Women & Heartache: My three year anni{misery}

Break Ups, Dating, Love, Relationships, Uncategorized

I knew that some day when I’d eventually meet someone new that he would know; not because he was told but because he’d be able to feel it; that he would be able to feel my love for him fading and eventually dying.

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We always knew each other so well, he knew every smile, every eye roll, every “it’s fine” when it wasn’t because he made it that way. We’d start speaking at the same time {and it would always be about the same thing}. Our bodies mirrored each other the same way our minds did.

There was a time when we were perfect for each other, but that time was short lived.

It’s officially been three years and one day since the fateful end of our relationship. The timeline of our demise has become somewhat blurry but I believe we died the day he decided to give me my very first blue eye. Three years has since passed since I felt the sting of that man’s hand against my face. Three years since the day he put his hands around my neck and suffocated me. Three years since he literally wanted to kill me. Some would say it’s been long enough for me to be okay by now, for some to question why it still hurts this badly; those people clearly have never known heartache the way I have at the hand of someone they loved, I pray for their sakes they never do. There’s been many things since that “three years” but what it all comes down to is heart ache, heart break, heart wrenching & heart gutting anguish and turmoil and every other adjective to describe the falling & breaking of a woman…to a pit so deep that the light at the end of that tunnel is no where to be seen.

You see heartache is no joke, it is not something to be taken lightly, it is not something you simply “get over” or “move on” from. No…heartache is a disease that has no cure, something no doctor can medicate. There is no magic pill for this kind of shit, and so you deal with the shit in the best way you know how. I have, whether it has worked or not remains to be seen but what I can say is that the fear of having my heart ripped open again has been the sole reason for the erection of these walls {I just said erection, hahaha}; these walls that not only prevent anyone from coming close enough to hurt me, but seemingly also prevents anyone from coming close enough to make me happy. And happiness could be the very cure that I so desperately need.

A friend of his always said “the two of you have such a strong chemistry that it borders both passion and insanity”, he’d say “julle is so lief vir mekaar dat dit julle mal maak” {you guys love each other so much that it literally drives you crazy}.

I remember telling him after the break up that I wish to never speak of him again, to never have to say his name, to never have to hear it being spoken in my company…but in that same breath I also asked him “tell me how do I explain to someone what I am without doing that? How do I tell my story without sharing yours, and ours?”

The simple answer is I won’t ever have to because the right man won’t need me to explain. The pain and torment I experienced at his hand will eventually be erased by the gentleness of another’s. The words he uttered to me, will be erased by the kind words spoken off the lips of another. One day there will be another who will come to live in my heart when it’s ready to open it’s door.

So who is this “other” you may wonder; well this is what it’s been about of late; the battle of the two; the one who instantaneously broke down my walls from the day we met, the one who when I see him literally makes my heart skip a beat, taking my breath away, the one whom I just can’t seem to stay away from…yet I manage to do just that

*because then there’s The Architect, who just so happens to be someone worth writing about

**but that’s a story for another day

***happy anni{misery} & a day, to me

 

 

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Women & Relationships: When you’re living dead

Abuse, Break Ups, Cheating, Death, Love, Relationships, Sister, Uncategorized, Woman, women

After the break up two years ago I found myself doing something I’d never thought I’d do again so soon. Grieving.  The death of my relationship, but most importantly the death of me, the person I was before him.

You see, an abusive relationship kills you, figuratively and more often in some cases, literally. In my case it was the latter; my eyes were open, there was air moving in and out of my lungs, but there was no life inside of me. Inside, I was as good as dead.

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In the notebooks I found recently I can trace back the first violent incident to August 2011. He threw a plate at me for going out with colleagues after a work function. I can trace back the first lie to the very day we met again in April 2009 when I asked him “who’s car is this” because I knew what car he drove, and the one I saw that night was not it. “It’s my mechanic’s” he replied.  It wasn’t and I later found out that it was the woman he was living with, the women who called him her boyfriend…his girlfriend! It was her car! And I was in it. {Funnily enough, the mother of his child told me many times how he would come pick her up in my car and go out on dates, I never believed her because he always said she was lying…that’s karma for you}

Fast forward to May 2014…the day I told him to please leave, once and for all, and for the last time.  And so it started, as though what had been going on for the past few years wasn’t enough.

I spent each day after that last day in denial {yes, I hoped he would come back, and say he’s sorry…again} the pain, anguish. The anger and sadness overwhelmed me. I spent most mornings driving to work in tears and most night’s awake suffering from insomnia. Even when I could manage a few hours of sleep they too were tainted with nightmares, night sweats, heart palpitations & restlessness. My breakdowns were so severe, I couldn’t move, talk, and think…I was numb.

