• This Is What’s Left

    by  • March 31, 2014 • * Safe for Work *, Closure • 1 Comment

    You’re leaving and I must stay. I think we should have fallen apart already, but you won’t let accept that we are not healthy together. I can’t say that I’d make it without you, but some days I would say you’re the reason why I don’t even want to try.

    We started off on a bad note, and you should know that I still feel as if you have cheated me from the beginning. She was what to you? A complicated comfort object–you have sex with someone handing it out for free, because you fear a budding relationship might not give you what you want. “I care about you,” from a romantic interest does not mean you discredit it,then go find the first woman/friend that offers you sex and have at it. Well, you blew it and my trust all to hell. I spent a year with you unable to give me every ounce of love I poured out for you. You made me feel used, worthless, and ashamed most of all. I had weakly given in to the things you wanted and still let you kick me like a dog when I wasn’t enough. You watched the most vulgar things and attempted to make me do them, you spoke to bawdy women and knowingly played along, and when I needed you the most, you let me wallow in all the self-hate and pity one could muster. So many days, I had wished life would end for me so I didn’t have to face the decision–the action–of returning to see you. I was miserable enough that I didn’t care if I walked out into traffic and let death take its course. I hated you–I hated myself–and yet I wouldn’t leave you. The thought of being alone was almost as painful as staying to have you rake your hands over me as I laid there disgusted; always thinking on the inside that you had done so with so many others when you had told me–made me feel like I was the only one. Using–getting your fill–leaving–then telling me how much you loved me. I don’t know what love is–but I knew what ten minutes of feeling accepted and cared about felt like or that you could imitate for me. That moment of feeling like I meant something other than a mere place holder in this world is what I craved. The guilt that later followed was a blistering shame that I had sold my morality and ‘first love’ to someone who sold me more tales than a children’s novel.

    Slowly my rose-colored glasses allowed me to buy into our lie; you finally cared and respected me. Yet, I learned to manipulate and emotionally kick you back, it still hurt to the core that I had thrown myself out to a twisted and fool. I may never be cleansed of the things that happened in our relationship, but I will never let myself feel such nausea at the thought of your betrayal again. I’ve left–you’ve followed. But it all seems like it is going to end. You’ll return to the vulgarity and less than platonic social conquests, and I’ll relive what I feared for so long… betrayal and loneliness. At least I will have rid myself of the constant nagging my heart and head vocalizes at the sound of your lies being spoken into my ears. Your love, remorse, and intentions were all false to a sense. Your transformation is one step away from a relapse. I fear that you’ll be the man that you stem from–a violent crumbling man that turned to perverse and unstable actions in an effort to regain that control you’ve always desired. I’m not a puppet–a slave–a blow up doll. You’ve mentally and sexually hurt and used me and you can’t even admit that aloud… and yet I have stayed rooted next to you when my insides scream and claw that I cannot do this anymore. I can’t try. But the polar opposite, that longing and loneliness says I cannot and do not deserve better, this is my mess, and who on earth would accept and could love a wretch like me. Maybe this gnawing will rip me limb from limb, but I’ll be free of myself torment and the daily reminder I didn’t deserve love from anyone. I have family–I have friend–but the one person who truly seemed to know me is the same one that has hurt me–that I’ve hurt back. We aren’t healthy. There is nothing to ‘fix.’ We weren’t ever meant for this, but at least I didn’t feel so alone for the last year and a half. I’d rather curl into my hermit shell and forget what has happened. I won’t see your face, hear your voice, taste your lips, feel your touch, and one day this will all fade.

    I don’t think this self-inflicted ache will ever change. First you must love yourself and believe you deserve to be loved before you find someone truly suited to fit the tab. Well, whether you ever did or not, babe we can’t do this forever… I can’t do this much longer. Despite what transpired, I hope you find actual happiness or whatever it is that you desire. As I tear in two, ripping at the seams, God only knows what will become of this shattered being. They say misery can kill you, but I hope there is something beyond this ache–this resentment I’ve harbored. I want eternal sunshine and I don’t think that exists in your arms anymore.

    One Response to This Is What’s Left

    1. sometimes
      April 1, 2014 at 6:54 am

      Sometimes there is a force that keeps us stuck to those who are unhealthy for us. They validate the bad things we think of ourselves. I’ve done this. It’s a self imposed prison even though your brain might say you want and need healthier; better. I wish you the strength to do what’s best for you. YOU matter.

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