Us

I never thought it would come to this. I hoped and I wished and I might have even prayed once that this would stop, but it hasn't. And it's finally enough. I've had enough. I've had enough of people slinking off in the shadows, enough innuendo, bandwagoning, and enough blind people falling into a convenient narrative because it's more comfortable than taking responsibility for what they should. It hurts too much. I don't think people understand how much it hurts. Every time it comes up, even six months later, I have suicidal thoughts. That's how much it hurts. It hurts so much that my brain thinks, "Dying would help." I try to reason with myself, tell myself I'm being melodramatic, and try to trivialize my own feelings, but I'm done with that. I can't any more. It's literally hazardous to my health.

You know, people often like to tell me that so many people love me. I believed them. I guess in a way I still do, but the thing is... what does that even mean? What has that even amounted to? Why does that even matter? The vast majority of people who supposedly "love" me can't be bothered to show up, to dialogue with me, or even check in on me regularly when I've been crystal fucking clear that I've not been okay for a while now and crystal fucking clear why.

I was assigned by my therapist to write a list of people who love me, and she was impressed by the large number I managed without even completing it. I wasn't. What she should have asked was for me to compile a list of people I actually feel loved by. That list is much, much smaller. I try to reason it out. People have lives. People don't know what to say. Blah blah blah. The truth is I throw myself in front of the people I love and take bullets for them when they wouldn't piss on me if I were on fire. My boyfriend says that's not about them and he's right. That's a deep flaw of my own that I desperately need to work on.

Here's where I stand. You can't say you love me and not be there for me. You can't say you love me and talk shit behind my back. You can't say you love me and believe I'm married to a monster. You can't. Not any more.

I'm humiliated that for years I let people do this. I let them loathe my husband and love me, mostly because I was blind and stupid and thought they couldn't possibly loathe him as much as he feared but then I see how easily people re-write history and accept false narratives to make spaces unwelcome to us.

"Don't take it personally," you might say. "This isn't about you." Well, it is personal, and it's about us. I will not argue those points further. I'm so tired of being disappointed by people. Even if I didn't over-extend myself in relationships, this behavior is disappointing. How much does it cost people to do the right thing? How much does it cost them to be there for someone they love? I guess for most the price is too high, even if it isn't for me.

You don't love me. You love the idea of me. You love the shiny wrapping paper. You love me when I serve a purpose for you. You love me when I'm quiet and compliant and stupid. I don't need that love. Take it with you and go. I have what I need, and I'm done.