I never recognized this person, when I looked in the mirror or caught a reflection of what I had become. 2014 was a horrible year. I couldn’t let anyone see me like this, so I stayed away from everyone. The lies I told, oh my word the lies. All the “I’m fine’s” and the “It’s okay’s” and the “I’m busy I can’t make it’s”.  I was so good at it. Or so I thought,

My daughter, she suffered while I suffered. I couldn’t help myself so she tried, but was only 7 years old, it was never her job. I hope she knew it was never her, I tell her that now. She believes me. She says she’s happy to have her mommy back. I wish I could say the same because the person that came back is not who I was, I am not sure who she is quite yet…but I do believe she is getting better. My daughter say I smile a lot more, I laugh a lot more too.

But there is still so much anger inside of me. I feel it when comments are made that brings back a memory or two. In fact, just yesterday I got told in the most condescending tone of voice I have ever heard directed at me…“Look here, I know YOU  went through a bad time in YOUR relationship, but I …I actually give a damn about mine” And this was my sister. Hearing those words hurt me, it was unexpected and caught me completely off guard. All I asked was if she wanted to come with me to the food market on Sunday, but her finace is going to rehab because he is apparently a drug addict, yet she chooses to shout at me instead of leaving him… and I lost my shit and told her as such.

No one has the right to assume what it was I went through, what that “bad time” was like. No one has the right to talk about it in my absence or reference it in my presence unless I brought it up. This never happens, because I can’t ever bring myself to start telling someone my story. I try, so I share pieces of it, bordering on headings and summaries…and I wish I could, I wish I could see someone’s face as they hear what I have to say. So I can see the horror in their eyes, because that is what it was, it was horrible. It was absolutely horrible.

I cried last night. I cry often these days, as it leads up to the anniversary of the death of me, us, and him…the tears serve as a reminder. I don’t like these memories anymore but I know they won’t go away until I make new ones, with someone who is not him. With someone who’s love won’t hurt me. With someone who I am not scared of. With someone. Else.

And right there is where I find myself, stuck, because it’s kind of hard to live let alone love, when you’re dead.

Single & Dating: Never mind I’ll find…someone NOT like you

Dating, Love, Relationships, sex, Woman, women

I was told that the only thing a man would ever want from me is sex. That he will use me until he gets what he wants and then discard me like the nothing that I am. That there is nothing about me worthy of love. That I am vile and vulgar and disgusting.

I am many things, I do a lot of weird and crazy shit; the words that come out of my mouth totally trucker worthy, there are indeed days that I can be unlovable, those days are far and few in between and can be summed up in three letters {PMS}. But the real me, the me that I was before he broke me was, even my worst, the best thing that could have happened to someone.

However, hearing those words spoken over and over has been the main reason why it has taken me so long to finally be ready to move on. Fear. And the fact that he punched out any sense of self-worth I had…you know, emotional wounds take a lot longer to heal than the bruises do.

This is why I spent one year by myself, completely withdrawn from everyone including friends & family. At some point I couldn’t differentiate between those who wanted to hug me and those who wanted to hurt me. So I just avoided everyone.

I never met anyone new. I never put myself in situations where there would be new people to have to introduce myself to.

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I was so scared that what he said would be true and that whatever goodness was left inside of me would be taken and  used by someone who had no intention to love me. So I stayed away from it, from love. From everything.

This did not help me either. I looked at other women who were able to move onto a new boyfriend just weeks after a devastating break up. I couldn’t understand how they managed to do this. I spent most nights crying and then most days trying to pretend I never cried. I wasn’t doing well so how on earth could I be with someone new? I was sad all the time, nothing made me happy, I drank too much; most times alone. I had little or no idea how to crawl back out of this hole I had dug for myself, how could I invite someone else into my hole? The idea of someone having to come and fix me was unbearable, why would I do that to another person? Why would i do that to myself?

Then someone said to me “You are such an amazing person, but you will never allow anyone to see that because you are so scared of being hurt, you do know not everyone is out there to “get” you right?”

The answer was no, I did not know that. And it was at this point that the possibility of all men not being violent, aggressive, jealous, disrespectful and vicious asshole beings I was lead to believe they were arose. And it was this possibility that allowed to me to start {and I must announce soon to be completed} “not all men are assholes, in fact they are beautiful beings that want love as much as we do…and sex, lot’s of sex” adventure.

I also realised that I needed new people, staying away from them was never the answer. I needed them to show me everything he wasn’t and I needed them to show me that they are not what he said they would be, and I needed them to show me that I will be okay with someone new, one day.

*Even if that day is not today.