when i met m i was sure i had my entire life figured out. sure, he was addicted to drugs and having sex
with other women, had inexplicable anger inside of him, had violent outbursts regularly, belittled me on a daily basis, and left me with nothing but a couple of moving boxes and suitcases when he decided he needed enlightenment by backpacking across the world going to halifax for a few weeks to get fucked up because he didn’t have a passport, when i was barely eighteen years old.
but the man loved me.
when he wasn’t molesting my friend in her sleep, fucking his neighbour when i was babysitting our godson, or punching holes in the walls… he totally loved me. because picking me flowers on the way home from work, or writing me cards and love letters all the time, or bringing me on a surprise picnic in the middle of the night totally made up for hurling my (then) 110 pound body onto the leather couch when he was angry with me, right? the nights of champagne in bed in our underwear, or curling up together on the ten year old lazy-boy (our only piece of furniture at the time) watching stolen cable on a 13-inch television, kissing in between sentences definitely made up for the debt i accumulated for having to move every time he found me- every time i lost the safety of living peacefully in my own home.
it’s funny, you know… how the only man i ever loved could be so fucking evil.
andy gave me the world (and then some)… he gave me safe arms to fall asleep in, a beautiful home to live in, and all the hope in the world- and i couldn’t tell him i loved him. i thought about it sometimes. i’d catch him looking at me a certain way, or he’d place his hand on the small of my back when he’d be trying to get by, or he’d make me laugh so hard my sides hurt. i could kiss that man forever. he would come home from work; sweaty, smelly, and tired and i couldn’t keep my damn hands off him. i’d rush home from work so i could get started on dinner and i’d get antsy until i’d get that daily text message… on my way home, babe. i couldn’t wait to kiss him as soon as he’d walk through the door… to taste his sweet lip balm mixed with salty sweat. to hug him and breathe in his dirty work clothes. i ached for that. i don’t think i was ever in love with andy- simply the idea of him. i know i loved him, in some way. i loved that he could make me feel again- every morning i wanted to wake up if only to see his blue eyes looking back at me, and kiss his bearded chin- like i always did. he made me feel alive after being dead for so long. i loved how soft-spoken he was…. he never raised his voice, never made me feel guilty or sad. even when we broke up, we sat quietly in the kitchen, whispering. we just held each other and cried, and cried, and cried.
it worries me that i haven’t been able to feel for anyone what i felt for m. maybe it’s out of fear, or worry- maybe self-preservation. i’ve seen what it is to be so happy and so in love- to have the entire world at my finger tips and then have that person turn on me. to have them absolutely destroy all the good i had inside of me. maybe i’m being selfish or stupid for blaming m for who and what i’ve become- i don’t care. i was his enabler, and yes i’m aware of that- but no one in the world deserves to feel anything less than human. i wasn’t alive when i was with m… i was a skeleton of someone i once was; nothing but bones. the only thing i was able to feel was that dull pain in my gut every single time i saw him. part of me felt okay when he’d ask him to flush the drugs, or tell me he’d want to spend a night in instead of out at the bar… but none of that was ever permanent. he’d beg me to start a family with him, and although a lost, beaten, sad little puppy i was… i was always sober enough to know better.
his on again/off again girlfriend decided to message me the other day to let me know that they’d recently been to cuba, where he was planning to propose, and instead came home and broke up with her. why she feels the need to let me know these things is completely beyond me- but that’s beside the point. i did what any human with half a heart would do, and comforted her. what else could i do? i know how hard it is to escape him.
in any case i guess this is some pseudo-excuse as to why the hell i’m so broken. luc constantly tells me i’m impossible and he’d do anything to reverse whatever pain m has inflicted so i could just give him a chance… but i’m beyond that at this point. i’ve had two relationships- both at polar opposite ends of the spectrum and both of those were rollercoasters and now i’m just tired.
i’m so fucking tired.