The Process

My heart hurts, but to be clear my heart does not hurt for the end of the relationship between my ex and I. It hurts because we can’t be civil and the trauma I went through was too damaging, but I’m not sorry that we went our separate(ish) ways.

Our relationship was initially formed out of trauma bonding. I eventually did grow to love him, but the initial attraction and intensity was all a bandaid to repress and cope with the first time he abused me. My trauma was what kept me clinging so desperately to the relationship even when we both knew it wasn’t going to last. My love for him is what eventually inspired me to get myself to therapy and let him go.

My love for him is why I didn’t call him, message him or try to arrange a meeting to deal with my car. My love for him is why I keep trying so damn hard to ignore his current wife and her hot mess of shenanigans. At least now that I’ve realized how she was only using me to manipulate him. I wish I would have figured that out a lot sooner, but it is what it is. I won’t be making that mistake again.

And I don’t want my car and the evidence of our relationship to invalidate what he feels about me or the relationship. I believe him when he says he never cared about me and lied to me just for the sake of keeping me around for sex. Finding my car and the stuff with it simply validated my own assessment of things. I wasn’t crazy or making shit up in the midst of my trauma. I just let my guard down and fell for his facade. The facade was real.

I know beyond a shadow of a doubt that he didn’t care for me at all, but to be fair he did try to end the relationship several times. It’s hard to recognize the truth when it makes a brief appearance in a sea of bullshit and I wasn’t emotionally equipped to handle it. My reactions scared him. (Or thrilled him depending on his disorders) He was scared that I would hurt myself because I ended up screaming in hysterics anytime he tried to discuss the abuse, the rape, or the end of our relationship. So he chickened out and told me he was just kidding or that he wasn’t breaking up with me or any number of things to calm me down.

He threatened to take me to the hospital and have me admitted for a psych evaluation a few times, and in hindsight I really wish he would have. If he had truly cared about me, he would have because that’s what I really needed. So I don’t doubt for a second that the fact we shared an apartment together, or spent the majority of our time together leaving various belongings with one another, or that I ended up pregnant due to our recklessness causing us to choose baby names and plan a future together ever really mattered to him at all.

It was all just a mask that he chose to hide behind because he couldn’t bring himself to break up with me. I don’t know why. I don’t know if it was because I was a mess and he was scared that I would hurt myself, or if somewhere he did *like* me enough to be sad about ending the relationship even though he wasn’t in *love* with me. Maybe it was just the rush he got from being able to abuse me without immediate consequence. I don’t know.

I just know that our relationship was a trash fire and needed to end. Probably a lot sooner than it actually did. My only regret is that we couldn’t part ways peacefully which has created ten years of drama that hurts far more than any of the damage inflicted during our short time together. The fact that our pointless bickering over who’s feelings were valid, and what the “truth” is has driven us both to the point of overwhelming irrational decisions. Me, engaging with his wife when she gets in one of her moods, and he petty vandalism culminating in the break in because he just couldn’t cope with all the feels we endured in 2016.

Neither of us are crazy. Neither of our feelings about the relationship are wrong. We just both had fragile senses of self that couldn’t handle the conflict when it all first went down which created a decade of pain for both of us. Most of the time I can live with the dull ache in the background, but having it smashed into the center of my consciousness really fucking hurts.