You Don’t Deserve This, But I Do

8 weeks. That’s how long its been since our last correspondence. In the grand scheme of things, it doesn’t seem like all that far off in the distance. And yet, at times, it feels like all of it happened in some other lifetime. 

As the title suggests, you certainly don’t deserve any more of my time and attention. But maybe this is the therapy I need to move on, to get over you and what you did. You never gave me what I deserved, never treated me the way I should’ve been treated. So I’m taking the time to take care of me. 

I lost myself faster with you than I had with anyone else. But then again, you turned out to be the biggest monster of them all. Heartless. Soulless. Emotionless. You deserve to rot in the deepest, darkest, and hottest caverns that hell has to offer. 

Despite my newfound knowledge, and replaying your lies and bullshit drama over and over in my head, I still struggle with the idea of letting you go completely. And that’s exactly how you want it.

The inability to move past those horrific 10 months does nothing but fuel the fires of frustration, bringing the memories of you to the forefront of my mind. Reliving every argument, every lie, every situation that you put me through. That, alone, is infuriating. To know that even though you are no longer a part of my life, nor will you ever be again, the thought of you still dominates my mind throughout the day. 

Don’t be so flattered. They are never happy thoughts. In fact, I’m quite proud of myself in the aspect that nearly every good memory I have while in your presence, can be thought of without you. Yes, that’s right. When I had a good experience in your company, it was the situation I enjoyed more – making it so easy to just erase you altogether. 

Little Big Planet Go Kart racing. Boyce Mayview Park. Lindsey Stirling. I enjoyed those things so thoroughly that it was as if I were a lone spectator to those events, watching my body experience it, but still hearing my thoughts, still feeling my emotions. For once, it was about me. 

But the majority of the relationship was about you. Always. About. You. 

And your harem. 

Or your wild, unbelievable lies. 

And how you were always the victim in every situation. 

And when I called you out on each of these things, there was always an excuse. And a lot of gaslighting, making me believe that I was misconstruing the entire situation. Or being too sensitive and insecure. 

For awhile, I really did think I was crazy. I thought there was something wrong in my head; that my mental state was deteriorating so quickly that I must be on a steep slope with no chance of recovery. 

At my lowest point, I’d confided in you my plans to kill myself by pulling my car into the garage I had just emptied and sitting there while letting the engine hum softly as the garage filled with the fumes of exhaust. I told you I was planning to kill myself. And your response? 

“It’ll never work. That garage is too big.”

Are you fucking kidding me?! 

Any other NORMAL person would’ve scooped me up in their arms and comforted me, not letting go until they knew I wouldn’t harm myself. Or maybe taken me to the hospital or called 911 for help. But you?? You tell me I’m wrong and it would be just one more thing I couldn’t do right.

You always made me feel like that; that no matter what I did, it was never enough. I could’ve served you the world on a silver platter and you’d complain it wasn’t gold, or that you wanted the rings from Saturn instead.

At times, I wonder if you made that snide remark hoping I would do it just to prove you wrong. I decided against it for several reasons. Sadly enough, two of them were 1) I didn’t want you to steal my car, and B) I didn’t want you playing the victim in this situation. Especially since you would’ve been the cause.  

Over the past two months, the idea of suicide has crossed my mind more times than I care to admit. It’s something I still struggle with, but I’ve won the battle every time so far. What is it that keeps me going? 

A lot of it, I must confess, is that I can’t stand the thought of how much it would devastate my friends and family. Since I lost my best friend from high school to suicide, I know first hand the horrors and scars it leaves behind. 15 years later and I am still haunted by it. The sorrow, the grief. The loss. Death is certain and permanent. A part of life. But when a loved one unexpectedly and suddenly leaves you, especially by their own hand, it takes a different kind of toll on your heart, mind, and soul.

I could never. Ever. Do that to my parents. To Jayme, to Marcus, to Kelley. I don’t have many friends, but the ones I keep, I keep so very close.

Not to mention, I will not let you have that victory over me.

You, however, just need to not exist.

Because you bring no good to this world. You claim you have no close friends, no family that you can tolerate. Guess what? That’s your own doing. Your selfish, careless, thoughtless nature can be seen by others. You’re not someone that they want to keep in their lives, because you only take what they are willing to give. You offer them nothing in return. You are self serving.

