It Still Hurts

**

It's been about 3 months since everything came to a screeching halt. My life, my love, my plans for the future - all ripped out of my hands in one fell swoop. Looking back on those first few days, I feel my eyes fill with tears and my shoulders tense in anticipation of ever feeling that way again. Even now I can't stand to think of what I became. What I am.

It's true, it eventually got a little easier. I eventually stopped crying myself to sleep and the nightmares stopped jolting me awake after the second month. But I still grieve and I'm not sure how to stop. I still wake up and reach for him - God, I hate that. I wake up and immediately my body seeks his - it's instinct, you see. A heartbreaking instinct that I chastise myself for daily. But there it is.

Some days are easier than others. Sometimes I go hours without thinking of him - I love those hours with everything in me. I think it's safe to say I live for them. And then there's days where I force myself out of bed and into the shower and I go through the motions in hopes that soon they'll come naturally and my life will take shape again. I have less days like that now. Thankfully.

In retrospect, this was probably the second time I've ever truly been in love. I've only felt pain like this once before and I swore that I'd never let it happen again. Childish vows that mean nothing in the wake of a relationship so real and consuming that I can hardly breathe when I think of it.

He called me recently. There was no number on the caller ID to warn me not to, so I picked it up. His voice - every syllable and inflection - I knew it. It resonated with me and his words hit me like a brick to my chest, "I miss you." How unfair that he is able to rob me of my progress with those 3 simple words. Loaded as they are, I wish they had less power over me. I had the same reaction I always do, "Please, don't call me. Let me move on." Maybe he heard the tears come rushing or maybe he felt sorry for me as my tone was more begging than commanding, but I haven't heard from him since.

I can sit here now and close my eyes and I still see him in his essence - all the rage and power and manipulation and grief ... and I can smell his cologne and feel his skin and hear his voice. Those memories have only become clearer over time. Recalling him stuns my senses but I guess that helps me process how I feel. This is how I know it happened.

This is how I know it was real.

It hurts so fucking bad because I loved him and I was all-in, for once in my life. And while that knowledge may not vindicate me, it validates every sleepless night and every broken piece of my heart. I grieve because it happened and my grief is what keeps me from taking him back.

People who truly love you wouldn't make you feel so desperately broken.

**

Rage

Dear ******,

I’ll probably never send this letter … but I need to write it just to get my feelings on paper. I think I need to write it to convince myself that even if you did read it, nothing would change and I’d still be sitting here feeling broken and empty and so exhausted that even breathing is a strenuous task.

When I met you, everything changed. You were complicated and funny and so full of life that it intimidated me. It was so easy to fall in love with you. I was completely taken with you – with how passionate and unpredictable you were. I couldn’t read you or anticipate your next move – you were a complete mystery to me. And I loved that. You were the first guy I’d ever been with that I couldn’t control.

8 months later I’m sitting at work in yesterday’s makeup wondering how I let it get this bad. After 8 short months, I’m a shell of a person. I feel like I am literally DEAD inside. I’m broken.

You broke me.

I swore I would never let a man make me feel this way ever again and yet … here I am. As much as I would love to blame you for everything I’m feeling right now, I know that I played a part. I let it go too far – I let this happen. The girls warned me, your exes warned me, hell some of your own family warned me. I don’t know what I expected – did I really delude myself into thinking you’d change? Did I really think I was enough of a reason for you to get the help you need?

You need help, ******. You’ve screamed at me, thrown things at me, pushed me, held me down, called me names, mocked me, forced me out of my own house, stolen my car, stolen my money, manipulated me … and threatened my life. You threatened to kill me. You say you love me and you threatened to kill me.

I’ve lived in fear for much of our relationship. I’ve walked on eggshells every day for the past couple months. I’ve cried myself to sleep so many times that I’ve lost count. I’ve made countless exceptions and excuses for your abusive, jealous, controlling behavior that I actually started to believe some of them myself. I’ve become the kind of woman I pity.

This isn’t me. I am no longer the girl you fell in love with. That spark and life has been drained out of me and now I’m angry, bitter, jealous, and incapable of trusting you or myself. And that breaks my fucking heart. I grieve my personal loss of self more than I grieve the loss of our relationship. Before you … I loved myself.

I’ll get back to that place some day. I’ll be capable of trust and love and joy again. But for right now, my spirit, my heart, my will – they’re all broken. And for that, I fucking hate you.

Jen