About That...

I just realized today that since I wrote about my friend D's abandonment of me, that I haven't been thinking about her as much. I haven't been searching for her on Facebook as much, and not scouring the Internet for her, looking for any tidbits of information. Yes, I have a problem with cyber-stalking. So sue me. I have a hard time getting over past hurt's, and D was one of many. I thought maybe if I wrote about another past hurt, the same thing would happen? It's worth a shot.

My high school/college boyfriend, B. Sigh. What a mess. The whole 3 year on-and-off- again affair was always a struggle. If that relationship was a highway, there were many exits I passed up, and many detour signs ignored. Like that person that ignores the signs on the interstate warning "Accident Ahead" and doesn't get off the freeway, I sped along to see the carnage for my own eyes. The first red flag was the first time I ever went to his house. His mother answered the door, shortly told me he wasn't home, and slammed the door in my face. Wow, nice to meet you too, bitch. She never liked me, by the way. The very first day after we had the "DTRT" (designate the relationship talk), I felt something was wrong, and wanted to break up with him. My best friend convinced me to give him a chance. I should have went with my first instincts. And when he assumed that I was a virgin, I lied and told him I was. You can't build a relationship on a foundation of lies.

I met B. at the tender age of 17. I extremely vulnerable at the time. My parents were separated because my dad had had an affair. My mom had breast cancer, and was going through chemo and radiation with no one else to talk to, save for her 17-year old daughter. I had an eating disorder, and carried 100 lbs on my 5'5 frame. I was weak. He was hot. And he liked me. No one like him had ever even paid attention to me. I fell hard into lust. We had a typical high school relationship, and fought about everything.

We kept going for a year and a half this way. We went to separate college's, about 100 miles apart, but stayed together. I put on the freshman 15, and that's basically when things went south. I became insecure, and so jealous. I called him a dozen times a day, and obsessively checked his email and social media accounts. Eventually we came to that day that many young loves come to, the day that we broke up.

It was 4th of July. 2001. We were at a beach party on the Oregon Coast. We got into a screaming match on the beach because I had to work the next day and wanted to leave. He did not. The fight was definitely fueled by the amount of alcohol we drank. I told him I was leaving. He said if I left, it was over. I defiantly walked away. He lunged to grab me, but only grabbed my hand. I had a deep, fresh cut on that hand from the meat slicer at work. I shook him off, and stalked to my car. When I got to the my car, in the light, I looked down. My pristine white sweatshirt was covered in blood. He had re-opened the cut on my hand. I remember staring at it, getting in the car, locking the doors, and starting it up. The drive home? I don't remember. It's a miracle that I didn't kill myself, or someone else on that drive home.

After a couple of days, I had sobered up and was sorry. But I couldn't find him to save my life. He didn't contact me for 2 weeks. My heart was broken, and I, again, was an emotionally distraught mess. When he finally did come back, he told me he'd been staying with another girl. I fell into a ball on the floor, sobbing. Somehow, after talking all night, we got back together. This time around, he transfered to my school so we could be closer.

We were back together, but nothing had changed. We still fought. I was still jealous. I had begun following him around campus, checking on his stories. Finally one day, I caught him at a girl's dorm. With a girl. I forgave him. I saw him at bar, making out with another girl. I forgave him. I found pictures of him at a sorority dance with yes, another girl. I forgave him.

Looking back, I am completely disgusted with my lack of self-respect. How could I let him walk all over me like that? I look back at that girl that I was, and she doesn't even feel like me. We ended up breaking up for about 2 months, later on that year. I'd starting dating someone else when he came back, and told me he wanted me back. I'd just started to move on, and he pulled me back in. For 1 week. 1 week later, on a very cold February night, with driving down rain, he blindsided me. We had just finished studying and were standing outside the library when he told me it was over. For good. He left me standing, sobbing in the pouring rain, outside the library.

This was one of the hardest time period's that I've had to overcome. I don't think my heart as ever been broken more. It had been shattered with a sledgehammer into a million pieces. For a long time after that, I felt like I didn't even have a heart anymore. My self-esteem had also been shattered. I didn't feel like I would ever be whole again. I would never be able to trust anyone again. I hated him with every fiber in my being. I hated that I laid in bed at night, unable to sleep, images of him with someone else in his arm's flashing through my over-active imagination. To this day, I have no idea why I allowed him to degrade me so entirely. I didn't date anyone seriously for 3 years. The first serious boyfriend I had after him, is now my husband.

