Begone!

Begone!

I don't know how it's possible but I'm still finding paperwork with both of our names on it. I'm cleaning out some stuff I've been putting off since moving in with my partner, and i just found one of our void cheques.

There's a story about those cheques that i don't think I've ever told, but for now just know I'm nauseous just looking at our names together.

This is roughly where I i started approx 7 years ago.

When I feel bad about regression, i try to look at the bigger picture.

A special kind of heartbreak - the one who hurt me for years began seeing someone else. It makes me feel so flawed that I’m not even suited to be a punching bag.

YOU don’t have to be perfect to be loved. but I do

I don't know if this was the direction you were going OP, but you've triggered a memory and I'm hijacking your post. Sorry.

If I didn't cook, he didn't eat. Period.

After he kicked me out, I was still under his spell for nearly 2 years. During this time, he did his best to mistreat and torture me, more than previously. One of his tactics was trying to find a new victim partner. I sort of got to 'watch' their relationship develop in real time. At least from his perspective.

I saw the moment he decided to allow things to go downhill with one woman. She cooked for him, and apparently was very proud of what she made, her 'signature.' He didn't like it, said it was bland and uninspired.

So he fucked me when he knew she'd be stopping by. Then, he pretended like it was my fault because I was too noisy, or because I was near a window and she saw me in the house, or whatever logical gymnastics he wanted to perform that day.

Afterward he said it was for the best because she was 'unreasonable'. But I know it was because he didn't like her cooking.

If she didn't cook something he liked, he wouldn't eat. Period.

I'm curious. Reblog this if you know how to cook

I don’t even care if it’s macaroni, ramen or those little bowls you stick in the microwave. Please, I need reassurance that most of the population on tumblr WOULDN’T STARVE TO DEATH if their parents couldn’t fix them food or they couldn’t go out to eat. 

In the early stages of healing I used to trauma dump.

It was fucking WILD the shit that would tumble out of my mouth to people I barely knew. To combat it, I put a vice grip on it. I under shared to try to curb the habit.

It worked. Too well. And it appears to be permanent.

I have no idea how to share about my life now. This was a message I sent to my very best friends:

I haven't followed up.