Remember the day after you told me “I can’t do this anymore” for the first time? How I laid in bed shaking so hard, tears pouring down my face just repeating “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry” over and over as if I had done something so horrible. You started to cry, so worked up because you felt like “him.” You knew I had only had that somatic reaction to the abuse I had faced in the past, and it terrified you to see it first hand. I somehow stopped the trauma response to tend to your sadness, to reassure you that you weren’t like him and that I wasn’t shaking because I was afraid of you like I was afraid of him; I was just afraid of losing you. The shaking came from the same kind of terror, but not the same kind of victim.

I think I was wrong when I reassured you that you weren’t like him. Well, maybe I wasn’t wrong, because you’re not like him. A part of me feels as though you’re worse. I knew he was a monster, but he had beaten me down so bad I felt the torture he inflicted on me was well deserved. You were your own monster, because I didn’t even notice the way you tortured me. I believed you wholeheartedly. I believed every promise you ever made. I invested my heart so fully, with absolutely no fear, because I never believed you’d be a person to hurt me. The shaking you saw was a trauma response to a different type of abuse. But I still sat there convincing you that you didn’t compare.

I’ve spent years recovering from the things he put me through. Parts of me have started to heal. What you put me through, broke everything I had spent the last 9 years putting back together. You said to me the next day “I don’t know how to fix you.” That shattered me, and I kept saying over and over “but I’m not broken!” The truth is, I wasn’t shattered because I felt you looked at me as a bird with a hurt wing. I wasn’t destroyed because I felt like you thought I was someone to “fix.” I kept saying “I’m not broken,” but I never believed those words. You didn’t know how to fix me, but you knew how to break me. You did it every day for 5 months. You broke me down into nothing, and when the time came that you promised to help put me back together, you left. You walked away like it was a hit and run accident and you knew you couldn’t get caught.

I now know I never needed you, the same way I never needed him. The hold you had on me was nothing more than Stockholm syndrome, and now I’m finally free. So here is to all of your broken promises, and how you go to sleep at night convinced you did all you could. I think I know what you meant, when you said you felt “stuck” with her. You are stuck, and you are broken. And I do not know how to fix you when you do not want to fix yourself. However, I have been broken before. I have put my pieces back together. I will do it again, because I know how to fix the pieces you shattered. You, however, will be ready one day. I could have taught you how to mend your emptiness, but now, I hope you learn to do it yourself. I’ll be here when you do, beaming with pride. I’m not sure at this point what you deserve anymore, I just know I deserve to never feel that low again.

My biggest wish is that you get out of your hell in one piece, and into my heaven. As of now, I’ll still look for you in the afterlife. I think your soul will look for me too, and I think it’ll spend the rest of wherever we end up, trying not to fix me, but trying to fix the one reality where it didn’t do it’s job.

I hope you search for me in every sunset. I hope every time you hear one of our songs the thought of what could have been runs through your veins, and you feel ice cold. I hope you remember I could have made you warm. Actually, I don’t hope. I told you I lost that feeling months ago. All I know now is you’ll think of me.

I lost count of how many times I wiped the tears that fell down your cheeks while swallowing my own. You were the cause of the emotions we both felt in those moments, but I was the only one putting us back together. Your hands never left your lap, and every few seconds I would taste another drop of salt water that fell from my eyes to my lips without being dried. I’d check the mirror and see the trail it followed stained into my skin, but your face was clean. Untouched, unscathed, tended to. I don’t think you ever had a tear reach your cheek bone. I dried your eyes instead of mine, even though you were the one who gave us both that type of pain.

I lost count of how many times I wiped the tears that fell down your cheeks while swallowing my own. You were the cause of the emotions we both felt in those moments, but I was the only one putting us back together. Your hands never left your lap, and every few seconds I would taste another drop of salt water that fell from my eyes to my lips without being dried. I’d check the mirror and see the trail it followed stained into my skin, but your face was clean. Untouched, unscathed, tended to. I don’t think you ever had a tear reach your cheek bone. I dried your eyes instead of mine, even though you were the one who gave us both that type of pain.

Remember the day after you told me “I can’t do this anymore” for the first time? How I laid in bed shaking so hard, tears pouring down my face just repeating “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry” over and over as if I had done something so horrible. You started to cry, so worked up because you felt like “him.” You knew I had only had that somatic reaction to the abuse I had faced in the past, and it terrified you to see it first hand. I somehow stopped the trauma response to tend to your sadness, to reassure you that you weren’t like him and that I wasn’t shaking because I was afraid of you like I was afraid of him; I was just afraid of losing you. The shaking came from the same kind of terror, but not the same kind of victim.