We had one last conversation, after that incident in front of the library. It came via phone call late one night, about 3 months after the end. He was drunk, and said some of the most horrible, vicious things anyone has ever said to me. At the end of the phone call, he said, "We'll be friends again. You'll forget what I said. I don't care if it's 1 year, 5 years, or 10 years from now. You'll forget everything, and you'll come back". I said, "I will never forget". I hung up the phone, and that was the last time we ever spoke.

So, it's 9 years later. Time heals almost all wounds. I'm married, and I'm happy. But I'll never forget. I still find him on Facebook from time to time. He's fat and balding now.

Is it bad that that makes me happy?

Mad At The World.

I've woken up on the wrong side of the bed for the last 3 days. The news has been upsetting me. Hurricane Isaac hasn't helped, it's only made the bad mood worse. I can't stand seeing all the flooding, evacuations, people and pets made homeless, and the unfathomable destruction. It makes my heart hurt.

In my opinion, this unshakeable bad mood has been brought about by dreading the weekend. Yes, the husband's aunt is making us leave for the weekend AGAIN. I'm not looking forward to staying with the husband's mom. I hate his aunt. I can't wait until we leave to go to my parent's house. I just wish I could stay there until the house is done. I honestly don't know how I'm going to be nice to Aunt after we move out. She is the most ugly person I've ever met. Not talking about looks, either...

Also contributing to the bad mood is my weight. I feel so out of control lately. I'm still 11 lbs over my normal weight, and it's driving me crazy! I've been on a diet for the last 2 weeks, and doing an hour of cardio 5 times a week, and yet I feel like I'm continuing to get bigger. The scale hasn't moved in the last 3 weeks, so I'm not gaining weight. But am I gaining inches? I feel like I am. I usually don't have to diet, working out allows me to eat what I want. But not right now. I am drinking more than usual, I think that's a huge factor. I wish I could stay away from the stuff, but sometimes I feel like it's the only way to deal with Aunt. Or the only way to deal, period. I'm just so unhappy. My husband says my weight will stabilize once we are out of here, but I can't stand feeling so heavy during this time period, no matter how short.

My body is so tired. An hour of cardio is hard. I definitely forced it yesterday. My body was sore and screaming at me to stop, but I kept going. I'm paying for it today, I hurt everywhere. I'm at an impasse today. I should do an hour of cardio, since I know I'm going to my mother-in-law's for 3 days and I will eat nothing but fast food. But I hurt. I may do 30 minutes of cardio, and an hour of yoga. To compromise. It's just so frustrating, usually my weight and body is the one thing I can control. I feel like I have none right now.

The urge to cut is high right now. I've held strong, and stayed away, but it's always there. Especially with the impending stay with my mother-in-law. Never do I want to cut as much as I do when I'm there. Yesterday I was smoking a cigarette, and kept having the urge to burn my arm. What would the husband say about that? I don't even know. I do know I would be in a lot of trouble. Also, once I start, it won't stop. Self-control will go out the window and I will compulsively just do it. Like everything else I'm addicted to.

Argh, I just want to scream. Lately, I feel like all the rage and all the frustration is bubbling so close to the surface. I feel like I'm going to explode, and have a massive melt-down. I'm trying desperately to keep that from happening, I know no good will come of it. No good. I've only 3 more weeks until I'm out of here. 3 more weeks. That's what I keep telling myself.

I'm just so mad. Mad at everything and everyone.

Time For A Break

I need to get out of here.

My time here with my husband's aunt has quickly morphed into a miserable time. Respect and mutual liking I used to have for her? Gone. Replaced with red-hot rage and hatred. I hate her. I've never met such a miserable person. She's got a mean-streak a mile wide, and I just can't understand it. I've never had a mean-streak. I don't like to hurt people, therefore I avoid doing it. Doesn't she know whats it's like to be hurt? She says she does. Knowing how bad it hurts, how could she inflect that pain on another person? I can't wrap my head around it. I handle myself with class, and a lot of times bite my tongue instead of saying the evil things that are going on in my head.

Aunt told us today that we are to be gone for Labor Day Weekend. Go stay with Husband's mom. My heart dropped to my stomach, and I think I actually tasted bile in my mouth, I was so angry. So angry. Be gone for Labor Day Weekend, so she and her husband can leave the house all day long, flitting from mall to movie to restaurant, while I suffer insomnia, allergies, and panic attacks by staying in the dark, smoke-filled pit that is my mother-in-law's house? I hate her. I would never be able to tell someone to go live in somewhere as awful as that, when I could help them myself. I could never live with myself knowing I caused that person so much pain and distress.

