Monday, May 30, 2011

Catharsis.

Read 123, and 4 first.


I have been mangled, battered, broken, bruised, torn, cursed, and scarred beyond recognition.  I have been stalked and I have been pushed around.

I'm not going to lie.

I have been convinced I was weak enough to go back.

On some level, I thought if I kept trying, he would realize that he didn't need to fight with me to keep me.  I thought if I stayed, he would suddenly change into the sweet and shy boy he had been when we met.

I failed to see that the fact that he was just a boy was part of the problem.  He was just a boy.  And he would never turn back into the loving person I wanted to be in a relationship with.

Sometimes I'm still afraid to write personal things on my Facebook, Twitter, and even on this blog, which is one of many reasons I didn't write this post for so long, and why I get vague and weird about saying where I live and what my plans for the future are.  Sometimes I'm afraid to answer the phone at work (which is, unfortunately, my job).  I'm afraid to drive home late at night because I think someone is hiding in my car. 

I am afraid of the sounds outside my window.

But I don't care.  I'm afraid, but I don't let that fear control me.  If I changed my plans as a result of fears I have based solely on things he did to me or threatened to do, he would still be controlling me and my life.  Something I refuse to let anyone do to me ever again.

Honestly, I'm sometimes thankful.  I needed to grow up.  I needed to learn who I was.  I needed to learn what I wanted and how willing I was to get it. 

I needed to learn that I do not need a man. 

I needed to learn I am stronger than I feel.

Sometimes I still cry.  Not because I miss him, necessarily.  I haven't seen him or heard from him in months and for that I'm thankful as well.  I cry because I miss having someone love me like he did when things were actually good.  But the love he showed could never compensate for the cruelty he also showed.

Sometimes I cry because I miss being part of something bigger than just myself.  Not often, but every once in a while.

Mostly, I cry because life is so completely unpredictable.  And PMS is a bitch.

I am so different from what I expected myself to be at 24. 

I am so much better.  So much more honest and real.

And if it took this huge relationshit to show me who I actually am, so be it.  I know I can handle whatever life throws at me now.  I know how much I can take.  I know it's so much more than I ever imagined it could be.

We're (when I say "we" I mean my cat and I, because he's more awesome than any boyfriend I've ever had.  My apologies to any ex-boyfriends who happen to read this.) survivors.

So you know what, life?

Bring it.


P.S.--  Thank you, Bambi.  For making me a better and stronger person without ever realizing what you were doing.  I'm sure you're out there, somewhere.  Watching.

7 comments:

  1. Relationshit. Was that on purpose? Even if it wasn't, I praise you on your humor in the face of shit. Relationshit, to be specific. :P

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  2. @Flicker-- It was totally intentional. I'm just that awesome?

    @Anonymous-- I'm rarely offended. I am fully aware it was a failure. But I tried for so hard and long that it doesn't feel like I failed or really even gave up. I just broke and pulled myself back together to be a better person than before. I think ultimately it was a successful experience; just not a successful relationship.

    Thanks... I realize many of them aren't particularly male-friendly. Obviously that hasn't stopped you from reading... But maybe that's something I need to work on or tone down a little. I probably won't, to be honest. I'll think about it. Then I'll just end up typing what I type. I like it better that way. I like the catharsis of the writing process. :)

    I considered that notion, once upon a time. Now I have mixed feelings about marriage. Also, there are a lot of things that can go wrong with an outdoor wedding, particularly one on the beach. My friend's brother got married in Arcata last year and a dead walrus had washed up not too far away from the location their wedding was to take place. It's technically illegal to move dead marine life yourself, so they had to deal with the stench of the animal's rotting corpse during the ceremony.

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  3. Even though you're afraid, you're still terribly brave for posting this at all. Laying your heart out on the internet and waiting to see what happens. It's beautiful. You're beautiful, and I am so glad you have grown so much from this.

    What you described sounds like PTSD, which is something I also suffer from. Counseling does wonders, if you haven't looked into that already.

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  4. @Patty-- Thank you. :) You're very sweet.

    I've done counseling in the past, and (oddly enough) it's for some reason more effective for me to work through things by just writing than trying to talk to someone. I'm a horrible verbal communicator and I never have anything to talk about in counseling sessions. Also, a lot of the fears I have are because he actually did monitor everything I did for a while. It was some kind of crazy stalker need to know what I was doing and that I wasn't dead. But then he'd tell me things he watched me to do just to scare me.

    It's weird how sometimes crazy people can get more crazy after you break their hearts.

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  5. Not watching. Just realized its better to not talk to you and fight...than have you in my life, hurting you, hurting me. -B

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  6. I'm glad you've reached a place where you can look back on things you've done and feel that they were what helped you become who you are- good or bad. For the record, you never once struck me as weak. I've always felt that you were a strong and amazing person. I hope you demand good things of the world from now on because you deserve them.

    But still keep your pepper-spray handy when getting into your car at night. That shit happens and it's just plain creepy.

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  7. Thanks, Cheryl. :) Demanding anything is kind of a work in progress. And I actually always have pepper spray on me. Just in case.

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