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. 

Love Poem •may 2014•

I always knew. You knew. 

A thousand thank 

yous drowned

in my thoughts. Shoved under

 my pillow 

many sleepless nights. 

I have held fuck yous tight 

between my teeth. Fearing 

always of saying too much 

too soon. 
I have never been one 

to hold in my words, and lately 

I’ve been having trouble 

getting them out. 
I am Finding them, hidden 

beneath two years of guilt and confusion. 
you were the one 

who knew the whole time. 
My pieces were scattered. 

In every palm I traced. 

I collected pieces of you left behind. Wondering always if you held 

the secret that I 

couldn’t grasp. 
Two years and I 

understand. It was never a secret. 

We wear our traumas 

like victories. 
Behind each set

 of eyes we can find 

something new 

about ourselves.

 
You were the bent corner in a book I have been writing. Holding my place. So that I could return to this story, somewhere near the middle and remember how it ends. 

I’m thinking of the line from “Big Fish” when he says, “this isn’t how I go.” 

I’m thinking of the cliché, ” if it’s not okay in the end, then it’s not the end.”

 I have sat wedged in between those two sentiments for over two years. 

The anniversary of 

our breakup is this Sunday. 
I hadn’t thought about that until just now. It doesn’t hurt like it used to. Nothing hurts like it used to. 
I used to stare at her and agony would fill my empty spaces. I lost her long before I left her. That is why I had to go. Does any one understand what it feels like to love someone so deeply, but they are so far from themselves it has become increasingly difficult to even recognize them? That is heart break.

 
Today, I look into her big green eyes with a new lens. It reflects the light through both her and I. That is why we keep our curtains drawn.
I’m sorry you knew before I did. But I am glad, too. Because without your knowing, I most certainly would have never learned.
  So, thank you. For keeping her safe. For letting her grow. For changing our lives for the better. 
Go back. 

go back to December2012, in the garage. After that bottle of Jameson hit her demons. 

Rewind to October 2012. When you were discarded. September 2012, when you Thought she was someone special for you. 

Keep going back. 

August 2012, when she met you. 

July 2012, when we cried together on the couch as I left my key on the coffee table. 

June 2012, when I stayed in our house and she left for a while. That’s how I know what empty means. 

May 2012, when enough had been enough but it still wasn’t enough. 
Go back to December 2013 when fate finally caught up. November 2013, when you thought you might actually have her. October 2013 when being the friend wasn’t as easy as you were trying to make it seem. September 2013, when she finally stood up to me. August 2013 when your broken heart got lost in hers. 

July 2013 when my heart turned to dust and it settled under the love seat where I plead, on my knees, for her to just let me stay. 

 Come here, May 2014. Where all those dust particles have come back together into a cohesive whole.

In japan, they mend broken things with melted gold. 
For the past two years we have been making Japanese art of our hearts. In the last five months we have really figured out the trade. And today, we have mastered the peace. And that is love. 

The End

July 2014

She sent me a text message. 

Robotic, disconnected, impersonal

Words received and redirected from another to me. 

Words like; unfamiliar territory, no more contact, and most hurtful

A relationship is not something I can have in my life right now. 

These words are engrained behind my eyes. Lingering in the space between my perception and my consciousness. 

They have shifted in meaning numerous times as I cycled through my grief; extending through about two years of my mid twenties. Some before and some after, this message was the climax of our tainted love chronicle.

But this is a story within a story, as life so often is. 

Today, I know that if she could have, she would have just told me she was scared.

But fear is never that simple. 

It wears disguises, and blames those around us. And shame is more hurtful for the sorry than the other party. 

One year ago today, she walked out of my life, silently. 

Today, I sit in silence and thank her for all the moments we have shared, all the moments we have missed, and mostly for the opportunity to have new moments together. 

A life in which text messages are not the only safe form of communication. Disconnected is only our choice to escape from the world outside in order to be more together. 

Robotic is reserved for the machines, which we are decidedly not. 

She left me less than human, and returned in the most beautifully put together human version of herself. 

It is nice to have this human relationship. 

It is nice to feel so humanly loved. 

It is nice to know that I was somewhat capable of letting her go and rewire herself. 

Connection is not something we can fabricate. 

Connected to her was something I had always felt.

I could sense it when her life was moving in different spaces despite our no contact rule. 