I think I was wrong when I reassured you that you weren’t like him. Well, maybe I wasn’t wrong, because you’re not like him. A part of me feels as though you’re worse. I knew he was a monster, but he had beaten me down so bad I felt the torture he inflicted on me was well deserved. You were your own monster, because I didn’t even notice the way you tortured me. I believed you wholeheartedly. I believed every promise you ever made. I invested my heart so fully, with absolutely no fear, because I never believed you’d be a person to hurt me. The shaking you saw was a trauma response to a different type of abuse. But I still sat there convincing you that you didn’t compare.

I’ve spent years recovering from the things he put me through. Parts of me have started to heal. What you put me through, broke everything I had spent the last 9 years putting back together. You said to me the next day “I don’t know how to fix you.” That shattered me, and I kept saying over and over “but I’m not broken!” The truth is, I wasn’t shattered because I felt you looked at me as a bird with a hurt wing. I wasn’t destroyed because I felt like you thought I was someone to “fix.” I kept saying “I’m not broken,” but I never believed those words. You didn’t know how to fix me, but you knew how to break me. You did it every day for 5 months. You broke me down into nothing, and when the time came that you promised to help put me back together, you left. You walked away like it was a hit and run accident and you knew you couldn’t get caught.

I now know I never needed you, the same way I never needed him. The hold you had on me was nothing more than Stockholm syndrome, and now I’m finally free. So here is to all of your broken promises, and how you go to sleep at night convinced you did all you could. I think I know what you meant, when you said you felt “stuck” with her. You are stuck, and you are broken. And I do not know how to fix you when you do not want to fix yourself. However, I have been broken before. I have put my pieces back together. I will do it again, because I know how to fix the pieces you shattered. You, however, will be ready one day. I could have taught you how to mend your emptiness, but now, I hope you learn to do it yourself. I’ll be here when you do, beaming with pride. I’m not sure at this point what you deserve anymore, I just know I deserve to never feel that low again.

My biggest wish is that you get out of your hell in one piece, and into my heaven. As of now, I’ll still look for you in the afterlife. I think your soul will look for me too, and I think it’ll spend the rest of wherever we end up, trying not to fix me, but trying to fix the one reality where it didn’t do it’s job.

I hope you search for me in every sunset. I hope every time you hear one of our songs the thought of what could have been runs through your veins, and you feel ice cold. I hope you remember I could have made you warm. Actually, I don’t hope. I told you I lost that feeling months ago. All I know now is you’ll think of me.

If I'm arguing I care, if I'm silent, I'm done

Remember the day after you told me “I can’t do this anymore” for the first time? How I laid in bed shaking so hard, tears pouring down my face just repeating “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry” over and over as if I had done something so horrible. You started to cry, so worked up because you felt like “him.” You knew I had only had that somatic reaction to the abuse I had faced in the past, and it terrified you to see it first hand. I somehow stopped the trauma response to tend to your sadness, to reassure you that you weren’t like him and that I wasn’t shaking because I was afraid of you like I was afraid of him; I was just afraid of losing you. The shaking came from the same kind of terror, but not the same kind of victim.

I think I was wrong when I reassured you that you weren’t like him. Well, maybe I wasn’t wrong, because you’re not like him. A part of me feels as though you’re worse. I knew he was a monster, but he had beaten me down so bad I felt the torture he inflicted on me was well deserved. You were your own monster, because I didn’t even notice the way you tortured me. I believed you wholeheartedly. I believed every promise you ever made. I invested my heart so fully, with absolutely no fear, because I never believed you’d be a person to hurt me. The shaking you saw was a trauma response to a different type of abuse. But I still sat there convincing you that you didn’t compare.

I’ve spent years recovering from the things he put me through. Parts of me have started to heal. What you put me through, broke everything I had spent the last 9 years putting back together. You said to me the next day “I don’t know how to fix you.” That shattered me, and I kept saying over and over “but I’m not broken!” The truth is, I wasn’t shattered because I felt you looked at me as a bird with a hurt wing. I wasn’t destroyed because I felt like you thought I was someone to “fix.” I kept saying “I’m not broken,” but I never believed those words. You didn’t know how to fix me, but you knew how to break me. You did it every day for 5 months. You broke me down into nothing, and when the time came that you promised to help put me back together, you left. You walked away like it was a hit and run accident and you knew you couldn’t get caught.

I now know I never needed you, the same way I never needed him. The hold you had on me was nothing more than Stockholm syndrome, and now I’m finally free. So here is to all of your broken promises, and how you go to sleep at night convinced you did all you could. I think I know what you meant, when you said you felt “stuck” with her. You are stuck, and you are broken. And I do not know how to fix you when you do not want to fix yourself. However, I have been broken before. I have put my pieces back together. I will do it again, because I know how to fix the pieces you shattered. You, however, will be ready one day. I could have taught you how to mend your emptiness, but now, I hope you learn to do it yourself. I’ll be here when you do, beaming with pride. I’m not sure at this point what you deserve anymore, I just know I deserve to never feel that low again.

