We met in the summer and we thought it was set in stone. He was funny and his smile made me melt.
He said I love you first. So I thought, this is it.
We trusted each other with everything. The good, the bad and the ugly.
I thought this might be just a short fling. But, he stayed.
Time went by and he was still here. But, the sweet nothings he once whispered were gone.
… I’d tell myself, the honeymoon’s over, that’s all.
I did my part to be a good girlfriend and he did his part whenever he could remember to.
It’s okay, I’d tell myself, he just started a new job. He’s got a lot on his mind.
I needed to try harder but nothing I did seemed to be right.
It’s okay, I’d tell myself, I’ve just got to change a little.
My clothing choices changed and so did my diet, just the way he wanted them to. For a while, he loved the new me.
It’s okay, I’d tell myself, I’m not that hungry anyway. And he’s happy. Which makes me happy.
He was happy, annoyed, sad, and excited. I was trying to keep up.
It’s okay, I’d tell myself, we’re just going through a rough patch.
I couldn’t recognize myself anymore and I was terrified of not being loved anymore.
It’s okay, I’d tell myself, if he didn’t love me, he’d have already left me.
Nothing was right. Nothing I did, said, wore, ate or felt was going to be enough.
It’s okay, I told myself, talk to him. Things can’t go on this way.
I told him how I felt. Within seconds, our talk turned into a screaming match about how dramatic I was being. Everything that was wrong with our relationship was based on my actions.
“Go ahead,” he yelled, “Tell me one thing that I’ve done to you without being asked.”
Where Do I Begin?
He did not have consent to tell me that I was gaining weight.
He did not have consent to tell me what I couldn’t wear anymore.
He did not have consent to take food away from me while I was eating because I’d “had enough”.
He did not have consent to micromanage how I was supposed to feel about myself.
He did not have consent to manipulate me into actions that I could never be proud of.
He did not have consent to trick me into staying because I’d changed too much and no one could ever love me now.
He did not have consent to scare me when I would refuse to please him.
He did not have consent to make me fear coming out to him.
He did not have consent to make me want to hurt myself.
And when I finally confronted him and said that I was leaving, he did not have consent to lay a hand on me. After what felt like a sharp blow to the head, I woke up on the floor, shaking in both fear and anger. I stood up, looked at him and, finally, saw him for who he was. I turned and walked out without a word.
Never again will I stay quiet.