Thursday, September 7, 2017

9-7

A final death.

My love was not a real person. He was pretending to be a man he wasn't. I fell for it. I want to be angry at myself, but I have been hurt enough. I will be soft now. I will be gentle with my damaged pieces. Someone must be.

I'm trying to find the satisfaction in being right. My instincts, always, were sharp. I look back over our timeline and I see all the moments I resisted and dragged and argued, and he convinced me I was wrong, I was broken, I was mad.

You just have to trust me, he said.

My instincts were right. I want to go back in time and shake my shoulders and remind me to listen to the inner voice. I was lied to, manipulated, gaslighted.

I am not sure if I am in shock, because I am calm. I can no longer mourn the loss. He was not real. He was the monster, the dark brutal creature in the attic, the Devil with a pretty, earnest face and easy tears.

I am in shock that someone can be so cruel and heartless at their core. I did not think much could shock me anymore in my life, but I am just that. I am blown away by his level of deception. I recoil at memories of his touch, hands that were touching others.

I saw the signs and I ignored them, I turned away, or I listened to his words instead, poisoning my ears.

I am sorry to myself. I am sorry.

I am scared now. Everyone wears a mask. Are all of our cores rotten? How do I keep finding the same men, each worse than the next? He told me he was different, and he was right. He is crueler, he is blatantly more evil to me than anyone before.

I dreamed of my father last night, in the home he burned down. We were looking at the stars, the beautiful boundless night sky, and I told him my troubles. He laughed, because to him they are truths. They are deserved. There is a love I will always chase that does not exist.

"I don't see the big deal," my dream father said, and he wouldn't, because he is the same man. The same selfish drives, the same penchant for mind games. A sterner face, perhaps. Harsher hands. But I went seeking his opposite in the soft pretty boy who claimed to love nature and peace - and found instead his equal, warped like a shadow in the corner.

I looked up at the dream stars and forgot my dream father and he faded away. There were a million white lights above me and I read them all. They spoke to me and called me sister and I did not feel like I was broken into shards and fractions.

I felt like a million white lights.

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