I started this blog as a rebellion against silence.
I had so much I wanted to say, and I have for a very long time. I didn’t always know it, and what I wanted and needed to say has changed over time, based on whether I was in contact with him and how far along in the healing process I was.
He had conditioned me about how I could speak about what I had been through.
One minute he admitted to something, the next he minute denied it. One minute he claimed it was my fault, the next minute he begged for my forgiveness. One minute he said he had done the things he had done because he had been young and immature and didn’t know what he was doing, the next minute he engaged in the same behavior as before. One minute he said he couldn’t live without me, the next minute he acted as if I never existed.
He at first refused to hear me. He denied, blamed, deflected, stonewalled, walked out, projected, accused– well, if you’ve been through it, you know how it is. Then he listened, but gaslighted and guilted me for not believing him about his excuses and lies. If I wanted to talk about it with other people, he shamed me for going outside the relationship, even though he himself was smearing me to other people for “starting arguments” and being paranoid about what was continuing to occur. It was all just another tactic to silence me.
I could either accept his terms or be the “bad one” for merely wanting my voice heard, for wanting what had been done to me to matter. And throughout the entire relationship, there were secrets to keep so his different worlds wouldn’t cross one another, but I wasn’t even aware it wasn’t an equal playing field. It was never a fair fight. I didn’t even know it was a “fight” at all.
For a long time, I said almost nothing to anyone for a variety of reasons.
Yet when I reached a certain point in no-contact, I woke up one morning and had the overwhelming urge to just start talking. I wanted a forum for it where I knew people would be able to see it even if no one ever did, a forum where he did not get to minimize it or dictate who I got to tell about it. I did not even care if anyone saw it because that wasn’t the point. He would not get to reshape it or tell me what I should think about it. He would not get to blame me for his own actions or excuse it on his past girlfriends or his immaturity or parents.
Now I am telling my story and I am putting words to things for which I had no words before, things that I know he would prefer never had any words. I am telling my story because I survived and I will use it to help others in the ways that I am capable and that others deem my story fit to do so.
I will not be silenced.
For everyone who has read any part of it, thank you.
Thank you for being a witness to what I went through.
Thank you for hearing me find meaning and seeing all of this pain evolve into something good.
Thank you for validating the psychological pain and listening to me grapple with the unanswered questions and the philosophical purpose of it all.