You are so self centered and defensive you don’t even bother to ask and be curious about this phrase I used with you. I stupidly again thought this time would be different.
But yesterday, when I got the tiny piece of glass in my finger, one that shouldn’t have ever been there….I yelled and exclaimed to you “Why do I keep getting all these tiny little cuts all over?”
I looked around my body, my mind, my face, my fingers, my ankles, my soul. I began to cry. I began to feel despair. I began to hear the message loud and clear.
I was failing at protecting myself from you. So the universe was sending me signs- all the little blade marks around my ankles from all the times you suddenly withdrew from conflict whether by blocking or ignoring me; all the scratches on my arms from all the times you insisted on explaining away my emotions; all the little cuts around my face from hitting myself everytime you pushed just a little too hard , insisting on a reality that is not my own; all the bruises and cuts on the rest of my body and soul from every time you dismissed me with sarcasm, jokes, eye rolls, or just flat out telling me I was wrong, overreacting, or doing too much.
Death by 1000 cuts is from long before idiotic Taylor swift apparently made a song about it. If you even for once second attempted to know me you might know this already.
As I saw so clearly and heartbreakingly all the little cuts on my body and heart and soul from the last few weeks with you, my stomach became a pit of empty, stone cold despair. I could see clearly now what they meant when describing dismissiveness in relationships and being with a dismissive avoidant as akin to death by 1000 cuts.
I know, I know- you hate the labels, you hate ‘white mans therapy’ yet somehow still insist that 1 of the reasons you can’t choose me is because you need to heal and do therapy.
Too bad. This is MY letter, this is MY time, this is MY truth. You don’t get to criticize me, tear me down, poke at me, or otherwise force your authority over my reality here.
As I stared at all the little cuts the universe had reminded me of then, I felt it. The reality of what it is like trying to be with someone as dismissive, avoidant, and fucked up as you. And I realized clearly how you will NEVER SEE YOUR OWN DISGUSTING BEHAVIORS. And how I would be dead, drained, cut wide open from a thousand, a MILLION micro slashes where your love would force itself to be.
You have starved me and breadcrumbed me and devalued me for the last time.
Today I told my parts that I have them.
Today I soothed her, as she wailed and wailed and thrashed around begging for you, begging me to beg you, begging me to stay with you. Just 1 more week. Just 1 more season.
And today, I taught her this lesson. I taught her that she is sad and broken over a reality that she created— a reality that never existed. Today I explained to her how all the images of love, of home, of partnership, with you, that flash through rapidly when we are threatened of losing you, are all not real, they are not you, they are not us, they are the potential of who she says we could be, of who she wants us to be together.
Today I told her the truth. I reminded her of the reality of who you are, and you have offered to us. I compared her version with the real one. She still does not get it, but that’s okay. I comforted her and reassured her— of course she does not understand.
Of course she does not understand and is confused— she is 6. But I am 31.
She believes in who you claim to be. But I know who I have experienced you to be.
She hopes in who we could be. But I hope in who I am, now.
She desires who you could be. But I desire myself, now.
She wants us to just be patient as you say. But I know I have been patient for far too long.
See, I am 31 and I have made the mistake of letting my 6 year old self lead the way. That is why we are confused. Because she outsources clarity to you. But I am 31 and can give clarity to myself.
The clear cold hard truth is if you wanted to, you would, and if you’re mental health and toxic behaviors are so interfering that you were ‘going to’ or ‘just about to’ or ‘had planned to’ every single time I finally reach my breaking point, then you are correct— you need to work on yourself.*** ***
And I deserve so, so much better than you.