I used to count the days, weeks, months that we have been together with a smile and with pride.
I used to believe I was the only one by your side.
I started to become confused about what I meant to you when I found out that someone else had been counting their days too.
You told me those days were gone and I chose to believe, but I wasn’t sure if I should reset the count or continue like it had just been me.
Then I started to count the months, then weeks, then days between each encounter that told me we were not ok. Between each revealed relationship, between each meaningless fuck. Between each lie and hidden kiss. Between each hurtful touch. Between each time you yelled at me. Between each hateful text. Between each name you called me. And then you would tell me you loved me. I was vexed.
Then came the day I shocked myself. I started to count the days since you last hit me. Since you last cornered me. Since you last stole my car. Since you last hurt me. But I still counted. I still stayed.
And when I found out that no one else was counting the days, I thought I would finally be safe. I thought I could trust you somehow, even though you chose to hurt me in so many ways.
Now here we are, I’m by your side and it’s nine years down the road. But I don’t know how to tell myself where those nine years should go. Was it nine years of a relationship? Or seven since your last affair? Was it five years since you last threw phones and threatened me? Was it four since you called me a demon and bruised me and grabbed me by the hair? Was it three since we said I do? But even after that, I still count the days between each painful attack. And recently it’d been six months since you kicked our daughters birthday present at me, and I thought maybe it was done. And then you called me a bitch while I was pregnant and I started to doubt your love. And then it was five months and I thought maybe the pregnancy had just made you stressed… but when I went to see if I could trust you yet, you put your hands on me again.
I can’t blame you entirely. I’ve stayed and let myself be in pain. I kept thinking it wouldn’t happen again, that our relationship would change. But what I thought was our relationship was never even mine. You treated me so well until I started to discover your lies. Your sweet nothings in my ear were there to curb any doubts. Now they’re hateful everything’s that are still in my ear but they’re delivered with a shout. You smile when you put your hands on me. I wish you could see that you tell me I’ll be responsible for a divorce but you never tried to rebuild the trust you broke with me.
I’ve been counting and I’m confused. The used to turned to still do. Building trust is a two way street, so how can I trust you?
because sometimes there are invisible tests and invisible rules and you’re just supposed to … know the rule. someone you thought of as a friend asks you for book recommendations, so you give her a list of like 30 books, each with a brief blurb and why you like it. later, you find out she screenshotted the list and send it out to a group chat with the note: what an absolute freak can you believe this. you saw the responses: emojis where people are rolling over laughing. too much and obsessive and actually kind of creepy in the comments. you thought you’d been doing the right thing. she’d asked, right? an invisible rule: this is what happens when you get too excited.
you aren’t supposed to laugh at your own jokes, so you don’t, but then you’re too serious. you’re not supposed to be too loud, but then people say you’re too quiet. you aren’t supposed to get passionate about things, but then you’re shy, boring. you aren’t supposed to talk too much, but then people are mad when you’re not good at replying.
you fold yourself into a prettier paper crane. since you never know what is “selfish” and what is “charity,” you give yourself over, fully. you’d rather be empty and over-generous - you’d rather eat your own boundaries than have even one person believe that you’re mean. since you don’t know what the thing is that will make them hate you, you simply scrub yourself clean of any form of roughness. if you are perfect and smiling and funny, they can love you. if you are always there for them and never admit what’s happening and never mention your past and never make them uncomfortable - you can make up for it. you can earn it.
don’t fuck up. they’re all testing you, always. they’re tolerating you. whatever secret club happened, over a summer somewhere - during some activity you didn’t get to attend - everyone else just… figured it out. like they got some kind of award or examination that allowed them to know how-to-be-normal. how to fit. and for the rest of your life, you’ve been playing catch-up. you’ve been trying to prove that - haha! you get it! that the joke they’re telling, the people they are, the manual they got- yeah, you’ve totally read it.
if you can just divide yourself in two - the lovable one, and the one that is you - you can do this. you can walk the line. they can laugh and accept you. if you are always-balanced, never burdensome, a delight to have in class, champagne and glittering and never gawky or florescent or god-forbid cringe: you can get away with it.
you stare at your therapist, whom you can make jokes with, and who laughs at your jokes, because you are so fucking good at people-pleasing. you smile at her, and she asks you how you’re doing, and you automatically say i’m good, thanks, how are you? while the answer swims somewhere in your little lizard brain:
how long have you been doing this now? mastering the art of your body and mind like you’re piloting a puppet. has it worked? what do you mean that all you feel is… just exhausted. pick yourself up, the tightrope has no net. after all, you’re cheating, somehow, but nobody seems to know you actually flunked the test. it’s working!
I am sorry that he took long drives every weekend to be with her instead of you.
I am sorry that he argued with you and made you feel bad when you questioned him about whether he liked her or not. Even though it was obvious.
I am sorry that his motives were always so clear, but he made you feel like you were crazy.
I am sorry that after you guys broke up, he still chose her first, had sex with her, then begged for you to come back to him after he got what he wanted.
I am sorry that even after you took him back, you found pictures and conversations they exchanged. Even though you told him you’d only take him back if he was completely honest with you, deleted everything, and cut her off.
I am sorry that every time you gave him a chance to come clean, he told you “If you can’t trust me then we shouldn’t be together.”
I am sorry that you stood with him for 4 extra years after he hurt you.
I am sorry that you didn’t find out how badly he cheated on you until after you finally broke up.
I am sorry that he left you with trust issues now.
I am sorry that he made you believe that you weren’t enough.
