When I made him leave I was completely unsure of myself. I was acting out of rage and desperation – all in an attempt to prove a point. A point of my worth? Maybe. If I was trying to prove my worth even I was only aware of the smallest part of it, for I had been made to feel worthless for so long.
The funny thing about love is that it doesn’t necessarily make you feel loved. Yes, somebody can say how much they love you, and for them it could be enough, but for somebody else it could feel bitter and underwhelming. For a person who gives love, somebody like me, somebody who aims to please and will bleed themselves dry before they give up, they will never notice that for all they have given they have so little received. They become barren, they become tired.
This was me. I was exhausted from to many days, weeks, months, and years of talking to an empty person. I craved connection, emotion, romance, passion. I neglected all those feeling, each day, wondering what I could do better, to make it all better, to make him express his love. Of course, I am sure he loved me, but it was always on his terms, never mine.
I asked myself over and over again why I was doing this. I remembered that a broken heart is what changes people. I could proceed, in agony and distrust, and allow my life to become gray but I knew in my heart that It wasn’t right. At this point, our lives where like a tangled shoelace but in 10 year our lives could be like tangled yarn, harder to unravel and separate.
I remembered seeing his cell-phone sitting there, on top of the fridge. He was in the shower and we were having a good day. Something had been whispering to me, probably from the lies and deceit of before, that he was being dishonest. I stared at his phone in debate, but it was practically glowing, like secrets were hidden there – all I had to do was pick it up. To snoop. So I did.
I found what I had expected, maybe worse. He had been communicating with his ex-wife. Secretly meeting. Secretly friendly. The women he told me he hated, couldn’t stand the sight of, despised. At this point, thinking back, it might make more sense to me if they were having sex… but they weren’t. Instead, they would meet, exchange money, and then…exchange drugs. Both of them, they were drug addicts – and as foolish as I felt the first time, and second time he had committed similar atrocities I felt like a fool ten fold now.
It wasn’t acceptable – for all I had fought for, for all I had loved, I felt like I had just lost some grand battle, I felt like she had won. These were emotions that I couldn’t control. It was a series of every memory, every conversation, every kiss, hug, and touch seemed fake to me. Every word a lie. He had to leave – that’s why I was doing this.