This week marks six-months since I left my abuser for the final time. Here’s my happy anniversary letter.
*** If you’re offended by swearing, please don’t read. I couldn’t write this without expletives! ***
It’s been six months since I got the hell out of your life. You claim not to understand why, but you do. The hitting, the screaming, the spitting, the morbid jealousy. The rage-stuffed rants and lengthy interrogations. The lies and the threats. Your paranoia-inducing drug habit and terrifying gambling addiction. Your inability to hold down a job. Your unwillingness to shoulder any of the responsibilities of parenthood.
Your belief that I should be the breadwinner, the provider, the problem-solver, the mother, the cleaner, the taxi-driver, the lover, the personal assistant and the perpetual-loan provider. Your cognitive dissonance in telling anyone that would listen that you would provide for our family whilst you do less than nothing. Your pleasure in trampling over everything that mattered to me. Your strangling of my joy, confidence, and self-worth. Shall I continue?
Anyway, you’re quite the catch, so it must have been a total shock to the system to hear I wasn’t coming home. Surprising, isn’t it, how determined I can be when I put my mind to it? You told me I was over-reacting, and proceeded with your textbook hoovering campaign. It must have been another seismic tremour when I resisted, instead of caving in like I usually did. Your stalking frightened me, but it also showed me that I made the right decision in walking away.
Your inability to grasp the fact that I was done landed you in hot water with the law. You weren’t even man enough to attend your own trial. You’re gone now (hopefully for good) and I’m bloody delighted. Wherever you are, I’m certain you are shoving the hat of victimhood on your large head and telling anyone around you that will still listen, that I’m the cruelest bitch on legs and I never actually loved you.
Though, on that last point you’re actually correct: I never loved you. I fell in love with a charming mask, and when you eventually dropped it I couldn’t possibly love you. The real you is a weak, hate-filled loser.
In all honesty, you probably knew (somewhere in the dark recesses of your chest cavity where your heart is supposed to be) that I’d leave for good one day. Still, you’d rather chew off your own leg than admit you are abusive. Unless, of course, you thought those words – once said – would forever absolve you of responsibility for being, let’s face it, a total tosser.
I don’t need you. I never did. Six months without your crap and I’m already feeling more like me again. I am doing just fine, and our child is thriving. Now, I can see the day when you are nothing more than an unpleasant footnote in my life-story.
> A huge thank you to you Avalanche readers and fellow bloggers, for helping and inspiring me over the last six-months. It’s been a real journey. I appreciate you being part of it.
What do you wish you could say to your abuser? Have you told him exactly what you think, or are you saving your breath?
ALSO SEE: The hidden costs of escaping domestic abuse, in Is leaving your abuser worth it?
© Avalanche of the Soul, 2013-14