Goodbye.

I’ve stopped counting how many times you have made me feel so small and powerless in the last five years. I know it’s been at least once a week. Once a week for five years. That’s a minimum of 260 times. I know there’s more.

Just like the excuses pouring out of your mouth when you’re angry or regretful. I have no idea how many of those there have been, but I know that there is no end to them.

Flushed cheeks, short breath, my limbs grow heavy yet light at the same time. If you’re looking for it, you can find my heart at the bottom of my stomach. I can’t move, but all I want is to escape.

I can’t physically do so because I have done so before, and nothing has changed. I start the drive mad at you for making me feel the way you have, and I circle back to our driveway two hours later, mad at myself for not finding the strength to leave.

Once more, I’ve tricked myself into thinking that you’ll change, that I was at fault, that maybe you were right. Maybe it was my fault that you threw keys at my face, or broke the window or threw the Christmas tree on the floor.

Next time I’ll be quiet, I’ll listen to you more closely, I’ll be good, I swear I can be better. Deep down, I know I won’t. That I already do. So I shift the blame.

You were tired, anxious, having a hard time. I’ll be mad at myself for not believing you when you said you were a bad man in July 2017. I’m still mad at myself because I still believe it’s not true.

I still believe that behind all this anger and rage, there’s a good heart.

There’s a wounded child just looking for love and validation. What’s changed is that I don’t believe I can give it to you anymore.

I changed. You changed me. I didn’t screech before, I didn’t throw glasses at the floor, I didn’t look through phones, I didn’t cry myself to sleep silently next to someone I loved, I didn’t doubt my every move, word, breath that I took, I didn’t hide from everyone I know.

Suddenly, my anger is shifting again. Because I’m not just losing you. I’m losing animals, your parents, some semblance of safety, the future I thought we would have. You took it away from us with every insult, belittling laugh, broken objects and other women.

I snap back into the present, and you’re waiting. You’re waiting for me to answer you. What did you ask? I don’t know; I wasn’t listening. I can see the anger rise up in your eyes again. I’m selfish. I never apologize. I’m dumb. Stupid. A cunt. A cow. A bitch. I’m sorry. I’m not good enough. I’ll do better next time.

I feel stuck. In my body, my mind, my life. Why am I here? Why is he so mean? What have I done? I need to leave. I need to breathe. He can’t see me catch my breath otherwise he’ll suck it back in.

Syphoning my soul through his hatred. Why is he so hateful? He’s so nice to everyone else. What have I done? Do I deserve it? No. I don’t. I know I don’t, and yet I’m still standing here. A part of this union, this world that I have created and for some reason can’t let go of.

Finally outside. Breathe in. Breathe out. You’re great. You’re beautiful. You’re intelligent. You don’t deserve this. One day you’ll find the courage to leave. One day. I promise you, one day you’ll leave.

I left. I’m here. I’m out. I’m gone.

But am I? What if he asks me to come back? What do I do? Do I even love him? Does he love me? Does he love himself? We said vows. We’ve been through so much. There is still so much more to go through, but I’ll have to go through it alone, because he has decided to live his self-hatred through me. Now I am hating myself through hating him.

Why am I so sad to have broken his heart? He broke mine with every broken promise of therapy. Of change. He broke my heart with every withering stare.

He still breaks it when I think about the fact that I have to tell him his cactus is dead. That I killed it by mistake. I’m still scared, and he’s two hours away.

I’m broken into a million pieces, and yet I’m scared I broke his heart. Is it weakness? Has he been right since the beginning? Am I the one who will break his parents’ hearts? It shouldn’t matter. But somehow it does. Why don’t I want every bad thing to happen to him? Why do I still want him to win? To survive? To be happy? To find love?

Sometimes when I focus on something else, I can convince myself that he doesn’t exist. That it was all just a dream. Or a nightmare. That maybe I didn’t live it. That it wasn’t real. That I’ll wake up and be the person I was five years ago.

Anger is looming its ugly head around every corner of my brain. I’m angry with myself. For not moving on earlier, faster, better. If only I had left earlier. If only I could heal faster. If only I could’ve done it better. I’m angry with him. For being him, for screaming, for destroying my inner peace.

Sadness is holding my hand every time I am reminded of him.

Fear grips my throat when I think of his fucking cactus.

Dread pools at the bottom of my stomach when I think about signing divorce papers and separating our belongings.

Our belongings.

And to think we belonged to each other at some point.

I am back to belonging to myself and myself alone. I am the only vessel through which my emotions will live.

To live.

I haven’t been living for the past five years. I’ve been scared. Scared that if I say the wrong thing, he’ll get mad. That every good moment will end soon due to his temper.

That every tear I shed might be the one to drive him over the edge. That my emotions were not as important as his.

Here I am now. Wearing this baggage like a cloak around me. Every time I think I’m taking it off, a piece remains. Maybe a piece will always remain. I hope not. But I also hope so.

Breathe in. Breathe out. You’re great. You’re beautiful. You’re intelligent. You don’t deserve this.

One day you’ll find the courage to leave. One day, I promise you, one day you’ll leave.

I can be brave, so I’m going to give it a try. Maybe I’ll meet myself on the other side.