Learning about Labor Day Weekend ruined my day. My week. I've been down the whole day since I found out, at about 11 am this morning. There is one good thing I've got to look forward to. My husband found out he gets about a month off from work, so we are packing up the dogs and going to my parent's for a month. I can't wait. I can't wait to be somewhere where I feel welcome, loved, and wanted. Somewhere with absolutely no drama. With people who are warm, and deep in their hearts are good people. I am so happy I will be getting away from here, and away from Aunt. Of course, when we return from my parent's, we have to move in with my husband's mom until the house is done. We won't be back from our trip until the end of October, so I am hoping against all hope that the house is done by then. When the house is done, I'm going to be hard pressed to associate myself with Aunt. Being nice to her is going to be hard work.

I've noticed lately that I'm not making any progress on my issues. I haven't recovered any new flashbacks, and it's almost like I've completely stopped thinking about it. My obsession with getting better and figuring out what happened to me has been replaced by my all-consuming hatred for Aunt. This is not good for a couple of reasons. One, I really thought I was moving forward. All I wanted to was figure out what happened, piece everything back together, find a way to accept it, and move on. All progress has halted. I hate that, because I feel like my mind is simply putting off the inevitable. Once I no longer have Aunt to fixate on, then what? It starts all over again? Two, this hatred I feel is not normal or healthy. It makes me stressed. I constantly feel in a state of duress. I'm not the type of person who judges everyone, is jealous of them, and therefore talks crap and looks down on them. That is not me. But I don't deal with people like Aunt. Ever. My life is normally pretty laid-back and easy-going. Like I normally am. I wish I could just go to sleep, and wake up on the day when it's time to leave for my parent's. Fast-forward through this awful period of time right now.

Of course, that's not going to happen. I've got about a month that I've got to keep it together. We are leaving on September 27. I have to just try as hard as I can not to have a meltdown during this time period. Easier said than done.

What Would They Think?

************Trigger Warning**************

This is triggering for me, it may be triggering for you.

Early this morning, around 4 pm, my husband got up because he couldn't sleep. He went into the den to watch TV. I went back to sleep, and woke up around 5:30 because I knew it was about the time he went to work. I got up, and went into the den to get him. He was watching the news, about a mass shooting in Colorado at the screening of the new Batman movie.

My husband went to work, and I went back to bed. It took me quite awhile to fall back asleep, however. I couldn't stop thinking about how disgusting the human race is.

Events where masses of innocent people die are a trigger for me. The morning of the massive earthquake in Japan, I cried and sobbed helplessly for hours. I remember when the shooting happened at Columbine in high school, and the shooting at Virginia Tech. September 11th. I don't know why I continue to watch the news when it upsets me so gravely. I'm depressed about the state of the world and humanity for a week after something like this happens.

I read the story on this latest shooting when I got out of bed this morning. I read how the gunman walked up the aisles, seemingly picking people at random. Children were shot in the face. People trampled each other to get out the theater. People saw other people die right in front of them. The panic and anxiety take hold when I read details like this. Pain wells in my chest and my throat. Tears are uncontrollable. I can't even imagine aiming a gun at a helpless child, and killing them. How can anyone do this? One mother said she didn't even think twice about letting her kids go to a mid-night movie, because before today, who would even think something like this could happen? At the movies. Where a lot of people just went to relax and have fun. Where families were. Where children were. Where babies were.

My beliefs and opinions are my own. I'm not going to berate or belittle anyone for their opinions, nor would I try to change them. I expect the same from everyone else. But, immediately I thought of a piece I saw on the "Today" show yesterday. A doctor had a near-death experience, and said she saw heaven, Jesus, and angels. And they sent her back to continue living her life. Really? Really? How can anyone think that, and then look at this awful event in Colorado and justify to themselves that God is everywhere? Really? God let some monster walk down an aisle, pick a 3-month old baby, and shoot them? He let him shoot a 9-year old girl in the cheek? He let people get trampled in a flood of panic and adrenaline? He let children die slowly, bleeding out onto the floor because some psycho kid got bullied in school? Please. I don't understand how anyone can have unshakeable faith. I think mine was shattered when I was a child, and has only crumbled away as I've aged. By now, there is nothing left. I overheard my husband's aunt on the phone yesterday while she was watching this "miraculous" near-death experience on the "Today" show. She was talking to my mother-in-law (her sister), and telling her that me and my husband don't believe in stuff like this, and it's such a shame. How can we not when we see "powerful" evidence like this? Ha.

