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I used to hate a lot of things around me, things like….well everything. I hated the world. I didn’t want to hate it, but I felt it hated me. I didn’t belong anywhere, because I had been everywhere….and everywhere is an exaggeration, I haven’t exactly been a world traveler, moving around after leaving home….living out of boxes, unpacking the boxes, throwing them out and then looking for new boxes to pack up yet again. I had seen, heard and been too many different things. I was a rebel, the perfect child, the problem child, the favorite child, the nerd, the angry one, the skinny one, the too tall one, the one with the bad acne problem, the one with the hair that was uncontrollable, the list of what I was and what I wasn’t was long. I was looked up to and looked down on. I was almost every type of person you could put a label on, but nobody who really knew me could fit me into a stereotype. I didn’t fit in anywhere. I didn’t belong anywhere. ..Some days I still feel that I don’t quite fit in.
I remember the first time I saw him. He looked shy but I didn’t think too much about him then. I just went on with my regular daily life. I had no idea then how much he would affect me, how much he would mean to me, how much I would love and respect him. How much he would change my life. That was before I loved him, before the long talks about anything and everything in the evenings, when we would just lay in bed, he over there and me over here, hours upon hours on the phone. We would talk about life and love and work and this and that and the other.
I remember the first time I knew I had fallen for him, no I don’t remember the day or the hour, but I just knew. I also knew that he had started to feel the same for me, and I knew that I needed to hear it coming from him. It was torturous, the phone calls, the distance that separated us.
From then on our love grew and flourished and the distance was an obstacle we worked with- not against. Sometimes we would just sit and talk about the most random things and talk about seeing each other and we told each other we couldn’t wait to be together forever. And we couldn’t wait to see each other, it was love and it was real.
It felt wonderful. I could finally be myself. At the same time, I was scared. There was still the possibility that he, like so many other people, would not accept me for who I was. He gave life meaning.
In time reality would rear its ugly head and confirm to me that he would not be able to accept me for who I was. The desire to change me into something that I could never be, something foreign to me, a good person, I just knew that could never be.
Back to being that me that would hide behind silence, no longer an open book, no longer willing to listen to the accusations, the imagined wrongs. Back to being that person that hated everything and everyone, in that world there is no one that wants to change me and I am accepted as I am. Love me as I am or don’t love me at all.
Disclaimer**Given the nature of the books I have been reading lately I am inspired to write a few short stories revisiting parts of my life that included episodes of domestic violence….I will be calling this series “The Ex Files” very clever right….lol….I thought so….it will be an amalgamation of my personal experiences steeped with those of others that I was very close to. The parallels are uncanny in some instances….but the patterns of abusers and abusees are almost always the same…it’s like the same behaviors are either taught to the next generation or there are some secret classes being held somewhere in some secret location.**