I had a nightmare about my emotionally abusive ex boyfriend.
He wanted me back.
He was in charge of my safe space.
And I was mortified.
He was 10 times the monster I remember, I wasn’t safe. Emotionally or physically. I was aching , begging for someone to help me or to even realise that I needed help but no one did. Not a single person wanted to walk beside me , to just be next to me in case I would run into him again.
I don’t remember being this scared in real life, I don’t remember bruises or scars from his hands. I don’t recall his smile and laugh shaking me to the core with fear. I don’t remember anything.
It’s been three years since I last saw him. I never realized how little respect I had for myself to go through 15 months of what I called love with the diagnosed psychopath.
In my dream , I had enough. I pushed him away, I fought back. I screamed the name of someone that I knew would protect me and somehow I was safe.
I didn’t just wake up scared, I woke up angry. I was beyond infuriated with how little help I had gotten. How people saw him , how people knew what he was doing and they still encouraged me to stay and never blinked in my direction until the relationship ended. My own best friend interacted with him , she was friends with him , she saw him every single week and never bothered to warn me. She never bothered to show any concern for me. I keep wondering, what would have happened if she had warned me?
Would I have listened to her?
Would I have dismissed her, saying that she was wrong and possibly jealous?
What if I had actually believed her, where would I be now?
I wonder if I would be less ‘damaged’ , would I still be labelled as the girl with the biggest baggage. What about my commitment issues? Would it have made my current relationship easier? Would I have trusted people with more ease? Would the thought of being difficult to love even cross my mind?
Who would I be?
Perhaps, I wouldn’t have had someone that encouraged my disordered behavior.
Maybe, I wouldn’t compare every small thing that happens in my life to what occurred in those 15 months.
I wouldn’t be so angry.
I’m angry at myself, sure , of course I’m angry that I endured all of that bullshit and called it love but I’m not hesitant to say how fucking angry I am at my ex. I’m angry that he had the fucking audacity to ruin my life when I thought he was only there to make it better. I’m angry that he continued to hurt me so much , make me cry , make me hate myself , make me question everything in the world and all for his so called love. That love that only broke me. That love that means nothing compare to how the person I’m with makes me feel. That attachment that I had to him was the mere naivety of a 15 year old girl that for some reason fell for all that represented evil and madness. I am so angry that he made it seem that he was always right even when it felt like he was twisting a knife into my heart whilst smiling at me, I hate that I endured and accepted it and blamed it on the fact that all couples fight.
I am not afraid to be that girl ; I am angry. I feel robbed of so many things. I feel stripped of all of my innocence and hope and light. So I am not afraid when I say I hate him. I hate my ex boyfriend , I hate the toxicity he brought into my life, I hate every single day that I spent with him , I hate all the words that I spoke about him , I hate all the butterflies that I felt, I hate him with every single fibre in my body – I hate him and I hate my mind for making me have a dream about my abusive ex boyfriend.