If anyone could step outside of the human race, and look at as a whole, would they think? I think they would be repulsed. Humans are an angry, violent, cruel species. When people can shoot 60 innocent people, when people can kill others because they think their religion is right and yours is wrong, when people can crash planes into buildings just to destroy life, how can that be right? 1% of the population lives like kings, while billions of people are sick, poverty-stricken, homeless, abused, and forgotten. It makes me sick to my stomach. It makes me panic. It gives me anxiety. It's days like today when I rock myself and tell myself hundreds of times, "You are only one person". I am only one person. I can't save everyone. I can't save every animal. I honestly am better off sticking my head in the sand, like an ostrich, and being ignorant. Because when I see stuff like what I've seen today, my heart breaks. It hurts in my chest. I can't stand to look at or talk to another human being. I can only cradle my dogs to my chest, and cry.

I will step off my soapbox now and again, I must express that my opinions are mine and mine alone. If you believe something different, that's fine with me. But on days like today, I can only cry that we (humans) are being allowed to continue to evolve. Because, honestly, what's next?

The Birds... And The BEES

I have a couple of recurring nightmares, ones I have at least once a month. They both involve wasps. I'm deathly afraid of wasps. It's a completely irrational fear. What is the worst thing a wasp can do to you? Sting you. It hurts. So what? I'm a little bit into pain. I like the feeling of getting a tattoo, not to mention I used to cut myself. What gives? There is no rhyme or reason. To run when I see a wasp is a completely ingrained response. And uncontrollable. I've tried.

Dream 1 that haunts me is short. My family (Dad, Mom, Brother, Husband, and I) are vacationing in a cabin somewhere. We are in the common area, playing a board game. Always a board game. There is a knock at the door. My Dad goes to answer it. When he opens the door, a giant wasp flies in. One bigger than I've ever seen. I scream and yell for something to kill it. I run down a long hallway and into a bed room. I slam the door shut, only to realize there is a large gap at the bottom of the door. I'm frantically trying to stuff a towel into the gap when the bee flies under the door and lands on my leg. I scream and it stings me. I am trying to swat the wasp off my leg, but it won't budge. I continue to scream and try to get it off me, and that's when I wake up.

Dream 2 is just weird. I'm in a boat with one of my high school girlfriends and my husband's ex-wife. We are in a speedboat being taken out to the middle of the ocean. We are in the middle of nowhere when the boat tips over, and we are plunged into the water. Apparently, this is a race to see who gets back to shore first. I begin furiously paddling in the direction of the shore, when I realize the water is full of tiny jellyfish. The jellyfish begin to sting me and it just makes me swim faster, scared out of my mind. I finally reach the shore and collapse on the beach. My high school friend and my husband's ex-wife have disappeared at this point, it's only me on shore. A woman with long brown hair meets me on the shore and announces I am the winner of the race. I must get cleaned up for my interview and trophy ceremony. She escorts me to a shower room, much like those you would find at a public pool or gym. There are a million showers out in the open, but very few with a stall and curtain. I'm hurrying around trying to find a stall, when I realize people are running and getting into the private showers. My only option is to shower out in the open. There is no way I'm doing this. I decide to go home and shower. I walk out of the room, and outside. Down a long path to a log cabin, which is apparently my home. I open the door and find my husband reading on the couch. I tell him I won the race and I must shower for the interview. I go into a bedroom. I immediately look up and there is a wasp near the ceiling. I back out of the room and yell for my husband to kill it. I realize there are 3-4 wasps near the ceiling in the hallway, and I run back to the living room. There are even more wasps in the living room, near the ceiling and all in the blinds on the windows. I'm screaming to my husband to kill them. He is crazily running around trying to kill all the wasps when he shouts that he doesn't know where they are coming from. It appears even more wasps are entering the home and I'm just screaming. This is when I wake up.

These are weird dreams. I obviously can't decipher them. From what I've researched on the internet about dream interpretation (not a very scientific topic) wasps symbolize evil. I'll buy that. The first dream is all about trying to keep the evil out, but it seeps in anyway. Very similar to the way memories and images have been creeping into my brain, while my brain is desperately trying to keep them away. The second dream? There are so many facets of this dream, I just have no idea. My high school friend, my husband's ex-wife, the jellyfish, the showers, the wasps. They all could mean something. Interestingly enough, jellyfish are supposed to represent painful memories that are emerging from your subconscious. Whoa. Not sure if I believe all that dream interpretation bullshit.

