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11 March 2018, 11:07

Four months. It’s only been four months. It’s been four months since he left. Since everything went to hell.

I can’t really wrap my head around that. I still have a sense of loss, but its pretty nebulous and vague now. I couldn’t tell you what is gone, what I lost. I can tell you generally that, for example, I miss someone being here with me. But, press me for details. When he WAS here, what was so great? Did you hold hands and watch TV? Did you have great conversation? Did he hold you while you slept? Did he smile at you and make you feel good that you were together? Did he give you a kiss or want to do things with you? No. He looked unhappy or angry when I came home at night. He just laid there and watched TV and if I wanted to watch something I wanted to watch, he would go into the other room and start texting girls, or drink or watch rape porn on the computer.

He would criticize what I wore, that it was not girly enough. I didn’t wear enough makeup. My hair needed to be styled or cut better. I needed to shave my legs more often. He would complain I never wanted to do anything, although, all he did was lay in bed and watch TV. He complain about the dogs, and suggested more than once we get rid of every one of them at one point or another. He resented the dogs – because I loved the dogs I guess. He complained about my volunteering at the dog shelter for free. How could anyone say that was a bad thing? He complained about the way I drove. He would use the word “nigger” or make racist statements just to irk me. He would always mention what “real” girls were suppose to look like and act like. They were all size 6, and all looked like models.

When I was sad or upset, I got no comforting. I got no hug or closeness, or even “it will be all right”. When I was upset, he usually went into the other room until I got better. I was constantly reminded that our relationship wasn’t a real one – that he could love me, but it would always be that second class love, not the real ones he had with others. Yet. I cared for him when he was sick. I supported him when things weren’t so great. I did all the record keeping, bill paying, administration of the home (taxes, paperwork, etc.) I sacrificed when we needed money. I took the blame when I didn’t deserve it (he stepped on my laptop when he was drunk and then forever blamed me for that because it was on the floor in the computer room, he had me do his taxes and set up a payment plan, but then blamed me for that because now “they” know about him and could “get” him, etc.) I defended him to people when he was offensive. I blew off comments from his friends “He doesn’t treat you very well…” and “Why do you let him do that?”

I let him turn me into a horrible version of myself and then I let him make me feel guilty and awful that I was this person. I saw him lie and said nothing. I saw him do wrong and did nothing. I excused the unexcuseable. I forgave the unforgiveable. I kept on doing it until he cheated on me and lied to me. I kept on doing it until he left. I guess making him go to counseling and having him stop drinking wasn’t want he wanted. He wanted me to forgive and pretend it never happened. I guess, so that he could do it to me again. Because that was our business arrangement. We didn’t have a real relationship. We had a business arrangement. He needed to leave a long time ago. I was blind and hopeful. I let him use me.