It's been exactly one year to the day since I last filled my blog with thoughts. How strange that today is the day I decide to pull it up. Today is rough, much like this last year has been. A new friend told me today "do something for yourself. You like to write. So write it down. Let it out". I'm now eternity grateful for this friend, because I can already tell this is exactly what I need.
Where to start...
Roughly a year ago, I started what was supposed to be a casual fling with a long time "hookup" but it quickly turned into something neither of us was ready for. We fell in love, and my god we fell hard. He moved in weeks later, and man, I was hooked on loving him. He became my air. Happiness was being near him. Hearing him breathe while he slept. Seeing him smile at my dumb jokes. Watching him love my beautiful pup. All of these things and much much more. He was mine, and I was overjoyed.
I never believed in "the honeymoon stage" that everyone talks about. I believed that true love never got old. It never became stagnant or hard. It just felt good to feel good and you felt it forever. But man was I wrong. Because nothing lasts forever. Whatever drug you choose to use, the high only lasts so long, and holy shit the come down hurts. Love was my drug. Coleman Baldwin Hartley was my heroin.
Is my heroin.
Good turned bad and bad turned worse. We fought every day over things I now realize I never even cared about. We saw nothing the same way. I was consistently lead to believe that my feelings were wrong, my views were stupid, and my efforts were futile. I don't think he ever intended to hurt me. I know that he loved me. Loves me. But he hurt me, in a way I didn't know existed. I was called names, I was degraded, talked down to, and often times felt more like an object than a person. My friends and family spent months telling me I deserved better, because they watched or relationship from afar and hurt for me when I wouldn't allow myself to realize how much I was being hurt. I cared so much for this man, that it took months for me to realize.
Going into details isn't going to do anything good for me, and the tears running down my face are already making this difficult to write. I'll press on...
I reached a point where I hated being at work, for I was constantly fearing for his life, but I hated the thought of going home and immediately being surrounded by the sadness and depression. My room even smelled sad. Getting in my car and going home every day pushed me into a crazy intense panic attack. I was terrified of what I would face. What kind of a day was he having? Would I cry today? Would I go to bed mad again? I was scared to complain about my problems, because his were so much worse or something. I realize now how unfair that is. Problems are problems. And my biggest problem was him. I drank too much to mask the pain. I stopped seeing my family, my friends, I lost my routine and lost total sight of who I was.
Sometimes I blame myself. I wonder about how things would have been different if I'd made different choices. I should have stopped being a bitch and just picked him up that night. Then he wouldn't have driven his car, drunk, into another car stopped at a train track. He wouldn't have gone to jail, wouldn't have lost his van, and wouldn't hate his life so much. This was the turning point in the relationship. The moment when things got really really bad. I have to constantly stop myself from thinking like this, because it tears me down so much.
I spent the last two months of our relationship hinting to him how unhappy I was. Part of me did it hoping he'd dump me so I didn't have to dump him. A bigger part of me did it hoping he loved me enough to realize I was miserable, and try harder to make me happy. Less name calling, more love.
I really wish the latter was the result No such luck.
The break up happened on a Monday night. Argument ensued, name calling continued, and by the third "crazy fat bitch" remark, I'd had my fill. I kicked him out of my car, and immediately called my dad on my drive home and asked him to come over. I was terrified cole would come back and hurt me. My dad showed up with a gun and stayed for a few hours until I felt safe to send him home.
If I was smart, it would have ended there. But if there's one thing I've learned about this, it's that when it comes to love, I'm anything but smart. The next month was a blur of late night pick ups and sleep overs and eventually, he was staying at my house every night again. I knew it was temporary, because he had plans to skip town. Within the month.
It was two days before he left town that I found out I was pregnant. I couldn't tell him. I couldn't tell anyone. I was sad and terrified and baffled. I was on the pill. I was single. The man I love no longer wants me. What was I supposed to do?!
I took him to the airport on a Sunday night. Spent the entire night crying. Spent the entire next day at work crying. I was a total wreck. So I told him. He was gone, it was time he knew. He reacted non chalantly which I guess I expected. It hurt a lot, but that's nothing new. Pain has become all too familiar in my life.
Blighted ovum. Dead baby. Look it up.
Where do I go from here? How do I escape this nagging pain? The pain that covers every inch of my body? My heart, my head, my bones, my soul. Literally, everything hurts. I've run out of tears to cry. All I feel is defeat.
People think I'm insane. I was with this man less than a year. He hurt me so much, I deserve so much better, blah blah BLAH!
there's no way for me to explain love for people to understand. It's an indescribable feeling. It can give you everything you ever thought you'd need to be happy, and seconds later, it can take it all away. I'm empty. I'm exhausted. Yet still, I love him so much. So much so that it hurts to breathe. I just want one more hug. One more kiss. To touch his face one more time. His soul is wrapped into mine and when he's not around, I feel incomplete. We're spinning and spinning and life is moving so quickly and I can't catch my breath. I can't focus on anything but loving him. Loving someone who chose to leave. All that remains is his dog, his toothbrush, and his scent on my pillows. I've lost everything else. Even the memories become fuzzy sometimes. That's the worst part.
I really hope all this pain is part of healing. To be continued. ..
