“I don’t care that all you can do right now is sit in your chair, I love you. You’re not six feet under and you’re here with me, that’s all that matters.”
Hot tears slipped down my flushed cheeks as I looked away from him, the ugly truth of one of my biggest fears uncovered.
Will he cheat too? Decide that I’m too sick for him to deal with as well and end up regarding me as a worthless, mentally ill cripple?
(Who doesn’t sexually please him well enough?)
It’s a real demon of mine and my boyfriend knows that.
“From all that you’ve told me about your past, you should be patting yourself on the back, honey. Don’t even get me started on the first one who put you in the hospital and then the second one, who did you even worse if you ask me…”
Which one is worse? Abusive relationship A or abusive relationship B?
Flip a coin?
As hard as I try to run from my two abusers, they continue to seep into my current reality. I’m just a middle-aged woman with a love of fuzzy socks, not a sorceress who can cast a magical spell, abolishing the memories of my past traumas.
It takes time, people tell me.
Everyone is different.
Are all men nasty, evil swine?
No, of course not.
Is there something wrong with me that I found not only one, but two of them?
No, I was just asleep for a long time.
My boyfriend kisses me on the forehead and smiles at me.
“Thank you for being with me.” I reach out to take his hand.
“No, thank you for being with me.”