The Truth Is, I’m Not Sure I’ll Ever Be Free From You


Trigger warning: Abusive relationships

I still love you. Yes, I still do. No matter what everyone has said about how I “deserve better” and how “I should never be treated that way.”

I still love you. And I don’t know why.

Recently, I stumbled upon all these pieces I wrote for you. I wrote about how much of a lovely, beautiful, and kind soul you were. I wrote about how difficult it was for me to accept my feelings for you when it came to it, yet I found myself still falling for you in the midst of all my anxieties and reservations about love.

But little did I know that the spaces between those words held manipulation, uncontrollable anger, and insecurities beyond what could be confronted.

You dragged me down to my lowest points when you felt like you were at your worst because you didn’t want to be alone in that dark, cold abyss that you made for yourself. I willingly allowed myself to go there with you because I wanted to see you make it through the worst. I believed in your ability to climb back out when you found yourself slipping back into the trenches, and I would do everything in my power to help you.

But like many others have said before: It is not my responsibility to fix you because I cannot fix you. No matter how much I want to help you, I cannot take your pain away without making it my own.

You don’t know how helpless I felt when you would reject every word of comfort or guidance that I gave you. You don’t know how scared I was whenever you lashed out at me at random moments of the day. You don’t know how scared I was when you grabbed my wrist too hard to the point where I thought you were going to hit me. You will never know how terrified I was, thinking that you would leave me if I didn’t give you what you wanted. I subjected myself to spoiling you with what you asked for so that you would never be upset.

I was walking on eggshells with you. Consistently. And part of me was afraid. Daily.

But the thing is that I still long to be with you despite my freedom from the abuse—which, quite frankly, is probably the worst outcome from this.

Because even though I am free, I will never actually be free. Not from you, and not from the very dark and mundane memories we share.

I suppose my humanist perspective still remains with me, even though I’ve tried very hard to be rid of it for the past few years.

And now at this rate, I don’t think I ever will be.