I once dated a guy for years. Years and years of my life were dedicated to a guy named James. He was everything, my God, you’d think I’d found the cure to cancer when I looked at him. When I met him, I was suffering with extreme depression. Little did I know that my pain, my brokenness was his desire. It was his fuel.
He was a guy in love with a broken girl, and he knew it. He loved that about me. It was a turn on for him, to love such a broken girl.
You broke me, damn it. You loved me, but only broken me. You couldn’t leave me, and you loved that intense feeling that if you did, I’d slit my wrists for you to come back. You whore, my scars are for you.
You knew when I was high, with bloodshot eyes, a heart swollen two times its normal size, and words that would ramble on and on from my little mouth and you’d let me be. I was encouraged by you to continue my medicated-high-induced phrases that I thought would save the universe, and recipes that included mixtures of mac and cheese and potatoes in the same dish. You’d take advantage of the extra-extra love I had for you that the pills gave to me. You would lay me out on a bed and addict me to the pills even more.
You loved the rush of sneaking out of your house and breaking your parents rules to come break down my bathroom door and cradle my bleeding wrists. Didn’t you know that a man isn’t supposed to get hard when a girl is bleeding and crying all over you? You loved the heroic feelings you got when you flushed my fat white pills and took my dirty razors, knowingly leaving my secret, untouched stash behind for me to run to when you left.
You loved to punish me when I did wrong. Loved to see my face contort and twist into pain with tears squeezing out the sides as your fingers invaded my insides over and over.
I never had a chance to get better and to become myself until you left. You’ve been gone for 2 years and in less than a month you’ll be home again. You’ll be coming to the same college I’m attending. You’ll be living in the same city I live in. You’ll be involved in a similar medical program I’m in. While you were gone, I built myself all over again. I don’t refer to myself as broken. I’m not involved in drugs. I don’t drink myself silly on my floor so I can stand your touch. I don’t tear at my skin with any sharp thing I can get my hands on. I don’t let myself get fucked to the point of tears and pain because I “deserve” it.
I’m getting married the same month you’re coming home. I’m terrified of how I’ll feel when you get back. I don’t want you. I don’t want to need you. I loved you so much. I gave all of myself to you, and you only took the parts that you wanted, chewed them up, and spit them at me the moment before you left me. My boyfriend now lets me be independent. He lets me be happy, and shows me life without the drugs, the punishing sex, the self injury, the crying. I created myself into a whole new person. I am whole. I do not need you or any other man to make me whole. I am independent. I don’t need a relationship to feel okay about life.
You are not my safe haven. Not anymore.