Hurt people hurt people series – 5 – Dear Hurter, I remember

Dear Hurter

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I remember.

I had a fantasy.  I tried to live it.  Of what we were like.  Of what we could be like.  Of what you were like.  Of what you could be. 

My fantasy was love bound.  I wanted to be loved.  For the whole of me.  My beautiful parts.  My ugly parts.  I maybe wanted to be love too much.  Unconditionally.  Because I got told not too long ago – I love too much, care too much. 

I would like to let you know that I love you.  Yes I do.  I have loved you moment after moment, for years.  Unreservedly, until the point where my loving you started to kill me.  At that point, the love I have for myself welled up and pushed back at the love I bore for you.  Because unlike my irrational self, my intuitive self knew.  My intuition knew.

At some point, my higher self told me this is not right, something is not right.  And slowly I started to listen.  I had no choice but to listen.  It was persistent.  I went backwards, down back into the beginning and started to remember. 

I remember the early days.  The love.  The attention.  The all the time togetherness.  The cannot wait to be with you eagerness.  The you cannot go now disquiet.  The anything for you generosity.  Anything for you no questions asked.  The you belong to me.  I will love you for ever.  And I think – you want to own people.

I remember all the insults you hurled my way, all the disrespect you showered on me, before others and also to others, whom you thought that they like me, were of no consequence to you.  I remembered asking that you treat me, treat us, like clients that you wanted repeat business from, and you saying you would not want our patronage anyway.  Talk about knowing your customer.  And I think –you are not a good service provider.

I remember all the people you pandered to, and never could question, because from your singular point of view, you revered them.  I saw their unconvinced faces, their mental sniggers flit across their visage, the looks exchanged, as you slung yourself over them like a satchel, so needy for their carrying approval.  And I think –the least of this world are greater than you.

I remember you never being on time for anything that was important to me, or any person that you thought was not important.  I remember the promises of help to us the insignificant, and you never ever coming through.  And we being put in the uncomfortable situation of giving impossible plausible explanations over and over again to the recipient of your unfulfillment.  And I think – you are not trusty.

I remember many arguments.  Which started with a simple request or a simple statement from me, about something I did not like.  Something that a simple sorry, and an acceptance or correction of behaviour would have appeased.  And the argument growing and morphing, into some great big monster that had no head or tail, and was just explosive crushing pain.  Thinking that this is happening so that I get conditioned to keeping quiet and never speak up again.  That this is all geared to shut me up and never voice anything apart from a submissive yes to everything you did or said.  And I think – you need to turn others’ voice dials down.

I remember the days of silence after.  Begging you to talk because they said communication was the foundation, not knowing that these foundations rested on a porridge of nothingness.  Begging you to say anything, because I believed that what you said was true.  Until I saw that your true was half a truth, twisted truth, untruth.  As time progressed and I no longer spoke, and days turned into weeks, into months, into years of silence, and realising that the silence was punishment that I received because I voiced anything, or did anything that you could not control.  And I think – you think you have power.

I remember the issues that always arose before every significant event or any travel that I had.  The goings on, and the last minute we need to talk about this and that, as I prepped to leave.   The ringing ringing ringing of my cell phone over and over over again, as I sat in the taxi on my way away.  And I think – you do not own peace. 

I remember the hourly phone calls, and that I was to always answer the phone.  That I was never to disconnect the phone, even when you were shouting, yelling, abusing me.  I was to hold it to my ear and take it all in.  Until I could not.  And I learned to put down the phone on the table, until you run out of words, and not accept any call after that.  And I think – you need constant audience.

I remember apologies.  Mine for whatever you had said, or done.  Me – who has such a heightened sense of justice, unjustly brought to my knees.  Yours that meant nothing because you said and did whatever it was again.  And I think – sorry is a tool you use.

I remember the time you said I was not able to think, and that I was to agree with all your view all the time.  And you could not agree that we could disagree.  I remember wondering how the creative, award winning, quick, sharply intelligent brain I had used all these years, was suddenly a mass of slush.  And I think – you have a warped mind.

I remember you getting annoyed that I did not ask for permission to meet my friend or to visit my family.  And my response that this was a mutually agreed upon relationship, that I was committed to and would do what was right for it.  And I thought – you cannot commit.

I remember you telling me that I was ugly, and not worth looking at.  And me questioning my face mirrored in your eyes, and wondering, what did you see then, and what were you seeing now.  And I think– your do not see reality.

I remember the nights of no loving.  And a spoken physical inability that did not worry you and did not require any medical attention, which mysteriously cleared up after a few months, as mysteriously as it had appeared.  I remember thinking, that that was meant to shrink my sense of attractiveness.  And I think –you draw no worth from your inside.

I remember the words of rejection spoken out loud.  That I am not the person you thought I was.  That I was not the person you married.  That I had changed.  That I was pretending to be an angel, and yet I was not.  Yes, I was not the same person, time had passed and I had grown and changed, but I had picked up no flaws in that passage, but had learned and bettered myself.  And I think –you have no ability to change.