My biggest wish is that you get out of your hell in one piece, and into my heaven. As of now, I’ll still look for you in the afterlife. I think your soul will look for me too, and I think it’ll spend the rest of wherever we end up, trying not to fix me, but trying to fix the one reality where it didn’t do it’s job.

I hope you search for me in every sunset. I hope every time you hear one of our songs the thought of what could have been runs through your veins, and you feel ice cold. I hope you remember I could have made you warm. Actually, I don’t hope. I told you I lost that feeling months ago. All I know now is you’ll think of me.

I didn’t even ask. I felt like I knew the answer, so there was no point. But you just offered an explanation to a question that was never posed.

“If I ever got a real chance with you, I would make it work. I would figure my life out, with you.”

It was like the pieces fell together instantly. My mind stopped racing, I was finally able to breathe. I no longer felt like the option you’d never choose. I finally believed every word you had ever said to me.

I stopped saying “I love you more.” It didn’t feel like a competition. I didn’t feel like I had to fight with you over it. For 45 days, I actually believed someone loved me the same way I loved them.

I sat there and waited. I killed myself wishing for the possibility for you to make your words a reality, because for me that’s what they became, the moment they left your lips. I believed you. After months of reassurance, fighting over the truth, you begging me to trust you, my walls came down. I believed every word you said to me that day. I never knew that the one thing you made me wholeheartedly trust you for, was the one thing you never believed even for a second.

45 days later I actually did pose the question. The answer devastated every wall I had built back up. “It’s too late.” Forty five days. And then I realized, I wasn’t too late. You just never thought I’d show up. I had no way of being on time to a truth that only existed in my imagination. It was a game you thought I’d never come to the table for. You thought I’d never catch onto your poker face, and that the lie you told could remain truth in both of our minds forever. But only in our minds.

I think I knew the first day you told me you’d “figure it out,” that you didn’t believe it. You couldn’t look me in the eye, your left cheek sunk in to your teeth. Now that I see it without blinders, you and I both knew you were lying to me that day. To you, it felt good. You “hoped” to make it work. You wanted to “try.” But to me, you didn’t say it that way. So now, you can keep your hope, along with every ounce of mine. It is yours, it can never be mine again. Hope was all I had for these 45 days. I lost it all in a second. How lucky are you, to know the truth all along. To know that for your dream, I was awake. For your imagination, it was my reality. I lived it every single day, until I was evicted. That reality became my home, and now it’s gone. I’m happy you’ve moved in, I hope you can feel the comfort I did while I was there.

It hurts to realize that our bedrooms are the only place we will ever exist. There is no you and I outside of these four walls. The world will never know you love me. The only difference is my world knows I love you. That’s what you became, my world. I kept my promise. I never lied. I would have “figured it out” for you. I always thought I spent all of my time in bed because I was depressed, anxious, sad, exhausted. I think I spent my time there because it was the only place we had. When you moved me out, it became my home. It’s the only place where I forget that I’m not enough, nor will I ever be enough. I’m not your choice, but an option. Except, I’m the option that will never be picked. As much as that destroys me, I would stay in this bedroom forever for you. It is the only place I feel like I’m living. I don’t want to live, but I would live forever here with you.

You kept me like a secret, but I kept you like an oath. Who would have thought that what was once my favorite lyrics to sing with you, became the words that would haunt me forever.

I don’t expect this pain to ever stop. I used to think that it would get easier with time. That maybe one day things wouldn’t hurt so much, that I would get used to it. I now know that was never the case. This will destroy me until my last breath, but that’s okay. Because I keep my promises. Unlike you, the words I said to you were an oath. I promised to stay, no matter what. So for you, I will.

Now, 5 months later, our rooms are not that safe place. I am no longer your secret. You do not think of me, nor do you care. I am starting to unlearn all the promises you made, because if I’ve found so many to be untrue, I need to assume they all are. You never loved me more, you just loved how I loved you. You knew you couldn’t get that from her. One day you will be ready to leave, to find me and tell me of your courage and how you’ve finally woken up. By that time it will be too late. Tonight, it would be too late. An oath, to swear to tell truth, the whole truth and nothing but the truth. I kept my oath, seems like you’ll be held in contempt.

the way I care for people makes me wish I had somebody like me in my life

Thought I had someone like me but instead she spent our entire friendship lying to me, breaking promises and staying with a piece of shit fiancé she has admitted she does not even love

Here's my take. I don't care if Christian lawmakers are just reading the bible wrong. I don't care about the bible. I don't care about Christianity. Religion and government should not mix. There is no way to be a good religious politician if your religion influences your politics. Even if your religion is about peace and love. Human rights are areligious.

May we come across people with pure intentions.