Heartbreak

It would have been simpler if you had just hit me with your fist. 

It would have hurt less had curled your fingers up and slammed your fist into my gut.

No. Oh no, you would never hit me. You claimed you would never give in to the urge to physically hurt me. You denied that the urge was there, but I could see it. Please. After nine years I can read you like a book.

On the good days we inspired each other, brought out the best in each other. On the bad days we would stand, six inches apart, applying the verbal lash over and over. Flaying one another to the bone, stripping defenses down until nerves were raw and exposed. 

Even after all those years, all those fights, all the pain, I never threw that kind of insult at you. I never said anything that literally took your breath away, never dealt you a verbal sucker punch. Don't get me wrong, I'm certain that I hurt you. Intentionally or not, I know that it's true. I know we both bear scars on our hearts. But I never spoke to you the way you spoke to me. I never poured salt on the wounds.

You took every single self-doubt that I had, every aspect of myself that I hated, and threw them all at me. I sat there, wounded, in shock, seeing the rage and pain blaze in your eyes like wildfire.

If you had just made a fist, punched me in the gut, maybe we'd still be together. 

No. You had to wound me and then grab the salt and just rub it in there, didn't you? 

Fat. Lazy. Selfish. Mean. Bitch. 

Those words hurt. Can't deny that. But I've heard them before. 

Do you want to know what the last straw was? The word that hit me like a fist to the gut?

Barren.

BARREN.

How dare you?

How DARE you throw that in my face? 

You. You of all people. You who knew how I struggled with that diagnosis, who saw me weep every month, watched me grieve for another lost chance every time I bled.

Four years of a thousand tiny deaths. Every birth announcement, every baby shower, every happy family in a grocery store: they all left a scar.

Countless appointments, driving back and forth to clinics to undergo tests and invasive medical procedures. Always alone because your work schedule wouldn't allow you to join me. Trying to reign in my crazy mood swings from the drugs so that I didn't take everything out on you. Slogging through life on a second-string antidepressant because it would be safer during pregnancy. Drawing fluid into a needle and shooting myself up with hormones in the bathroom, alone, because you're afraid of needles. 

If those scars were physical instead of emotional I don't think I'd have an inch of pristine skin left at this point.

You condensed all of that pain and anguish into one little word.

Barren.

It took my breath away. I felt a chill ripple from the tip of my skull down to my toes.

And it was over. Over. In that moment, we were over. No going back. No patching it up this time. 

It would have been simpler if you had just hit me with your fist.

Going through old emails, I found interesting things. I was in the middle of my "Boy of the Week/Cursed Vagina" phase. I fought for every single one of those boys when that week was up and they decided to end things (with the exception of Irish Guy since I was the one that ended that - with good reason). I remember fighting with The Genius because his reason for ending things was that his friends didn't like the fact that I had kids.

Looking back, it was probably stupid of me to fight them over it. Maybe it was the fact that I was jumping in with both feet every time that was driving them away. Or maybe I was just waiting for the guy who knew that the jumping in, the giving so much away, was a misdirection to keep them from seeing the parts of me that I didn't want anyone to see.

I've found that man, the one that stuck with me through that and who I have stuck with through hard times.

But here's a window into my past.

Below is the email I wrote to one particular boy who was the best of the Boys of the Week. He didn't get a nickname because I liked him enough to call him by his own. I wasn't honest with him at the time because I wasn't honest with myself, but the uncomfortable twistings I felt myself doing when he asked questions that went to the center of my problems started me on the path to being who I am right now, to admitting the reality of things and accepting them.

This post is a little bit apology and a little bit gratitude to that boy three years ago. He was only in my life for a week but he changed my life for the better.

---

So here's the explanation, my argument for being in your life.

Assume that if you got involved with me you'd be rebounding, as you have decided that you are. I think only you can make that decision since I am a believer that strong positive emotions know no time frame and can coexist with strong negative ones, can ride them out and that compatibility will exert itself regardless. You either don't believe that or you don't feel this to be the situation. If the latter, please stop reading right now because it is all a moot point.

Could riding out the rebound and finding out that we're no good together be any worse than what's happening right now? Well, I suppose that assumes that I can fathom how you feel about what's happening right now - which I can't - or that you know the depth of my affection for you (one of the reasons I like you so much).

I don't understand you. You render me incapable of playing games and make me want to know myself. I suppose that's a way of saying that I want you for selfish reasons, the way you make me feel about the world and myself, though I want you for more than that. It's the sum of you that makes me feel that way; those are the symptoms of the persistent intoxication/happiness and you are the cause.

I want to give you answers. I know that you wanted to find through all the questions that I am different than your exes. My answers didn't provide that reassurance. I don't know your exes well enough to tell you that I'm not like them, but I can tell you that I think you're wonderful and I have no intentions of deceiving you.