I've had nightmares all my life, but very few recurring nightmares. These are new, they started about 7 months ago. Along with everything else.

It's been a hell of a ride so far, and unfortunately, I think it's just beginning.

Where Did It All Begin?

I'm 4 days away from my first appointment with a psychiatrist, and I've pondered this thought for a long time now. Ever since I kinda, sorta put the puzzle pieces together, I've been reaching and straining to really, really put the pieces together.

It's just not that easy. What I have recovered are more like flashes of images, not actual memories that play like a movie in your mind. I want to remember, because I want to heal, but obviously my mind is not ready to concede. I know this. Sometimes at night, when I am laying in bed, waiting for the Ambien, Noritriptyline, and Hydroxyzine to kick in, I try to remember.

I have lots of memories from this time period (3-5 years of age), but none fit together in a succinct timeline. I felt a lot of fear as a kid. I remember my mom leaving me at daycare, and crying inconsolably for hours because she had left me. I remember being horribly afraid of the dark, to the point of panic if I was completely in the dark without my nightlight. I suffered from terrible nightmares as a child, dreaming about everything from ghosts, to serial killers, to killer clowns. I was convinced there was something under my bed that would grab my legs and pull me under if I got out of bed at night. My window shades in the room had to be tightly shut with no way to look in. Because, you know, if you could see in my window, the aliens would see me and take me away. I honestly believed that if I looked in the mirror at night, there would be a ghostly image of a girl who would pull me in. I still avoid mirrors at night to this day.

I remember my grandmother's (my mother's mother) house that she lived in at this time. It was right next door to my parent's house and 2 houses down, my aunt, uncle (one of my mom's brother's, the sane one), and cousins lived there. I remember my grandmother's front door, her living room, her kitchen. I also remember the room that my uncle (my mother's other brother, the not-so-sane one) lived in, the way the window was positioned, his wood bed, the furniture, his ash tray on the bedside table. I cannot, for the life of me, remember her bathroom or her living room couch. I have an image in my mind of my uncle rubbing me on her couch, but I can only feel the couch against my skin and see the couch as separate from the room. I cannot picture the room with the couch in it.

My uncle was bipolar and schizophrenic. He had a pattern of going off his meds, and disappearing for months at a time, not contacting anyone in the family to let them know where he was. He would always return, docile and completely medicated. When I was 5, my parents decided to leave the town I was born in and move 60 miles south. I remember during this time that my uncle was not allowed to contact my family. Not by phone, not by letter, and definitely not to see me or my brother. My parents told us that he was addicted to valium and until he went to rehab, he wasn't allowed to have any contact with us. I was 7 when some sort of deal was reached between my parents and my uncle. My uncle apparently went to rehab, and later moved to the town where we had moved to. I'll save this story for another time, but my uncle disappeared permanently when I was 16. Off his meds, and into a life of homelessness.

For as long as I can remember, something was amiss between my mother and her mother. They never got along, and my mom could barely stand speaking to my grandmother. My dad was the go-between, and he was actually the one who took care of my grandmother as she was dying. My mother rarely visited her mother as she was dying, and could barely bring herself to see her before she passed.

Now that I'm where I'm at, pondering what has made me the way I am, I'm wondering how there could be so much I didn't see as a child. Could my uncle have been harming me, and my parents found out? Is that why we moved? Is that why I wasn't allowed to see my uncle? If so, why would they let him back in our lives? Did my grandmother know about this? Did she know about this and not do anything, and that's what happened between my grandmother and mom? If this did happen, why didn't my parents tell me? How could they not see a link in how troubled I was, the constant headaches, the stomach problems, the drugs, the promiscuity? How could they know, and yet, let me suffer?

I'm struggling with where I am today. My grandmother is dead, I cannot ask her what happened. My mother is such an emotionally shut down person, I couldn't imagine ever asking her these questions. My dad is an intelligent and very caring person, so I imagine there will be a time in the future when we will be sitting down and discussing this. In the meantime, I will continue to wonder where it all started. I will continue to reach for memories, despite the fact my mind tells me I don't want to remember. I just have to know. I just have to.

Things That Go Bump In The Night

My husband and I have just moved out of the rental home we'd been staying in since we moved here a year and a half ago. We moved across the United States, 2700 miles. We left behind my family, our friends, and the place where I grew up. We are now living where the husband grew up.

