We have a lot of history. A lot of water under the bridge. Things got ugly, and things got toxic and we left without saying goodbye. Sometimes when I’m with him, I feel lucky that it was him I married, and not you, because truth is, you’re intimidating and I was scared of you. Still am. I don’t know how much I’ve to hide from you, or pretend that I don’t give a damn, when in reality, you’re constantly at the back of my mind.
I don’t let myself be happy. It’s gotten to the point that I’ve gone ahead and given myself a rather bad case of cherophobia. When I hide in my therapist’s office and cry to her every Saturday afternoon, I feel the guilt consume me and consume me good. Nobody knows I’m seeing a therapist to shake off my nightmares that surround you. Nobody knows that every nightmare I wake up, has something to do with you.
He said he thought he’d lost me the other day. That I was strangling myself in my sheets, when the truth is, it was you, in my sleep, in my head, clawing at me. I can’t let go. I can’t seem to be happy. This constant fear that you’d harm me, is always with me. You’d misunderstood me so much the last time we spoke, a few years ago. You called me a bigot, you said I was a gold-digger and that I played victim because I loved the attention. You never knew that I’ve always supported the truth, and the good, and I’ve never hurt anybody. You made me seem like this monster and I don’t know why I let this eat me up inside. That you’d given me no room to explain my side of things. You went ahead and you dissected me. Called my dad the unthinkable names. Said I was a selfish cow. I swallowed the pain. I don’t know why I would let any of that bother me even now. I have a two year old and I’m supposed to have moved on from you. But no.
Turns out, you can’t move on from things that have so much intensity. Not when the stuff you’re trying to move on from was both unhealthy and satisfying.
Turns out, you were my Kryptonite and I never saw that coming.