you don't always end up with scars.
At least, not ones where you are left
beatenupbloody
brokenboned
blackandblue.
He had a way with words.
He was pleasant,
thoughtful,
sweet.
He was pleasant,
thoughtful,
sweet.
He said I was special.
It started off so well --
calltxtwhatsappskype
timeschedulesdistance
marriagedreamshomes;
He said I was special.
But then special
turned salient.
The grim atmosphere.
What used to make my heart skip a beat
Made me forget how to breathe;
What used to give me butterflies
Gave me sweaty palms and goosebumps.
"If I just did a better job at making him happy, he would be nice again"
The mission to please became an obsession.
I wish everyone else in the same situation has the chanceabilityprivillege
to do the same.
The undercurrents.
The addictions.
The dark side.
His past.
His past.
The present.
Our future.
Our future.
What used to make my heart skip a beat
Made me forget how to breathe;
What used to give me butterflies
Gave me sweaty palms and goosebumps.
"If I just did a better job at making him happy, he would be nice again"
The mission to please became an obsession.
And I turned into an addict in denial
just like him.
At one point, I jokeconsoleremind myself,
"Hey, it could be worse.
At least he doesn't hit you."
This made me sober.
I've heard the stories,
I've talked to the women,
I've seen the horrors.
I had to leave.
And I felt free.
At one point, I jokeconsoleremind myself,
"Hey, it could be worse.
At least he doesn't hit you."
This made me sober.
I've heard the stories,
I've talked to the women,
I've seen the horrors.
I had to leave.
And I felt free.
I wish everyone else in the same situation has the chanceabilityprivillege
to do the same.
---
The thing about abusive relationships is this:
You don't always end up with scars.
Not beatenupbloody blackandblue brokenbones ones, at least.
For me, it was a classic case of, "I thought only other people go through this."
simply because
"I should have been smarter than to let it happen to myself'"
Now, I'm not sure if it's necessarily about smartness.
Maybe it's smartness intertwined with or messed up when emotions come into the equation.
Because looking back, it wasn't really obvious when I started feeling trapped.
He had a way with words.
He was pleasant, thoughtful, sweet.
He had a way with words.
He was pleasant, thoughtful, sweet.
He let me know how much he needed me.
He said I was different.
I'm special.
I lapped it all up.
I guess in retrospect
I should've known better.
But it started off so well --
we did the whole calltxtwhatsappskype
went out some despite timeschedulesdistance
we even had talks of marriagedreamshomes;
Things were pretty good
at first.
It was not long
before other things crept in.
The slow, but sure, 180 turn.
at first.
It was not long
before other things crept in.
The slow, but sure, 180 turn.
The grim atmosphere.
The undercurrents.
The addictions.
The dark side.
Then, more things became salient.
His past.
Then, more things became salient.
His past.
The present.
Our future.
Our future.
But i had to be kindacceptingunderstanding, i kept telling myself.
And so i kept readjusting my bearings to where he was. To what he was.
It took me a while to realise what this actually meant:
And so i kept readjusting my bearings to where he was. To what he was.
It took me a while to realise what this actually meant:
that I was adapting myself to him.
I can't be the way I am.
I can't be the way I am.
Because I'm not good enough.
But I still had to make him happy.
By hook or by crook, even if it meant I had to be someone else.
By hook or by crook, even if it meant I had to be someone else.
And so my feelings, thoughts, and actions started to be (sub)consciously dictated by
how he would feel ifs,
what he would do ifs,
what he would say ifs...
And the little things he did that used to give me butterflies started to give me goosebumps...
And the lively calls slowly became more and more one-sided...
And the jokes turned into accusations or insults.
But he wasn't always like this.
He wasn't.
Honest.
And this was the fuel that kept me going.
Because I'm different from all the other girls who left him, you see.
I'm special.
And there's always that voice at the back of my head:
"If I just did a better job at making him happy, he would be nice again"
The mission to please became an obsession.
And the little things he did that used to give me butterflies started to give me goosebumps...
And the lively calls slowly became more and more one-sided...
And the jokes turned into accusations or insults.
But he wasn't always like this.
He wasn't.
Honest.
And this was the fuel that kept me going.
Because I'm different from all the other girls who left him, you see.
I'm special.
And there's always that voice at the back of my head:
"If I just did a better job at making him happy, he would be nice again"
The mission to please became an obsession.
I didn't realise that it was an impossible one.
And so I turned into an addict in denial
And so I turned into an addict in denial
just like him.
It was only when I began to jokeconsoleremind myself,
"Hey, it could be worse.
At least he doesn't hit you."
... that I realised the gravity of this situation.
I've heard the stories,
I've talked to the women,
I've seen the horrors.
I had to leave.
It wasn't easy.
It was only when I began to jokeconsoleremind myself,
"Hey, it could be worse.
At least he doesn't hit you."
... that I realised the gravity of this situation.
I've heard the stories,
I've talked to the women,
I've seen the horrors.
I had to leave.
It wasn't easy.
The lashback was painful
The pleas were guilttripping
The callsmessages had to be blocked
but I managed to escape what has been caging me.
And I felt free.
I wish everyone else in the same situation has the chanceabilityprivillege
to do the same.
to do the same.