The rental house we were in caused me much distress. When we got into town a year and a half ago, we didn't have a place to live. Faced with returning our moving truck and getting a storage unit, we snapped up a house that upon first glance we thought would suffice. It didn't take long at all however, to realize what we had done. I grew anxious over the amount mold in the house, which I felt I could smell all the time. I could even smell it on my clothes when we left the house. It drove me crazy. I also had a great deal on anxiety about how old the house was, constantly worrying about the state of the electricity. I never once left the house without having some degree of panic, thinking the house would catch on fire while we were gone. It was quite the trial for me, dealing with the anxiety that this house produced.

For whatever reason, I believe this house reminded me of my grandma's house that she lived in when I was very young. My uncle lived with her at this particular house. I'd never in my life had a single flashback, nor did I ever suspect I may have been abused. This all started after moving away from where I grew up, and moving into this house. I've got extreme insomnia, so a couple of times I would go out to sleep on the couch in the living room so I didn't disturb my husband's sleep. He does make the money for the two of us. Every time I slept on the couch, which only ended being maybe 5 times, I had night terrors.

I've had lucid dreams before, but never night terrors. I didn't even know what they were until I'd had them a couple of times and looked them up on the internet. Whenever I slept there, I constantly felt someone was on top of me. It was a struggle to pull myself out of sleep, yet my mind was screaming at me to run. I just couldn't wake up. I was paralyzed. I'd finally pull myself out of this trance, only to realize I was "dreaming". I'd dose back off, and the same thing would happen. If I stayed on the couch, it would happen the whole time, with me waking up 10 times before I'd high tail it back to bed.

One night of terrors consisted of me swearing I heard the dishwasher hissing my name. Again, I would be unable to pull myself out of sleep and unable to move. I would finally manage to pull myself out, and try to dose back to sleep only to have the dishwasher hissing my name again.

I've since recovered a memory involving the couch in my grandma's old house, blood, pain, and my uncle. I do believe this is why sleeping on the couch in that house never really happened. And the only explanation I have for suddenly "remembering" all these things, is that it's possible the house triggered something. Something that has been dormant my whole life. I'm only guessing on that one though because I haven't even recovered full memories. I've only recovered snippets and body memories.

We are out of that house now. This has me curious as to whether memories will continue to come to me or not. At this point, I'm wishing everything would come back to me so that I can begin to accept it and find a way to move on and heal. Only time will tell, I guess.

Why The Name?

I feel I should explain why I chose the name for the blog that I did. I heard Gary Allan's song, "Get Off On The Pain" in 2010. It immediately resonated with me. You can find the lyrics to the song here. I think I work out a lot of what's going on with me through music, I always have.

My whole life has been about pain. I'm used to being there, I'm not comfortable anywhere else. And we're talking about emotional pain here. Don't get me wrong, I like physical pain but for now, we are talking about emotions. One of the first times I realized that I like to be miserable was in one of my first relationships. It was a fairly happy relationship, but I was not satisfied. I pushed, and pushed, and pushed some more. I started fights. Then I broke up with him. Immediately after the breakup, I went into a tailspin. I regretted my decision so much it hurt. I drove myself crazy trying to get him back.

I never did get that guy back. I did realize that I wasn't happy in a happy relationship, so I turned it upside down. The guy I dated after him was more... my style. We fought constantly, and we fought dirty. He cheated on me throughout the entire relationship. I took him back every time, I was obsessed with him. He was emotionally abusive, he would tell me I was fat and ugly, and no one was ever going to want me. I let him do this to me for 4 years. It wasn't until he grew tired of the relationship and moved on, that I was freed from this. And freedom didn't feel free at the time. I realize now I narrowly escaped from him, but it's taken 10 years after the fact to see this.

I ask myself constantly why I stayed. Why did I let him do this me? By the time he left, I had no self-esteem. Yet, I still let him do this to me until he left. I was hung-up on this relationship for years afterwards. It took me 3 years and many self-destructive habits later to finally feel as if I had moved on.

Why did it take me so long? I think it's because I liked it. I was used to pain, and unwilling to change. I was miserable and that's all I'd ever been. I couldn't make myself leave that spot. I'm in a very happy relationship now, and I will never let it go because I actively fear going back to where I was. Abandoned and alone. I almost didn't make it through the last breakup, I'm not sure I could retain my sanity through another one.

At least I've learned my lesson with relationships.