Warrior Status

Scars.

I talk about them a lot. I try to embrace them. I try not to dwell on them too much. Truth is, if I allow myself, I’ll get lost. Just looking at a scar, just thinking about how it got there, can just lead me down the rabbit hole. It’s like, I’m instantly back in that moment.

Everything’s so vivid. I can feel the weather that night. I can feel myself hit the concrete. I can feel the tears streaming down my face. I can hear myself yelling your name. Begging you. Begging you to stop. It’s like I’m there again. It doesn’t feel like years ago. It feels like minutes ago. That’s what sucks about these scars. They each have a story, a story I’ve been too afraid to tell. Well, tonight I’m ready to spill. . .

Those scars on my elbow? They’re from him. Everyone swore he was the victim. Everyone wondered why he put up with “me & my shit.” Only few knew the real truth. It’s sad really, because you always play the victim. You’re always acting so innocent, like you don’t deserve it. But baby, you do. You really do.

Do you remember that night? As clear as it is for me, is it like that for you? Do you remember why it started? Do you remember why we even had to fight? It’s so crazy to me, that you did all of that, but still held onto your lie so strongly. You refused to tell the truth. So no, you’re not the victim. You’re actually kind of an abuser, hunny.

You pushed me to the ground – off the stairs. You basically threw me, so you could take a “business call.” Business call is I guess what you call it when you’re funding the mail order brides lifestyle.

So stupid I was. I’m not sure why I became so obsessed with you. It’s pathetic actually. Remembering everything that I put up with from you. That was Christmas. Merry fucking Christmas to us huh? & all that time I still thought you loved me. So stupid I was.

I’m not innocent in this story though. Those scars on my wrist? I did those. Why? Well, there were a lot of reasons why, but what pushed me to the very edge? Another fight.

I was so confused. I thought you wanted me gone. But you made sure I didn’t die. No, but you know what broke me further? You saved me, you put me in an ambulance, and then you walked away. You refused to come with me. You just let me go. I should’ve known then… I should’ve let you go from that very moment. But I didn’t. I couldn’t. How stupid I was.

I allowed myself to suffer for years. For YEARS I suffered, my mental health deteriorated, meanwhile you were having the time of your life. You went on trips with girls behind my back. You claimed you were alone & they were “business trips.” God, how was I such a fool!? Everything, everything just sounds so made up, & that’s because it was. They were all lies. All lies fabricated by you. For what? If you really, really didn’t want me, why stay? If you were fed up, then why still show up? Why take me to dinners? Why still do all those things you were doing up until May 10th, 2019?

Your timelines are all messed up. I just want to expose you for who you really are. People thought we left each other alone years prior? But we hadn’t. Don’t forget that you helped me move out, you had dinner with me one last time then we finally said goodbye & I flew across the country. May 2019. We met April 2015. I didn’t talk to you for most of 2015. I should’ve never let you back in. Sometimes I really regret a lot of it. I try to just think of it all as a valuable life experience, but remembering how much of a fool I was? Just kills me. You allowed me to sink to my lowest. You claimed you hated it, but I really think you loved it, because you pushed me there.

You sat there & you watched me do it. & then I heard you took pictures & shared them with people? Of, what I used? You’re sick! You’re fucking sick!!! I did that because of you. Because you were pushing me to the very edge & I couldn’t take it anymore! I wanted it all to be done. I was hoping you would run away and leave me alone like you always did. I was hoping you’d just make up a story and leave. But you didn’t did you? You actually called the ambulance like a nice person.

I was such a free spirit before we met. I had gotten myself in trouble, but I was doing everything I needed to, to get out. To be finished with that chapter. Then you walked into my life, you took a caterpillar that was trying to transform. You wrapped me in the cocoon prematurely. & then you locked me in. You locked me in to rot. To die.

I got this tattoo, after you said you didn’t like girls with tattoos.
The next day you took me out again, you surprised me for my birthday. I took it as a sign. I thought you were my new moon… I thought this was our new beginning. I was wrong.

A year later, you took me to Miami for my birthday. I thought you were finally back for good. I thought we were finally going to have a chance at our “new beginning.”
I was wrong.

I was so strong back then. I was learning to love myself. I was learning to tune into energy and how to balance my own. Then you came into my life & just stirred everything up.

I won’t lie, I loved a lot of it. A lot of the impulsive decisions we made together were fun. The trips, the adventures, I loved all of them. I just wished you had done them because you loved me too. Now I honestly don’t even know why you did any of it?

If you didn’t love me, then what was it? What was your fascination with me? Was it because you could truly see all that I was capable of & you wanted to stop it in its tracks? You always claimed you wanted a partner, an equal. You would go after girls who looked “independent” & like they had “their life together.” But when that girl was me, you turned me into the most codependent human being there ever could be. You joked and called me “the baby” to people, but really you put me there. You liked playing the “daddy” part. It was weird. Now that I look back I’m just like, of course I was such a baby, you pushed me to be.

There’s so much I could say. There’s so much left unsaid on your part. But I don’t even care to hear it from you honestly. The only reason I’m writing this, any of this, is to finally get it out. To finally just release everything that I’ve never been able to say.

I took those pictures earlier & instead of being happy that I looked decent, I focused on my scars. I looked at them over & over again wondering if they’d be too noticeable. Editing the photo with different filters to see if they’d fade a bit. But fuck that! These scars all hold a story. A story screaming to be told. Little by little you’ll hear them all… as for tonight, that’s all folks.

Goodnight.

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