This post was actually meant to be something else, but in the midst of trying to write it, I just couldn’t do it.I still struggle with of I was in love with you. Sometimes, I’m just not sure.
My family and friends tell me that means I really wasn’t. You don’t guess when it’s live. You aren’t confused about it. You know. I’ve carted deeply for everyone I’ve been with, but I’ve over time, I’ve never been able to say that was love. I’ve been told that of it ends, it was never truly love. Real love doesn’t end. I’m not sure if I agree worth that either.
You were the first that I opened myself fully to; you were the first that I let all my walls come down for. You made me feel safe and the way you looked at me made me feel like I was truly seen and wanted.
I loved the feeling I had when I was I with you. It felt safe and exciting at the same time. We spent hours just talking to each other, enjoying each other’s company. I didn’t see you for who you actually, but who you projected yourself to be. A day didn’t go by that we didn’t talk every hour, apparently this is a huge red flag. We made plans to set up a date on the weekend, and end up seeing each other twice while we waited for that to happen. We were fully enthralled, or at least I was. It wasn’t until a few months in that I was given the real you, and it was an ugly view.
You were manipulative and mean, and I wondered what I had done to cause this. All of a sudden you were too busy to get back to me, but not too busy to update your social media. When I would mention it to you, I was crazy and controlling. Sometimes you’d cancel, and as long as you gave me a decent heads up, it was fine. More often than not, you’d make plans and disappear. I wouldn’t hear from you at all. When I’d tell you it was unacceptable, I was in the wrong. I believe your words were that I was crucifying you for living life. Or, you’d apologize and go on a self-deprecation tirade. Somehow, I would always end up saying it’s okay; you’re not a horrible person. I didn’t realize that this was manipulation, a way for you to not have to deal with consequences. I called you out on it once after my therapist told me it was a form of manipulation, you told me I was crazy.
You wanted someone around, but you didn’t want the responsibility of treating them like a person or treating them with respect. You called names; you’d get annoyed at waitress and curse them under your breath. You spoke ill of your “friends” behind their backs. I know a few of them and often wonder if they know how you are, what you say about them. You even once said you couldn’t wait for old friends to need something from you, so you could just turn around and curse them out. I asked you if that was really how you felt and not just an emotional reaction. Your responses was you knew you should tell me no, but you wanted it to happen.
I made excuses. I was caught up in the magic of those first few months, of that character that you played. I still make excuses at times and wonder if I just have it all wrong. Are you just a hurting individual going through a rough time? I told you once people don’t treat someone you care about the way you were treating me. Your response was to ask if I thought you were that malicious. Again, a professional said it was manipulation. Rather than addressing your actions, you did your best to turn it around and not have to answer for your actions.
I wonder if this is how you were with your past relationships, and it takes quite a bit to not be THAT girl who contacts exes and asks. I’m told that someone who acts this way doesn’t do so out of nowhere. They have a history.
You get angry at the smallest act. You twist words and actions to fit what you want in order to be the victim of some kind of offense. A song lyric, a simple state, a valid question, it all can be used as ammo. The look of shock on my face when you would explode after these confirmed to you that I was in fact crazy. I’m crazy for not expecting you to react the way you did. It’s taken time to learn that I’m not responsible for your reactions. How you interpret things and react to them, is entirely your own. I’m not responsible for that.
I remember the day you kicked me out of your place. It was after you took offense to a question on a statement you had made. Just a simple…oh really? Like what? My look of shock was enough to send you over the edge and say aren’t you leaving? With that, I said something and ended up crying. You immediately looked down with those puppy dog eyes, walked over to me while I struggled with your door and tried to pull me into a hug. I told you no…it was not okay to treat me that way and then try to be affectionate. That was not all right. I know now it’s a cycle; it’s emotional abuse. And, I was right to say it was not appropriate. But then you got mad, yelled Fine and started to argue more. I asked what you wanted from me. You asked me to leave and now you’re trying to get me to stay.
I can’t deal with your ever changing mind. One minute you want me, the next you can’t stand me. One minute, I’m fun, the next I’m too inquisitive, too invested, too much. I can’t deal with your moods. One minute, you’re caring and loving, and the next, you want nothing to do with me and my presence angers you.
I can’t do this anymore, and I deserve more. This isn’t love. This is addiction. Addiction to the ups after those downs. The highs are so good. I will continually second guess myself, but I know now this is not what I deserve.