still feeling

he broke my heart

more than once

i miss him

and i still love him

with all the pieces of my heart he left behind


When School and Real Life Collide

I absolutely love the classes I’m taking.  They’re very basic classes–Intro to Sociology and Violence in Literature–but I love how they intertwine how the information in one class is relevant in the other.  It’s just a great cohesion.  We talk a lot about violence in my classes.  Violence against a group of people and violence against an individual.  Actions aren’t the only form of violence.  Words can be violent too.

No one know everything that happened between my soon to be ex and me behind closed doors. I tend to find it easier to open up fairly anonymously than to my friends and family. There’s less judgement (hopefully) and I get a different perspective on things.

At the end of October, I told one of my friends almost everything that happened while I was married and it’s taken me this long to process and repeat what she said. She said he was emotionally abusive. And I have a hard time taking that to heart.

I’ve heard the stories and know the warning signs, but it’s not the same. He didn’t put me down (directly). He didn’t say I was stupid or worthless or good for nothing. He didn’t threaten me. He didn’t control me (again, directly). So because his behaviours didn’t fit exactly in the definition of emotional abuse, I’m having a hard time calling it emotional abuse.

But when I look at it, really look at it, I can see that it was.

  • He called me names.  Names that I don’t feel comfortable repeating.  He would call me names when he thought I was sleeping.  When I would confront him about it, he was apologetic and said he’d never do it again.  But he did.
  • He would say other hurtful things and after I was crying, he would say that he was joking and that I was being silly and over reacting or I was being too sensitive.  He would also say that when I shared my emotions with him.
  • He would “jokingly” threaten to beat me.
  • He would say that my thoughts/morals/ideals were stupid and I was going to hell for having them.
  • He would often say, “God is punishing you,” if I tripped, or something fell, or if something didn’t turn out the way I wanted.

I would get angry.  I would be hurt.  I would cry.  I would wonder why he would say those things.  I would wonder if he loved me.

I use school to escape my real life. I bury myself in school work so I don’t have to think about what’s really going on. And the rest of the time, I have the eating disorder blocking me of any real chance of dealing with anything. I don’t mind so much. But when the terminology starts to become applicable to real life situations, I tend to have a hard time accepting it. Those terms, those circumstances, belong to other people.  Not me.  But they do belong to me.  I was a target of domestic violence.

That is really hard to admit and accept.  And I’m not sure I do as of yet.  But I can see it.  Next I just have to say it.

What Would Have Been

Tomorrow would have been my anniversary.

A year ago, we were in a church, exchanging our vows and promising to be together until “death do us part.”  And he left.  Without a word.

I wanted to be married to him.  I thought we were equal.  I thought we were partners.

He was the love of my life.  I always thought of him in dreaming up future plans.  Even when I knew it was over, I thought of ways that it would be easiest on him.  I knew we would both be hurt, but I was trying to figure out the less hurtful way of ending it.

He never thought of me at the same level.  He was never open with me, but he forced me to tell him everything.  He made me financially responsible for the household.  It was fine when he was unemployed, but didn’t want to contribute even after he got a job and couldn’t understand why I needed money.  He went out all the time after work and got drunk, and I just went to class then home.  He was adamant about having a biological child and would only consider adoption as a last resort.  Not a good thing to say to someone who is adopted.

I had him first in my heart.

He took a sledgehammer and broke it into pieces.

And now I just want to hide… disappear…

Trust Me

I have huge trust issues. It takes a lot for me to trust someone. I’ve been hurt so many times because I opened up to someone that I’m fiercely guarded about what comes out of my mouth and who listens to it. My secrets demons are mine and I know how to deal with them.

So when I was dating my husband, he wanted me to open up to him (he still does) and tell him my secrets. It was uncomfortable for me to be so honest, but I tried. Slowly, but surely I started talking. I said small things at first. This was huge for me. He didn’t see it that way. He wanted to hear more. I spoke more. He wanted more. He couldn’t understand why I wasn’t telling him the big stuff. I tried to tell him every secret I told him was an accomplishment from someone who didn’t tell anyone anything. He wanted me to confide in him with everything, meanwhile not really telling me much.

It’s even more difficult for me to open up to someone when they don’t reciprocate. When I told him, he said he wasn’t used to it. Well, neither was I, but I was making the effort. He needed to do the same. Then he started opening up. Some.

This is still an issue for us now. There was some if his secrets that hurt me. And each time he said he didn’t mean to hurt me and he didn’t know that it was wrong. Each time I listened and believed that it would be that last time. How many times can I do that before I don’t believe him anymore?

The other night he said something really mean and hurtful.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to hurt you. I don’t want to hurt you,” he said. “I know I need to regain your trust.”

Please don’t do it again. It hurts me deeply.

Last night he came home from work and was sad. I asked what was wrong and how I could make him feel better.

“I’m sad. I had a bad memory. I don’t want to talk about it. It hurts. Just like when you have a bad memory.”

Um, excuse me? My bad memories are disgusting. I don’t tell you because I don’t want you to think of me like that.

How is it that you want me to trust you, when you don’t trust me enough to tell me?

When I get silence, my thoughts go crazy. I start thinking that it’s something I’m doing. Or not doing. My eating disorder totally runs with the negativity and tells me that I’m not thin enough for him. That’s why he doesn’t tell me. Because there’s someone else. I was his second choice. He’s only with me because someone better rejected him.

I can sometimes realize that’s not the truth. Sometimes.

This is not one of those times.