So part one of this argument is that I believe that the kind of relationship I seek, and which I see the possibility of, would outlast rebounding. If it does not, I would rather know and in the meantime create a hundred new moments that can be separated from whatever comes after.

For example, I have in my head this moment where we were making out up against my bedroom wall. I wanted you so bad that my muscles had a prescience. They felt the moment and I lived the moment, but I could feel the next, too, even though that next moment didn't come right then. My waist could feel your hands sliding down to my butt and my thighs could feel the weight of you between them. I can separate that moment from every other one. It's one of my favorites to relive.

The second part of my argument is that, assuming that the stars align such that it becomes an issue that you leave, aren't those moments in between worth more than the aftermath?

I'm a believer that we give too much weight to the bad moments. In my own life I'm learning to let the bad wash over me, experience it, forgive it but not forget it, learn from it but let the happy moments outweigh the bad ones. Even if this gets an icy reception, I have a dozen or more moments where I'm happy to have met you and been in your life for the exceptionally short time of one week.

Here at The Band, we believe in kicking stigmas to the curb, flinging glitter, and shining a light into the dark. And now?

Your bandmate needs a sounding board.

It's time to Ask The Band!

I sincerely hope you will take time to read my story. I hope you can give me some help or advice. I am completely heartbroken. I'm feeling worthless and lonely.

When my boyfriend (let's call him Steve) and I met for the first time I was not ready for a relationship. I was at a point in my life where I was completely happy alone and I wanted to stay that way. I also thought he was doing drugs on weekends and was a dealer. 

Still, I thought he was beautiful and that I could get to know him. We would be friends with benefits but nothing more. I would not let myself be emotionally attached to him.

We met twice and he was wonderful, not what I had expected. He was so much fun and cute. The third time, we slept together. Soon afterward, I got drunk while out with a friend and had a one-night stand that I didn't tell him about.

We were sleeping together for a couple of months. I was in denial that I wasn't in love with him, but I really was and I knew he loved me too. We kept "just sleeping together," but we also did many things that couples do. We officially started our relationship seven months after we met for the first time.

A few months afterward, he asked me if I had had a one-night stand and I told him yes, it had happened a few months before we met. A couple of months later, I could not bear to hold the truth in any longer. I felt like if he would forgive me and accept me for what I did, we were meant to be together and would be able to conquer all. If not then maybe we should not be together.

So I decided to tell him what had been on my mind for so long. I told him the truth that it had happened after we (Steve and I) had met three times and slept together once. He flipped. He said at first that he could not be with me anymore but he would think about it. When we talked together the next day we decided to make it work. 

Four months after I told him he went on a weekend away with his friend to another country where he got really drunk and kissed a girl. He told me she kissed him and that he went away as soon as he figured out what had just happened. I was devastated, completely crushed. I felt betrayed by the love of my life. 

I decided to be with him anyway because he was so sorry that he cried and told me it was a mistake. I never screamed at him once for this and never called him any names, I was just sad and cried. We stayed together and made it work.

For eight months after I told him when my incident had happened he called me a whore almost every day. Every time we fought it was because he was thinking about that incident. He told me he hated me, that I deserved nothing good, that I didn't deserve him, that he was a much better person than me, that he should be with a girl that didn't do such a thing, that I was disgusting, that I was a whore, that I should fuck off.

Whenever we fought about this I was scared to death. Three times he grabbed me by the neck, one time he lifted me up on the neck from the floor. Sometimes he grabbed me by the arms and shook me. Many times he held his fist up against me like he was going to hit me but he didn't. He told me "I'm so close to fucking hitting you right now you disgusting whore." About four times he pushed me so hard I fell. 

Whenever I mentioned I was sad about the incident that happened on his trip, he always managed to turn it against me. What had started with me being sad about what he did ended with him screaming and me being scared to death, holding my arms around my head in fear of him hitting me.

Every time after we fought I comforted him. I said everything was going to be okay and that I forgave him.

I was never allowed to be sad. He would scream "Why are you crying, you whore? You don't deserve to cry." I was crying because I was scared, because I was sad and felt like I was going crazy. I was also crying because I did not like remembering the one-night stand and he kept on reminding me. 

Two days ago we split up. 

He told me he could never be with a girl that did such a thing when we had already met. He didn't care when I tried to tell him that it was the biggest mistake I ever made and that I was never going to be emotionally involved with the other man.

When we split, he did not scream at me. We were just sad to be splitting. I asked him whether he thought a therapist would help or if he could ever forgive me. He said that he thinks that a therapist wouldn't help with this, that I disgust him and he will never forgive me. 

