I never told anyone about most of what he did or said. I told my best friend some things, the big things I guess. The times I needed to hear that what he did was, in fact, awful. I just always justified most of it, he didn't mean it, he was drunk.
In the beginning it was mostly ok, only ten percent cruelty. Always a lot of accusations, he always thought that I was screwing everyone. He's never taken care of himself, hopped from place to place, lived off of someone. For a very long time, the person he lived off of was me.
I had known him a few months before I found out I was pregnant. In those months before, it was already tumultuous. It should have ended before our son was made. He had already slept with other women, borrowing my car to do so... Yet, I stayed in it. I sound like an idiot, I know. He made me feel like someone so special, like a piece of art, said he loved my "otherworldness" . I was a kid, only twenty when I met him. He was so good to talk to and music was amazing with him. I felt as though I'd die without him or something. Man, was I wrong.
My friends and family hated him early on, tried to get me away. Every time he'd do something shitty, he would follow it up with apologies and do everything perfect for a short while. I would believe him and go round and round, push and pull, for years.
"You will never find someone like me again" I hope that is really true.
A trauma bond, codependency, or maybe I was just an idiotic wishful thinker, holding on to someone who didn't exist.
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