Congratulations. Bravo. Very well done. You've done it again. You've twisted your venomous words into poetic lullabies that put all my worries to sleep. You've had me under your spell as if you were some kind of fairytale witch. It's like my conscious has been turned off, and I am no longer able to think for myself. I am not an individual, rather just a silhouette of a human that accepts the lies you feed her.
And as I wrap my arms around my bruised legs and cry harder, I replay all of it. All of the sweet things you would whisper into my ears after unleashing your demonic wrath on my body. All of the lies you fed to the ones I loved most. Long-sleeved shirts and pants, gifts, you called them. They were never for me. You were scrambling to save yourself and hide what you had done. You and I both knew it, yet we both chose not to acknowledge it. This shouldn't come as a surprise, really, for you. A person, no matter how weak, can only take so much. My tears gradually soak the thin cotton fabric of my pants, the ones you bought me after you beat me so bad I could hardly move. And as I recall the utterly unbelievable deceitfulness that I so easily accepted, I can't help but feel a self-hate so very strong that it causes me to question my own sanity. The shifty way you moved around me as I lie in bed, recovering from your doings, will never escape my mind. You moved around our apartment, almost stealthily. You knew you did something wrong. You slick, sly bastard. You knew, yet you chose to ignore. And me, naïve and so easy to forgive, let you.
You're screaming at me now, as you hastily throw your clothes into a suitcase. However, you don't realize that I no longer have ears for your loud, hypocritical opinions. I tried, in the beginning, to ask you about why you had become so violent. However, you were always ambiguous, never actually answering my questions. I had given up long ago, yet even then I never had the strength to give you a piece of my mind.
But everything changed last night. You had come in, drunk, telling me sweet things that I was tired of hearing. You weren't being sincere. You were just talking, wasting your oxygen and energy talking to a person who no longer cared what you had to say. You hadn't even hit me yet, but I knew it was coming, soon. Soon you would be yelling cruel things at me and throwing me up against the wall like I was nothing but a rag doll. It happened every time. But then afterwards you would say the nicest things. You would convince me that you would get help, convince me that it wouldn't happen again. For a time, I believed you. But last night I was way past believing you. So, I did what I had never had the strength to do. I told you to get out. In actuality, I screamed it. I was crying and shaking and yelling at you to get out. Get out of my house. Get out of my life. Get out. You stood there, dumbfounded.
This morning, you were still here. You didn't mention it, thought I was joking. Dismissed it with a simple, "I was drunk. I probably imagined it all." But you didn't imagine it. So, I again gathered the strength and told you to leave.
So here you are, leaving. And I can't help but feel my heart breaking as you scream that I will be lost without you. And it might be true. I have clung to you with an unhealthy obsession and need for so long, that I've forgotten who I really am. So, yes, maybe I'll be lost and maybe I'll be sad. But that's okay. Because even sad and lonely, I will not have you around to hurt me. I can truly start to heal.
The door slams shut and I hear your loud cursing through the walls. You won't give up so easily. You'll probably come crawling back, whispering sweet things through the door. But I won't be here to hear them. Someone else will be living here by the time you come back. Because when I cut someone out of my life, I make sure they can't find me again. The plane tickets are already tucked safe and sound inside my bag. My clothes have been packed. You were too blind with rage to realize that you weren't the only one leaving. But that's okay, it's better this way.
Wiping my tears from my eyes, I try to be optimistic. In a few short hours I will be back home, safe in my mother's arms. How long has it been since I've seen her? A year? More? You took over every aspect of my life. Didn't let me leave the house to go see my family. Didn't let me talk to my friends. You made sure that I was completely reliant on you.
But it's time to get my life back. So, I stand up from my spot on the couch and glance out the window one last time. You are a disease, a vermin. You have tainted my view on life, but that's not going to be the case any longer. Even though I know you're still outside the door, suitcase in hand, trying to make your point that I won't be able to live without you, to me, you're already gone. You're already floating out of my mind and off to some place where you can't touch me.
And may you stay there forever.