So Many Words

I longed to say.

I never did tell John Doe everything. In fact, there were more words unsaid, then said.

I look back at myself from two years ago, and then at myself now. I’ve changed so much. Most of it I can probably say without a doubt, is due to him. I hated him for awhile; hated myself.

I can blame him, or I can acknowledge that I am to blame, as well. Sure, there were things he said, ways he treated me that he shouldn’t have. But why did I let him get away with it? Why do women let men degrade them, make them feel like shit?

I can still see the disgusted look on his face as he tells me I’m “so different” and that I’m “hard to talk to me because you’re weird”. I can still hear his angry voice as he rants to me, “you never talk about anything personal, just about your fucking sister”.

His accusations that I was fucking around on him, his jealous silent pouts. His angry glances. I finally reached a breaking point where I handed him my phone. Tears in my eyes, I snapped at him, here, look at my texts! I’m not talking to any other guys! He ignored it, and went out to smoke. And comes back in like he didn’t just break my heart.

Do you know how much it hurts not to be trusted by someone you love, and would never, ever hurt? Because you love them that much that hurting them kills you.

He told me I need to grow up; do things for myself.

So yeah, I look at me in the past- 20 and a half years old, and in love for the first time. Innocent and sweet, willing to do anything to keep this man nine years my senior. I had to be perfect. Show no emotion.

Then he left me. Or rather just never saw me again. And without him, I broke. I cried many tears. Then I hated myself for crying, and cried more. Life was empty, meaningless. I cried more. Who was this girl who let a man destroy her? Who had I become? What kind of young woman was I to let losing a man make life pointless?

And with that, I cried more. I entirely lost who I was. Alcohol became my friend. Which caused deeper hatred of myself. I never believed in abusing alcohol to deal with your problems. So again, I cried. Again, I hated myself even more.

As the hatred deepened, I grew more lost. I started sleeping around. Which caused more self-loathing.

I was never more alone than I was at this time in my life. My best friends live states away; my new friend became joined at the hip with her new man. And my sister well, at the same time John left me, she found a man, and never had time for me. Alone and broken- life was dark, and I seriously wasn’t sure I’d ever make it. I didn’t know who I was anymore.

I found the knife, and cut. I cut to end the pain. It didn’t last- self-harming doesn’t solve anything. It’s a temporary escape with permanent scars.

I lied over and over. I was fine, over him.

It wasn’t until I actually faced myself, and became truly honest with myself. I wasn’t fine, and I wasn’t over him.

I admitted that I loved him. I admitted I hated him. I accepted that he broke me, and that’s where I finally learnt to grow. He broke me, but I wasn’t completely ruined. I wasn’t going to let one terrible experience kill me. It still feels silly to me that I was so fucking weak, because who loves someone who breaks their heart? It felt silly then, and facing it was hard. But facing it needed to be done, and that’s where my healing began.

It’s stupid to love someone who hurts you so badly, to want them back. Yet it was all true for me. I had to quit lying to myself, because the lies were eating at me. I couldn’t move on until I faced it. And you know what? I don’t understand the why, but it is okay to love someone, to want them back no matter what they’ve done. It is okay.

What’s not okay is taking them back. In my case, it wasn’t even an option, and still isn’t. Nor do I even want him back. A part of me still loves him, and that tiny piece of my heart will probably be forever claimed by him.

Everything I wanted to tell him, I don’t care anymore. I’m glad he never knew I loved him- because then he would know how much I missed him when he was gone.

I’m glad I was never more affectionate with him- he didn’t deserve my love and affection.

I’m glad I never let him see me cry, that he never knew the extent of control he had over me.

I’ve become somewhat of a bitch. And if he had known me now verses then, well let’s just say I would fight back. If he talked down to me, I’d stand up to him. Yelled at me- I’d yell back. Curse my sister again, and we’re done.

I am so much stronger because of him. Crazy it may be, I wouldn’t change the past (except for me being more aggressive). Because of him, I am a stronger woman, and I don’t take shit from anyone anymore.

I finally am okay with my past. I am finally happy for him, his lady, and their new baby. I am finally at peace. Except for the bad days, sometimes there are bad days. But I still win. The sun sets, and the sun rises, dawning a new day. And I heal a little more.



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