I Wont Say That I Am Ashamed That My Heart Strings Still Get Pulled When I Think Of The Things He Suffered.

I won’t say that I am ashamed that my heart strings still get pulled when I think of the things he suffered.  So much of what I’ve read makes me think that as a survivor I’m supposed to be as cold toward him as he was to me.

I can’t do that.  I loved this man, and the things that haunted him, haunted me.  And I can mourn for the life he may have had if things had been different.

The difference is, rereading these posts, my heart swells for him, but there is no longer the urge to run over and sweep him into a hug he’d probably reject. I won’t accept the shit he’s endured justifying what he did to me.  

That is progress.

Learned Behaviour

His dad was abusive. Violent. And his father before him.

Once he asked his dad for money for a field trip and his dad threw him into a wall so hard he went through the drywall and ended up in his sister’s closet.

He wasn’t born with these skills.

His mother told him when he was in highschool that regardless of what happened, she would always back her husband over him.

He wasn’t born cold.

I know exactly where he comes from.

Post Script

Anger is a really nice welcome change from crushing nihilistic emptiness.

Milestone

It has been a year since I've had sex.

Behold. My empire of scraps.

I can scrape a life together from ashes and crumbs.

Read through the correction.

Note to my ex.

Today my professor told me every cell in our entire body is destroyed and replaced every seven years. How comforting it is to know that one day I will have a body that you will have never touched.