When I left my ex boyfriend in August I was fucking 87 pounds. I was sick, I looked unhealthy and I was in the worst shape of my life.
I used to be scared to eat, I’d have to walk on egg shells, I’d have to beg for the bare minimum, and I couldn’t even get that. I couldn’t even get my ex boyfriend to acknowledge me, or treat me like a fucking human being. I must have lost my mind because that begging for attention doesn’t sound like me at all.
I remember the mental breakdown I had a few days after my uncle died. I couldn’t fucking take it anymore. I was so fucking done with his shit I couldn’t believe I let it get this far. I remember crying into the backseat of my car after locking my keys in the trunk sobbing my heart out, staining my shirt and feeling like a complete failure. I was proving to my ex boyfriend that I can’t do anything right.
I remember his brief moment of empathy it was so fast I blinked and it was gone. Those moments weren’t consistent and they never lasted more than a few minutes. For a brief moment he’ll make you believe he actually cares just to choose himself at the end of the day.
I remember holding on to the lease for five days, the pen shaking in my hand as I was stood on the fence wondering if I was doing the right thing. Was leaving the right answer? Then my uncle died, and I remember crying all night waiting for him to come home. He never did. He got “really high” with his friends and passed out. He eventually came home with one cup of coffee for himself and then passed out afterwards leaving me to navigate the grief by myself.
“I’m sorry I wasn’t there for you but I’m here for you now so you can’t keep holding it against me.”
“My mom said I had to go out so I had to destress.”
“Your messy habits are showing and it’s a turn off. I don’t want to touch you because you stress me out when you’re messy and I find it unattractive.”
I remember all the nights (there were so many) where I would cry myself to sleep wondering what the fuck was wrong with me, why wasn’t I good enough, why wasn’t my best enough, what the fuck did I do to deserve this?
The final straw was after my twin brother died from cancer and he started argument with me the day after I buried him. The wounds were still fresh and he still refused to take any accountability for his actions. He told me he didn’t deserve to be treated this way and if I kept treating him that way I’ll lose him and possibly others too. (Ahh. Manipulation at its finest) I calmly told him I don’t need someone around who is going to argue whenever I call them on their crap and promptly blocked him.
I’m glad he’s gone. It amused me when he threatened to leave me. It wasn’t like he was ever there for me anyway. you were never there when I fucking needed you. Why the fuck would I want you around now?
Now here I am 2 months later looking the best I ever have. I now gained all the weight I lost during the relationship. I eat better, I work out regularly and I sleep better.
I’m surrounded by amazing friends, I have a stable job, and I’m living on my own again.
I take everything day by day. While I’ve made lots of progress There’s still a lot of emotional baggage to sift through.
I’m not fucking perfect but I do my fucking best.