I have been treating you
like the bandage
when you might actually
be the wound.
I wrote this a few months ago. Oh, how things have changed. I wish I could pat me on the back sometimes.
It happened again. The same routine as always. He calls, I go, we fuck, I cry. This profound sense of masochism that is growing steadily inside of me is starting to make more sense. It has become startlingly clear to me that I haven’t left this situation because I truly don’t feel as though I deserve better. Some very damaged and unknown part of me almost feels lucky that he’s even wasting my time. When people marvel at my strength in regards to what I’ve been through, the quiet voice inside of my head chuckles and sighs, reminding me of the incessant weakness that I’ve displayed over the last two years.
That leads to the big question: WHY? Why do I do this? I completely acknowledge that I knowingly put myself in this place, and still have the audacity to complain about it. He has become this unattainable substance that I only get a taste of when he feels generous enough to give it, and that alone leaves me weak and willing. I’ll walk away after he’s left me high and dry and turn to the same person who rolls her eyes every single time. Cassie. She shakes her head, pats my shoulder and says the exact same words, “Well, I fucking told you so.”
Do I honestly expect anything different from him? Why do I think he’s going to turn around and tell me he loves me? That he made a huge mistake almost two years ago and he wants to prove to me that he’s the man that he either once was or the man that my vague memory created in desperation? Or does this really have anything to do with him?
We accept the love we think we deserve. This constantly haunts me. My Father, the binge drinking, abusive and psychotic cocaine addict did a fabulous job at destroying my ability to look in the mirror and just say “You have everything in the world to be proud of.” The beaten child that rests inside of me weeps quietly, and the woman that I’ve become consoles her and reminds her of what has happened. Still, I accept this treatment for no justifiable reason.
When you’re in love with someone, the choice is no longer yours. It doesn’t matter how they hurt you, your love is the only promise that remains. You miss them when they’re sitting right beside you. You can feel their eyes burning into you when they look at you, and you feel the loss when they look away. Every fiber of your body craves even the slightest touch, a simple recognition that you exist in some way to them. He will never know, understand or even begin to appreciate the capacity of my love for him. How beaten and tested it has been, and how much it lingers. I hate every second of it, because the warmth from my heart is instantly replaced by the cold realization that he just doesn’t love me. I am a body that he finds pleasure in, a casual shoulder to lean on if needed.
Reading this back to myself disgusts me. Why? Other than the obvious reasons, he is simply everything that I hate. He’s selfish, sneaky, he lies, he’s self-serving… he’s a blind narcissist and he’s arrogant and cruel. Yet despite all of this, he has never once come out and said anything that was intended to make me stay. He has never promised anything, even though his actions may have said differently. I can’t hate him.
I have to remove myself from this situation before I completely lose the best of me. I’m bitter and I’m cold, and I’m too young to be this jaded. It’s never been about what he does, it’s what he doesn’t do. He’s never shown me an ounce of respect, and by continuing to allow this deliberate abuse, I haven’t given him any reasons to.
Instead of sitting outside and chain-smoking myself into a migraine, I sided with trying to sleep this off, but I woke up today with the same kind of heaviness that was pulling me down last night. There is only one solution to this problem. To benefit the both of us, this can only end one way. I must leave and not look back this time. As painful as it is to know that it doesn’t make a single difference to him, I have to use it as motivation to not go back. I’ve become accustomed to this familiar pain, and it’s easier to harbor than finding someone else and worry about being inadequate in an entirely new situation. I haven’t recovered because I haven’t let it go, and every time he calls it gets that much easier to let myself sink into his bed and pretend that the eyes I’m staring into are looking back at me with love and adoration.
I had a rather pleasant conversation with Jeremy on the phone this morning. Usually when I bring him up he gets angry and says that he’s not going to repeat himself anymore. This time, he said it was different. He said that there was something in my tune that has changed and he’s confident that this was the last time. His words were, “You sound tired and unhappy, but you also sound fed up.” I hope he’s right, and I’m going to keep telling myself that he is until I completely believe it.
The only person that deserves my entire focus and adoration right now is myself. This is how things will be from now on.
Blood is thicker than water but maple syrup is thicker than blood so technically pancakes are more important than family.