I was okay with ending things with him because I had been telling myself that I deserved better, that he may have been abusing me emotionally and physically during our relationship. So now come my questions. 

Do you think a therapist would have been able to fix this anger and his thoughts about this incident and that it could have worked out for us?

Do you think I'm crazy for asking this question because I am not supposed to want to be with a guy that breaks me down, has destroyed my self-esteem and has complete power over me?

Was I abused?

How can I fix my self-esteem?

Right now I only remember the good things and can't seem to remember the bad things. It is only when I describe this to someone that I realize that this was kind of sick. I never said anything to him when he screamed at me. I was desperate - and still kind of am - to make it work.

The people I have told say that he is not good for me and that I should be happy to be out. But why do I not feel it? Why do I only want to be with him and make it work? I am still so in love with him, even though I am not as crazy about him after all this.

Can you help me in any way?

We all have letters we'd like to send, but know that we can't. A letter to someone we no longer have a relationship with, a letter to a family member or friend who has died, a letter to reclaim our power or our voice from an abuser.

Letters where actual contact is just not possible.

Do you have a letter you can't send?

Why not send it to The Band?

You were my first love, there’s no doubt about it.

It’s a week from our anniversary, April 8. Happy anniversary baby, I wish I would be able to say that to you on that day. I won’t be able to and there’s no one to blame except me. 

I’m so scared. I feel like I made the wrong choice, but I had a good reason why I did what I did. I know I broke your heart. I heard it in your voice during our last phone call. I can’t even express how much it hurt to say I didn’t love you - it felt like someone was ripping my heart out. I never felt so hurt in my life, but I will never be able to know how badly I hurt you.

Did I make the wrong choice though? You weren’t just my boyfriend, you were my best friend and I lost you. You’re no longer mine. I want to move on, but the reason I broke up with you wasn’t even you.

It's so hard to move on when I can’t even hate you. I’m still in love with your eyes, your laugh, your voice, the way you held my hand, the way you cared for me, the way you loved me. I miss you so much. Why does it hurt so much?

I want you back in my life. I can’t even make sure you’re okay because I live so far away. You don’t deserve this. I’m sorry for what I did, I really am. If I could just hold you one last time, hear you say you loved me one last time.

I let myself be so vulnerable with you. I’m afraid one day I’m going to have to see you be happy with some one else, and all I can do is accept it and be happy for you. I promised you "no matter what," and I broke that promise. I wouldn’t blame you if you hated me. Sometimes I just wish I never met you. Maybe it wouldn’t have hurt this much.

I still love you though, so much. 

We all have letters we'd like to send, but know that we can't. A letter to someone we no longer have a relationship with, a letter to a family member or friend who has died, a letter to reclaim our power or our voice from an abuser.

Letters where actual contact is just not possible.

Do you have a letter you can't send?

Why not send it to The Band?

Because of recent events, you are back in my life.

Not physically, but you occupy my brain and I feel angry. I was just starting to move on and there you are. Just like every time I leave. This time is different, though. I no longer want what we had, but I am still very angry. And hurt. And angry because I'm still hurt. 

On some days, I wonder if it will make me feel better if I sent you something. Maybe start me down the road of finally forgetting you. Moving on to a life I so deserve. But I know that you still think that it was my decision and if I had only stayed, things would have gotten better.

But I know.

I know nothing would have changed. For 3 years, nothing changed. The empty promises never changed. The looks of disgust you reserved solely for me never changed. The venom you spat never changed. The repetitive but half-hearted apologies never changed.

We never changed.

I hate that I have to live with the guilt of walking away when it was your decision to not take your medication that drove us apart. I hate that five months later, my heart hurts as much as it did the day I finally said good-bye to you - to us. I hate you for loving yourself more than you loved us. Your selfishness is plain to me now. I never was going to win. And that is what breaks my heart.

You finally got me to admit that I loved you. Told me I had nothing to worry about. That what we had was special. Forever. That I no longer needed to be strong, because you would always be there to comfort me and be my protector. I no longer had to run from love but succumb to it, so I opened my heart. Wide the fuck open. But I knew. I wanted to deny it but I knew.

A part of me wept for the day I knew would come. The day you would finally tell me that you didn't really love me. You say that you didn't mean it when you said it. That you only said it because you knew it would hurt me, but you were wrong. It didn't hurt me. It destroyed me.

So here I am.

Broken. Hurt. Lonely. Angry. Alone. Longing for love, and it hurts. I hate that you awakened something that you were incapable of caring for. I hope to my core for nothing but good things for your life, but I also really wish I could tell you just how much you hurt me.

So here is my letter to you that I will never send. Maybe now I will begin to find some peace.

God, I hope so.