You’re narcissistic, a sociopath. You emotionally and psychologically abuse people. That’s what you did to me. And I’ve watched you do it to others. Or, at the very least, I’ve seen the after effects. No one deserves that. Therefore, you don’t deserve anyone. You deserve to die alone, without your harem, without your supply. Everyone else would be better off that way, having to never deal with your manipulative, evil ways.  

And even though I hate you for now, I cannot. CANNOT. Go a day without thinking, “Is today the day I’ll hear from him again?” 

Which brings me back to the question of, “Why?” 

Why, despite everything you’ve done to me, what you’ve done to others, why do I even want to hear from you? I think I’ve made it very clear my disdain for you and how worthless I think you really are. So what gives? 

Well, my crafty, clever little narc… you are so skilled that you’ve successfully created cognitive dissonance within me. Yup, that’s right. You’ve damaged my head and my heart so much that they are constantly at war; one thinking logistically, pointing out the facts as I found them to be true while the other refers back to the positive emotions I felt, despite them being attributed to feigned emotions and personas from you. 

You have literally caused an addiction in me to you. And we all know addictions are never good for someone…

In the beginning, things were amazing. I’d felt the best I’d felt in a long time. We shared similar hopes and dreams for the future. You were sweet, we talked all the time, staying up until the early morning hours. You made me feel like I was someone special. Like we were meant to be together; a perfect match. 

Well, my brain, being functional and all, decided to spew out those pleasure inducing neurotransmitters whenever I was with you or even talked to you. Because it was amazing. At first. 

Once you planted those seeds of being this awesome, one-of-kind, just-for-me person, and I fell in love with you, things started to change. 

You didn’t talk to me as much anymore. When you did, it was usually about someone who was flirting with you, or saying they wanted to kick my ass because I didn’t deserve a guy like you. Or people putting me down to you, saying you could do better than me. Exes popped up every other day. 

So how did I respond? I fought for you. I did what I thought was best, giving you anything and everything you wanted, trying to prove to you that I was the right girl, the best girl for you. That what they had to offer couldn’t compare to what I had. 

I was exactly right in that. But I should’ve never had to try to prove it to you. 

For a long time, I wondered what was wrong with me? What had I done in a previous life, or previously in life, that warranted karma wanting to rip my head off, spit down my neck, and kick me in the crotch? I mean, what had I done to deserve your torture? 

It took months and months, hours upon hours, perusing Facebook, Instagram, and Twitter. I was looking for support, for hope. I needed to know I wasn’t alone, despite my heart aching for every other person out there that knew exactly what I was going through. 

And one day, it happened. A single post struck a cord within me that finally made some bit of sense. 

“The turning point in narcissistic abuse recovery comes in the moment you discover that you were targeted, not because there is something wrong with you, but because there are so many things right with you.”

I wouldn’t say this has truly been my turning point, at least not in my overall recovery and healing. It did, however, open my eyes to the fact that I am good enough. And certainly too good for the likes of you.

That quote has helped me tremendously. And I have countless others saved to my phone, my email, my social media accounts. All ready at a moment’s notice, should I need that extra bit of support.  

Ultimately, it has led me to realize that fell in love with myself. All of the good qualities I thought I saw in you were actually you just mimicking them back at me.

You learned all the respectable things to say, the appropriate ways to act. And then once the fangs were in and the venom started to flow, you reverted back to the sick, pathetic ways of your own personality. 

Granted, I am still a long ways from loving myself, inside and out, top to bottom. I am still working on that. But when I went from thinking so poorly of myself that DEATH would be a better option than taking up space and wasting oxygen, to realizing I have a pretty face and an even more beautiful personality, I’d say that was pretty monumental for me. 

At one point, you had me. You had the chance of a lifetime. Never again will you ever encounter another me. Never again will you be permitted another chance with me. And I’ve lived long enough to know that you won’t find what you threw away. And you’re going to regret it. 

Leonard… you have taken me to the deepest trenches I have ever encountered in my 32 years of existence. But you will not get to see me at the pinnacle of my life. Because one day, I will wake up, and my head and heart will be on the same page. And neither one of them will be mentioning you, ever again. 

And I can’t fucking wait for that day to come. 

 

 

Leave a Comment:

SCROLL TO TOP