I missed her every day. 

Trying my best to move on, only to discover that it was an illusion I had provided to myself through my own actions. 

Confronting Confusion

“How come {this person} thinks you want to have kids, and I think you don’t?”

“Don’t get it twisted.”

“I don’t think I’m getting anything twisted here. I can only assume that means you don’t want to have kids with me. It seems like having kids with me is just more responsibility than you want to take on.”

“When do you really think you’re going to have time for kids with everything else you want to do? How do you think having a kid while you’re in a phd program is supposed to work?”

“That IS me. That is who I am. That is MY life. My dreams and goals. So, like I said, it seems like you don’t want to have kids with ME.”

There was silence until she changed the subject to gossip about someone else. This was never resolved, but became a revolving conversation over the next two weeks. Where my words were twisted against me. 

“You said you want to have kids, but never that you wanted to have kids with me.” She said. 

Confused. “Who else would I be talking about? You’re my partner. Do I need to make that explicitly clear to you?”
“You act like it’s just something you want for your life.”

“It is. All of these things are my dreams. Unfortunately, I can only make a certain amount of them come true on my own. The others require a partner who wants the same things.”

I never could figure out who was pushing who away. It seemed like we had the same ideals and goals. It seemed like we wanted the same things. Sometimes the words we chose matched up. But whenever I asked for commitment to those words, or wanted to devise a plan of action-I was met with pure resistance. 

I played small. I felt defective. I believed that I was going to have to choose between my professional goals and my personal goals. 

I know life isn’t fair. But that behavior is simply unacceptable. Because I do want it all. I deserve it all. 

What is the truth here? I’m not sure. 

Ultimately, I chose to go in the direction of the dreams that I knew I could obtain. Not without their own fair struggle though. 

I chose the profession. I felt guilty about it. I felt like I gave up the opportunity to have a family. I was scared that I chose work over relationship. I was scared that I chose career over love. I even believed this for a while. I believed she was right. That I had to choose. 

In real love-those are not choices we actually have to make. In real love-two people can be honest with each other about their fears. 
Eventually, she said, “I don’t want to say I want something I don’t know I can actually have.” 

I said, “you don’t have to have it all figured out to commit to wanting something. I’m not saying when or how this might work. I’m asking if it’s something you want to work for. This is how we achieve goals. How do you think I got where I am? I’m not fucking lucky. I decided I wanted something, and put in action steps to get there.”
How sad. Here I was-asking to build a world with her. To grow and shift into a new way of being. And she couldn’t access the space in her self to take the risk and say “Yes. Let’s figure this shit out together.”

I couldn’t access the space in myself to say-“give this some more time.” Honestly, I thought two years would have been enough. I thought seven years in and out of the relationship would have been enough to know. I thought having a conversation about it would shine a light, clarify the confusion, and make sense of the chaos. Eventually it did. But first I had to leave it all behind. And find myself new. 

I still want a family. And I still want a phd. I still have no idea how that might come together. I’m okay with that uncertainty. I’m not okay with the kind of uncertainty that comes from indecisiveness of another person. That lack of commitment confounds me. But that’s okay. 

Today, I am more fully committed to myself, my wants, and my needs. I may not have all the answers. But I’m finding new questions to ask. That is my beacon of hope out of all the confusion. 

Addiction

Not always using substance
But always using something

To cover up the shame with more shame

Fun isn’t real and cannot be held

feigning freedom
Building traps without 
doors held open

Windy wishes blown 
Like stardust that was only ever
rusted truths compromised and crumbling 

After the storm has passed. 
A new storm will always be
on the horizon. The weather
patterns uncontrolled 

Sunshine that burns

Snowflakes falling
like sawdust in our eyes

Nothing is ever clear. 

There is no moment of knowing

Every second preparing 
against the next angry fix 

fighting a battle of wills 
In unknowing battlegrounds

Intellectual Property Thief 

When my lines

Began to appear 

On her tear stained sheets

I thought she was falling

In love with me
when my lines 

Began to occupy her

Experience wielded

Warning signs
When my lines

Expressing my own pain

Were reconstructed

For her own gains

I quit questioning 

My authenticity
She would take all of me if she could

A vampire sucking my bloody

Past right from the pain in my neck
I thought she was the pain in my neck. She promised me it would go away soon. She was right.