FUCK YOU: A Letter

I am having a bad day. Repeating emotions coming through to show me something that I hadn’t been able to see yet. Self-blame patterns, shame, guilt, and buried hurts.

 
I googled “why victims protect their abusers” I’ve already read about trauma bonding. I am just trying, desperately, to understand my own patterns so I don’t do this shot to myself again. 
She sent me a message once saying that it hurt that we couldn’t talk. 
You know what else hurts? Realizing that I gave eight years of my life to a relationship that was built entirely on lies and satisfying the needs and wants of one person whose behavior continually proves that they are self-seeking and that it will never change. 

It hurts to hate myself for having a kind heart.

 It hurts to have to remind myself over and over and over again that loving someone who mistreats me does not make me a flawed human, or weak, or bad.

It hurts to come to terms with and accept that no matter what I did or could have done what I truly needed didn’t exist in that space and any time I thought I had it was an illusion, a metaphorical band-aid plastered over my wound to just get me to shut up.

It hurts to realize that the only time my partner really ever gave me affection was around their friends to build some illusion of a loving relationship and that it made me uncomfortable and I didn’t know why.

 It hurts to realize that every time the person I chose to be my partner had an opportunity to actually be a partner they chose to walk away, and abandon me emotionally, but play the victim when I scraped up what was left of my dignity and strength to walk away and try and find clarity. 

It hurts that when I did find clarity, my clarity was undermined and replaced with another lie intended only for that person to numb out their own shame. 

It hurts to have spent so much time questioning my own worth and sanity only to finally realize that there had never been anything wrong with me except my core belief that I didn’t deserve better, and that I could help her. 

It hurts to realize that my idea of love was toxic, and that receiving love is just as important, and that the lack of love I received wasn’t because I was blocked from accepting it, but that my partner was blocked from giving it in a way that I needed. 

It hurts that she admitted that she knew what I needed, but she withheld it to “see what I would do.” 

Shut down, assfuck. That’s what I would do. Find a way to protect my vulnerability from being manipulated against me. 

It hurts to know that the person I chose would have done anything they could to not choose me. 

It hurts to come to terms with the fact that the person I chose to love really only ever wanted me to hate them, and made choices to make that happen, and admitted to it-more than once. 

 And that I blamed myself for it. 

I guess it’s true. The truth hurts. It’s all I ever really wanted. It’s also true that the truth will set you free. That’s what I wanted most. 

I don’t expect her to care. She clearly never really has. I don’t expect that to change now. I just know better than to expect that of her. Not of other people though. Because it isn’t “expecting too much” to expect the people who say “I love you” to actually LOVE YOU. and expectations aren’t wrong, or setting oneself up for failure and disappointment. As long as they’re realistic. 

She expected me to be perfect, self-sufficient and subservient to her every demand. 

I just expected her to actually care about me. And she couldn’t. Because she lacks that capability. That’s sad. 

I feel bad for her. But I don’t feel bad I left. I feel bad I stayed for so long

 
And underneath all that hurt is the truth that I can be happy. Truly happy. And I do deserve love. Real love. Not whatever she fucking had to offer me.

 
I’m praying for her new girlfriend. That she wises up on a timeline more congruent with the last girlfriend than with mine. What I mean is, that she can see through your bullshit quickly.  And not just ask you for another heaping pile of it to pick through, and keep herself occupied for a few months at a time. 

Because she has kids to take care of, and we both already know that you’re just like the asshole that abused me when I was a kid. That you never really thought his behavior was wrong. And you are the asshole that abused me as an adult. And I’m the asshole who thought that was fucking normal. It wasn’t. 
You told me that you learned there were two kinds of people in the world. People like your mom and people like your dad. 

You became him. Abusive and predatory. Self seeking and narcissistic. And I thought if I could get someone like you to love me then I would be worthy of love. 

I handed my power over to you daily. And I didn’t get it. You were right. I was weak. Or, I let you have the power. 

I let you beat me down for years, and play the victim whenever I could finally stand up for myself. 
I still pray for you to get the help you need. Although I’m sure it’s a waste of my time. I still pray for myself. That at some point this will stop hurting. That the memory of you won’t sting so bad. That the eight years I spent with you were actually worth the wisdom I gained. To love myself first. Which is why I won’t grant you any more access into my life. At least I’ve got that down. But it still fucking hurts. 

Cycles of Abuse

The day I told her she was just like my abuser I thought she was going to rage on me. I prepared for the worst. I couldn’t get my words together. I crouched down because I wasn’t sure if my legs could withstand the weight of my words. I anticipated the bullets of “fuck you,” and “how dare you?” 

She knew how much I hated him. How much resentment I had, and had been working through to be okay with him. She never outwardly defended him, but she knew it was important that I make my peace with him. In those moments, she was supportive. 

I stumbled over my words for a few minutes. I tried to remember to breathe. Finally, I just ripped off the bandaid. 

“Oh. I’ve known that for years. I could never understand why you wanted to be with me when you hated him so much.”
My mouth dropped. That was not the disaster I was prepared to face. How did she know, and I didn’t? How did she KNOW and not leave or desire to change in any sort of way? How did I let this happen?

Well, I didn’t let this happen. I simply couldn’t see it. It’s one of those wild psychological phenomena. I never thought I would do it to myself. I thought I was SMARTER than that. The subconscious knows nothing of intellect. Our old karmic wounds do not know until they come to light. 

When she said, “I know that you were a kid, and everything and no kid deserves to be treated like that, but everything you’ve ever told me about him-I agreed with him.”

My head was spinning. Did she even listen to any of what I went through? Does she REALLY think it’s okay to say and do those kinds of things to another human being? 

Actually, yes. She must. She’s the same. 

Although it took a huge amount of courage and strength for me to face this truth with her-that was not the final end to our saga. One might think that would be enough. But there was still something in me that thought if SHE could love me the way I needed to be loved, then everything would be magically transformed. 

No. 

That is not how that works. 

Sometimes, I’m repulsed by the fact that I was with her for 8 years. Apparently seeking the approval of the one person I had tried to escape for the larger portion of my whole life. But this is how trauma works. When I think about this one moment I still ache in all my sore spots. 

If I would have known better, I would have done better. 

I finally do.