They say the luck of the Irish, but where is the rainbow and pot of gold? I am part Irish, but I guess I am not Irish enough, as I seem to have no luck.
It’s crazy that now I don’t have to wake up at 6am I wake up like clockwork. I get so little sleep and when I do sleep the most crazy nightmares.
People keep asking questions I just can’t answer. Why did me asking for a kiss make him flip out and start hitting me? Why do all of this? Why want to keep my stuff? I have no answers. I thought I knew him, maybe I didn’t. Maybe it was all lies as he said, maybe he did the same to several women, las he said. What was real is a mystery right now. Maybe it isn’t all mental illness.
In one of his rages, he told me he wished his mother was dead, but dare not tell her cause I guess he didn’t mean it. Or scared he would be written out of her will? Maybe the story about his childhood wasn’t real, I really thought I knew this person. He cried in the car in Italy after he hit me, saying he was sorry, saying he loved me. I really believed him too. How can I trust anyone after this if it was all a lie? Why would anyone do this to someone?
I loved him, I wanted a life together, I was ready to get married, he was my future. I wanted to get him from his full-time work lifestyle, to travel, to enjoy life with me versus being stuck in a car commuting all those hours for a job where the people don’t even like him. The future could have been great, not perfect, I knew he would have ups and downs, but I was crazy and figured we could manage them and reduce them. I had spoken to several therapists trying to find the right one to help, it was just getting him to listen.
For some reason, he struggles to admit he is at fault or has any issues. Even if it’s something minor or obvious. I’m not sure why he’s like this. Even pointing out something simple he did wrong could make him mad, it wasn’t normal. Being scared to touch a hotel floor, is also not normal. Both issues but nothing like the hitting and screaming abuse at me, they were minor in comparison.
The crazy thing, the more I talk about him, the more people ask why I loved him. Why I was willing to stand by him and help him. And sometimes, repeating what happened, does make me feel stupid. I guess love is like that sometimes, it just makes zero sense.
My friends know how many times I waited for messages I never got, how often he was late home without saying a word, simple things but that bothered me and he was different in the beginning. Strangers could message me back quicker than the guy who said he loved me and wanted to spend the rest of his life with me. It didn’t make sense, maybe now it does?
Maybe something changes today, something has to give eventually.