Thoughts #13
I felt like a target. His needles stuck in me. A voodoo doll meant to be twisted and torn apart until there was nothing left of me. He beat me at my own game. I fell face first into a trap I was certain I had made myself. But he caught me. My misery held no effect towards his distant and cold glares. He lied to everyone, blatantly and as if honesty was a ploy in his nature. A façade meant to break down the strong, because all he’s ever known is his own weakness. A meek little thing, scared to death of the unknown, and so he towered over me like a giant to an ant and squashed me whole as if I meant nothing at all. My anger comes and goes and boils in my blood. I shake with an unfamiliar rage and it sickens me to the core. I am overcome with a form of embarrassment that holds my grudge to my chest. What exactly was the endgame here? To feel powerful? To gain control because losing me meant losing everything? He did lose everything. Respect. Validation. The atmosphere he’s created is full of fog and it hangs in the air of that damned to hell building. So thick he can’t see past his own culmination of betrayal and the darkness he’s injected into our minds. The grim and frightening wrath of man too insecure to admit he was wrong about everything. Possessive and grossly obsessed with clinging to my wrists until they bruised. Like a little boy refusing to give up his favorite toy to a peer. I just wanted the change. The step forward, because I was hitting wall after wall and being lifted up on his shoulders was meant to bring a view worth believing in. He made me believe that he cared. But did he really? No one in their right mind would agree to it if he spoke such affections. He claims I trashed his name for the sake of having a scapegoat. To call me immature and delusional. To humiliate me and terrorize me in the middle of what felt like a hundred years of pain and agony. My heart was tired and my mind in a whirl of racing thoughts wondering where the hell did this all go sideways. When did his support for me vanish? Or was it never there to begin with? So many questions and so many empty answers. Those two phone calls ripped me to shreds and I wasn’t given even the remote decency of having a moment to myself to navigate and come to terms with the destruction he so easily committed. The screams I held inside came out and the tears scorched my cheeks I was sure they left burn marks.
I loved him.
How foolish of me to do that.
The shadows at night haunt me. My anxiety creeps into my head and I swear it drove me insane at one point. The confusion was like a constant rainy day with no sunshine to bask in. No clarity. Just greyed misery. This weight I was burdened with, this struggle I was forced to push through, left me distraught and deeply wounded that I’m not confident in moving past just yet. I can’t forgive for this. He took the love I had for the life I lived and snapped it in half. He took my livelihood, my passion, my pride and most importantly my safe haven. I won’t forgive him for this. Ever. The aching I feel everyday when I’m reminded of his warmth and his caring nature. I was moving ahead and he raved about my capabilities to anyone in earshot. And soon enough the deafening silence took over, and the lights went out his eyes and all I ever knew was gone. What did he want from me?
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In all fairness I was wrong. I admit, I was naïve and dumb and above all a childish dreamer. Hoping for a good man to take care of me and what did I receive in return for wishing on those fucking stars? A hurt like no other. I hope he’s happy with this. I hope this decision to ruin me was worth every dime. Worth every consolation prize. All the ego boosts in the world could never be enough to fuel the ambition I always admired. I hope the smile on his face sticks. Like the slap I so dearly want to strike across his face in an attempt to give him something of what he’s done. God, I hope he laughs. I hope it’s heavy and deep in his chest. Loud and echoing throughout the city. I hope the joy breaks his soul and poisons every inch of good I was so certain existed. I hope he loses his mind in grief and with guilt that keeps him up at night. I hope my voice, my silhouette never leaves him. I hope he has nightmares of this. Of the words my mother said to him. Of the ideas of my possible death wreck him to pieces.
I hope it rots and reeks of that disgusting act he hammered into not just me, but everyone who ever thought he was good enough to be a leader.
He was terrified of me trumping his accomplishments and stepping upwards as if I could ever possibly do that in two weeks. I was still a position beneath him. An employee, not yet the employer. And yet, I frightened him to a point where taking me down was the only solution.
Paranoia was his demon, and it ate into his innocence so insatiably it turned him into a hellish one himself.
He is a sorry excuse for a man, and if I’m just a girl, then I guess he never grew out of infancy.
Change your diapers, your bullshit stinks and it’s pissing everyone off
