For the wine, for the conversation, for the money that is graciously accepted, yet completely unnecessary.
It is amazing the things you can have in common with someone you never really gave a thought of other than in passing. Knowing and being told that what you have to say, matters. Even if to no one else, to them.
Battered women have the makings of a battered woman. Visible, touchable. Even if they hide in places under shorts and pants. On rib cages and arms. On legs, backs, and when they are visible. Hand marks around the neck, stitches on an eyebrow. A black eye. A broken nose. A broken spirit.
Even a woman who is being abused emotionally, the depth of their eyes are empty. Dead. Trying to feel nothing because they are made to feel like they are nothing.
I have no visible unintentional markings. My nose isn't broken. My limbs are all intact.
I don't even know if my eyes are dead, or if I am just that good at pretending, ignoring, forgetting for a moment more that this terrible thing has happened. That this terrible thing happened to ME.
And I find it had to concentrate, try desperately to bury myself in anything but this emptiness inside of me. This loneliness. This isolation.
I am a battered women and there no visible marks to prove that this terrible thing happened. To me.
So many terrible, awful things happen on this planet. I am warm, and fed, and for the most part loved.
But this is still my burden. My pain. My brokenness that will never seem to heal fully. When do I get the chance to confront my abuser? When can I hold up this empty hole and say "Here, this is yours. You did this."?