Tag Archives: mental abuse

Better Man

We had a dream. We wanted to move to a certain place, our own little paradise. He started a job there yesterday. Things were starting to happen.

Before he left, we had a blissful two days. Well, the first night being the exception. My windshield got a big crack in it and my front door got shattered. But other than that, it was perfect.

This morning, I set an alarm so I could call him before he started his first day. He was angry. He couldnt sleep last night so he thought too much… He apologized. 

The day went on. My mom and I were going to dinner. He wanted to know what I was wearing. On a whim, I decided a long maxi dress. We fought. I decided to wear something warmer anyway.

Then I found out my mom had planned on going to a restaurant that had a bar in it. You know, like most restaurants do. Im not allowed to go places like that without him. We got into another fight. My mom came down on me pretty hard. She said my marriage wasn’t even like this. She doesnt understand why I choose to live this way….etc. I stayed in. We video chatted but had to stop for a little while. We were fine when we got off the phone.

For some reason, things started getting stirred up out of no where. Things from a long time ago. Before I met him, I was doing a Christmas show. I paint wine bottle characters and scenes. It’s something I really enjoy and sometimes, I make a little money from it. To prepare for the Christmas show, I needed a lot of bottles so I made a post on Facebook about needing some bottles. A guy responded though I never got around to picking them up. This was at least a month before I met my boyfriend. Because of that, I was told tonight that I’m not allowed to paint wine bottles anymore. 

Today was a roller coaster. Even after the first yelling session, I bounced back and excitedly texted him about how great it’s going to be to live at the beach. 

Ive realized how abnormal my life is. My mom doesn’t have to tell me that. One of the scariest things about breaking up is the idea of him moving on. Why is that? Why does it matter? I realize what a train wreck he is. At almost 50 years old, he’s not going to change. Whatever woman falls as his next victim will get the same treatment. Slowly but surely, her identity will be washed away (if she stays long enough). She won’t do anything without questioning him if it’s ok. Eventually, she won’t ask. She’ll just stay at home. 

As of right now, Im blocked from contacting him in every way. I think he broke up with me again but I couldn’t understand what he said. I know Im supposed to get out of his life and join Jenny Craig. Every time, it gets less painful. I don’t know if it’s because I don’t believe him and think he will call in the morning anyway or if it’s because Im beginning to care less and less. And as I’m typing this, he calls… to tell me what a fat piece of shit I am again. Thats his thing, to call women fat if they make him mad. Sometimes it bothers me. It’s beginning to hurt less too. 

So now, Im going to put on that wonderful, so perfect song, “Better Man”. Kudos to Taylor Swift for writing that one! Im going to let myself cry for the duration of that song. Then Im going to go break one of the rules and watch Grey’s Anatomy because that’s what fat trash like me does. Tomorrow is another day…. 

He changed my name

As we go through life, who we are is reshaped and molded over and over again. First, by our parents. Then by our teachers and peers. We think that eventually we become who we are and that’s it. Some minor adjustments from time to time but still the same recognisable being.

I don’t remember the first time I became remolded in this relationship. Was it the time I had to return the already opened pack of cigarettes to a store because I wasn’t allowed to smoke that brand? Was it the time my radio was smashed because I turned up a song at the end of an argument? The day my tablet got smashed due to pictures on the cloud of me and my ex? Or when my next tablet got smashed because I watched something he didn’t like…? 

Ive been reshaped into something that doesn’t even resemble myself. A woman that is scared to listen to songs because they might stir things up. Scared to wear certain clothes because even if I wear them around the house, my comfy shorts could end up in shreds for being too short. Im ashamed of dancing. I don’t even look people in the eyes anymore. I am careful to laugh at things I find funny, just in case they are thought to be inappropriate. 

My name is now cunt, occasionally bitch/liar/fat ass/low life/trash/worthless/piece of shit. I am not who I used to be.