Understand. And love.
We’re here. And we care.
“I forgive you.
As I tried to gather all my strength to stand up again, he struck me down. Those same arms that used to lift me off my feet, swirl me around and land me down with a kiss. My knees felt like jell-o. I hated the feeling of fearing this man, the same person I had known to only love and adore.
I couldn’t tell what that look on his face meant. He looked disappointed in himself, yet didn’t seem to want to stop what he was doing. There was so much pain on his face. Maybe he was only trying to make me feel what he was feeling and I was trying to tell myself, it was okay. Whatever he was doing to me was okay.
It had been three months, three months since his mother passed away. At first he found solace in being alone. Then along came alcohol. Eventually, all that was suppressed only found a way out when he was intoxicated.
It started with a lot of misplaced anger or at least I would like to think it was misplaced. He’d come over, sit silently for a while and then suddenly burst out about the smallest of things. For example, if the music was turned on too loud. He would just out of the blue get really, really angry. This was a new side to my soft spoken, forgiving, passionate man. I convinced myself this was him still finding a way to grieve.
My favourite memory of him, one that accurately described him, was when we made a weekend trip with our friends to a place on the outskirts of town. A mutual friend who had problems with drug abuse, stole his wallet. He knew his pin and blew away all his money on booze and drugs and completely disappeared. Once we got back and tracked the card, we found out it was him.
He came over to apologize. My guy listened patiently, and at the end hugged him and said not one word. I was surprised that I was more infuriated than him. How could he just let this go?
The misplaced anger had soon turned into him forcing himself on me. There was no “love” in the love making. It felt like he didn’t really want me, he just wanted to hurt me. So many moments I didn’t even recognize this man who was inside me, this man who looked like he wanted to tear me apart, all for his pleasure. The first time he hit me, he was broken himself. He spent days apologizing. He couldn’t believe it himself.
Honestly, I want every girl to know or just be aware, that once he hits you, it’s never going to be just “once”. It’s like once they’ve crossed a line they can never go back to the other side. And it becomes something that they never thought they could do, but did, and can do again.
We’re not together anymore. It’s been three and a half months now. I still get drunk texts from him. I know he is far more miserable now. The last several months that we were together had taken away so much from me. I never thought that his bruises would imprint themselves so deeply on me that my entire life would change.
But, you know what? I forgive you, my sweet love. I am so sorry we couldn’t make it. I am going to remember you for the pure soul I know you still are. I know you’re suffering immensely right now. I know you need me. I hope you understand that I left because I couldn’t let what you meant to me, ever change. We’ve been through so much together but because of you even a friendly shove from someone suddenly gives me flashes of you charging at me. Looking at myself in the mirror, I can’t help but notice the fading scar around the edges of my lower lip. I’m going to brush this away. I promise.
I am going to brush you away. But wherever you are, my foolish heart still wishes you’re okay. I hope you can find a way to be happy again. I forgive you because of how forgiving you were.
I forgive you because I want to pick myself up.”
-Someone who wanted to remain anonymous.