So I pulled the plug, not because I gave up hope, not because I stopped loving you, but because loving you, caring for us, was poisoning my spirit. I could slowly feel your false truths sink in; that I wasn’t self reliant enough, I wasn’t centered in God enough, that I wasn’t accepting enough, that I overthink too often, that I reach out for support too often, that I’m too demanding, not flexible enough, not willing to compromise my physical boundaries enough. All of it. The ways you chipped away at me slowly… when you only had access to these most vulnerable parts of me because I trusted you and let you in, thinking you were my safe place.
But with every piece of me that I entrusted you with, you threw back at me like daggers. Ripping into my very core, in a way that I could feel every jagged edge cut into me. And I stayed for the onslaught, naively thinking that if you saw me bleed out, and not return a single attack, that maybe, just maybe you would see me again, in my wholeness, fragility, flawedness, and full of the desire to love you through the hurt, through the damage, through the pain and the wreckage. But you wouldn’t have it. And you wouldn’t see me. You were looking, but you weren’t seeing me.
And until the very end, I continued to be your enemy. Seeing my wounds did nothing for you. As if seeing me bleed made you feel better, somehow less alone in your misery. So, helplessly, powerlessly, painfully, I watched this spectacular story of us fade into the shadows. We lost us. Just like that, everything up in smoke. And once again, I am left here alone, picking up the pieces and re-building myself, in the safety of a space without you.