People keep asking how I am and I’m tired of typing the same thing over and over again so here we go. Me trying to express how I am.
My last real meal was on the 2nd, the one funny enough in the photo on Twitter. I’ve not held much down since. Sleeping also, not so good. I wake up in a sweat and not knowing where I am, I lie in the bed and just cry. I’m told I need to eat, well-meaning gestures aimed at a person who cares about their welfare, which isn’t me, I have no future.
I miss my own bed, I miss my sofa, which people think is funny but especially with the injury to my back, sitting on a hard bed is painful. I miss having space, not having boxes in a tiny room. And yeah, I miss him, which makes everyone angry at me, but here we go, me being honest.
I keep hoping he snaps out of his episode and sees the destruction he’s caused and has remorse. Nothing had to be like this. He can lie to himself all he wants, he knows things were OK. It’s B&W in the texts. Although, yeah, the people reading the texts have noticed, he was very different at the start compared to the end. And this wasn’t overlooked by me, and yet I still love him.
When the lawyer asked me if this was the first time he hit me, and I of course replied with the truth, and said no, the look she gave me, well I felt pretty stupid. I wish he had said OK to therapy, if he had tried to overcome his inner demons, if not for himself but for the 1 person in the world that loved him.
Everyone tells me how I can “start again”, I have no energy for this. I have never been so hurt in my life and that is saying a lot coming from me. I have nothing to start from either, I’m not just on the ground, I’m below it, just not 6 feet under, not yet. I begged him the last days to share our flat, to help me find a real home not to just throw me on the street. My son even begged him the same, but no. The cruelty, more severe than anyone has shown me in my life. He even argued to keep the duvet I bought in the UK. Why? How could I trust someone after this? I 100% trusted him and look. A kiss in the morning, an I love you, a smiling face in my bowl of oatmeal, texting, to hitting me, telling me my kids would be happier if I was dead, that I’m ugly, disgusting, that he cheated on me, that he is fucking chinesse hookers instead of me, that he is fucking his ex, that he hates me, the worst of his splitting episodes ever. And now I’m just homeless and alone. Love isn’t enough, I guess, because I was still willing to stand by him (and push heavy for treatment) even after all that. Which everyone thinks is nuts, and I get that. I can’t believe he meant all of that.
I guess I was right when I said he didn’t love me the way I loved him, I wish he had touched my face, pulled me in for a kiss at the last moment, before we crashed into a ball of fire.
Maybe he admits to himself he made a mistake and reaches out, he had remorse after other times he hit me, I felt it was real, like in Italy. Maybe there is hope. And yes I know you all think I’m an idiot for thinking this