I remember my words and opinions regarding people, situations and circumstances twisted and spoken back to me in mockery or as accusations that I thought I was superior, that I was unappreciative and condescending to others and what not.  I stopped having any spoken opinion about anything near you, and went silent.  And I think – you value no one.

I remember the phrases and words that were mine, and apart from being used against me in a while, would become yours.  Ideas that were mine, being appropriated and owned by you.  And I would be listening and thinking, wait – did I not say that a while ago about whatever.  I remember calling you out, and your feigning ignorance on the same.  And I think – you will never be original.

I remember the times you physically assaulted me.  In response to my aggression resulting out of my maddening furious frustration from the twisted accusations you levelled at me.  The dismantling of apertures to get into spaces to reach me.  I remember wondering how to flee.  How to escape.  I remember my surrender and what followed.  The hit.  The pain.  The blood.  The pleading.  The fleeing.  Seeking help.  The stitches.  The police.  And I think – you cause harm.

I remembered the lies – that my face met an object, and but never saying what or who that object was.  The neighbours peering at me in the following days.  The gossip.  The hot shame.  The scar.  And I think – you spread shame.

I remember being told that I must have done something.  That no one would do and say the things you did for nothing.  I remember being complicit and unable to explain your depraved accusations, and the unbelief when I could.  And I think – you cannot be explained.

I remember being told to suck it up and bear it.  That I was just annoyed, and I should take a break for a week or two, and everything would be alright when I got back.  That other peoples were going through the same, had gone through the same.  That they had borne it, and so should I.  And my response – that what I chose to bear was my choice – being declared an insult.  And I think – you try to turn the world against others.

I remember the many, many, many nights lying awake.  Wondering where you were.  Where your drunken revelling was happening.  As the promise to be home just now slipped into dawn.  Bawling in silence.  So that others would not hear me.  Wondering what did I do, what can I do.  The utter frustration of it all, trying to make sense of where I was.  And I think – you are lost.

I remember the mornings arising from those nights.   Getting up and going through the day, tired, worried, frustrated knowing that I could not, would not, but not knowing what the not was.  And finally the night I slept, and did not wake up until the next day, and you still were not there, and it mattered not as I went about my day.  The attempted explanation I declined to hear, knowing that it would not feature a police cell, hospital or morgue, and thus was not worth my ear.  And I think – you only seek your comfort.

I remember the times I got tired of waiting for you, all dressed up and ready, and you never showed up.  I commenced to arrange my own socials as you complained I now did not have time for you.  And I think – you consider that you have unending unlimited power.

I remember your attempts to isolate me.  Telling me that my friends were jealous of me, they were interfering with our lives.  And that we always had a disagreement after I came from seeing my family.  And I think – you are insecure.

I remember you following me into places and spaces.  You wanted to see what was going on, and gauge, how far they will take me away from you.  I remember you trying to stop me from doing what interests me, and being accused of selfishness when I had interests other than yours, or those that you could not follow me into.  And I think – you are copy cat fake. 

I remember the limitation of my movements.  You creating incidents, many humiliating ones, that would put me off driving, keep me dependant on you for rides, or not want to ride with you.  I remember my taking a stand and feeling driven to insisting that I must drive, no mater what, and I will drive alone.  My protest and boycott as I thought that this is a drive or drive situation.  And I think – you seek to limit others.

I remember the birthday and anniversary gifts left lying in an empty house.  Looking at them and wondering if I was the neighbourhood stray, with my share of bones left out.  Rejecting them, and never remembering to this day what they were, even after you begged me to take them.  And I think – you are not present in your own life.

I remembered the money that I worked for, that never worked for me.  The loans I paid, that belonged to you.  The monies you never paid back.  The financial plan that you derailed.  And I think – you will always take.

I remember my buried dreams.  The projects I started off, that you openly supported, but secretly thwarted.  The debilitating sapping hopelessness that killed all passion and endeavours and was the aftermath of me trying to survive you.  And I think – you do not know how to dream.

I remember stopping to feel.  For if I felt, it would be too much to bear.  I remember stopping to do the things that made me feel good.  Because I could not have the good feelings without the bad, and the bad was too bad.  And I think – you feel nothing.

I remember turning into myself.  Stopping to meet people.  Only going through the motions and not being present.  I remember the day I watched a movie I had watched already and I could not reacal any of it.  And I think – you can kill.

I remember the cycle.  First the love and attention.  Then the annoyance and rejection.  The pain and the hurt.  The promises to change.  And I think – you are pain on repeat.

I remember all the hurt.  I will always remember.  Even what I cannot recall – I remember.  Always. 

The Hurted.

Read next; Hurt people hurt people - series - 6 - Dear Hurter, I let go

Read previous; Hurt people hurt people - series 4 - Dealing the hurting