Pita Bread

Pita Bread

I had a flashback yesterday as I was putting some take out in the fridge.

He threw me out of the house (physically) onto our concrete steps one night without my shoes, keys, wallet or cell because I had put pita in the fridge.

He didn’t like it cold - it got too stiff.

I am about 98% sure this is currently happening.

One day I will find a good one. And then I will chase them away with my crazy.

Reminder

A soft heart is not a liability. Those that hurt it are.

During the first nine months of my therapy he controlled my sessions remotely. He told me what my issues were that week, I wrote it down in this book, discussed them with my therapist and wrote her responses as talking points. I then discussed with him.

Aside from being entirely ineffective as my actual issues were not being addressed, the discussion was always horrible - tense and fearful.

I rarely reiterated what my therapist actually said, because she realized, very quickly, what kind of person he was. She was very skilled at asking me questions in an attempt to wake me up without alienating me.  Her focus was always on me. 

I twisted her words when I spoke to him about it. Told him things he wanted to hear: that i was mixed up, and the decisions I made stemmed from a darkness inside me that had nothing to do with him. I told him how she advised me to fix myself, put him first in all things.

This was a lie. But it kept me alive.

If there was even a hint of something he didn’t like during my “session” he would threaten to pull me off of his benefits - which I got to keep for 9 months - the only thing i got out of our separation. He also accused me of painting him as the bad guy. This was always a dangerous time.

One time he wrote my therapist an email, saying he could not be a part of my mental health care anymore. I was mortified, because I had to explain to her what i had been doing.

She told me to continue to do so. Soon after she started to ask me about limits; what line would he have to cross? I really REALLY hated this line of questioning.

I can barely understand the nonsense he made me write above. It’s a sickening reminder of where my head was at.

It seems worlds away.

Seven Months

Since I've had sex. This is the longest I've gone by far since I started when I was 15.

I have a very complicated relationship with sex, and I don't know if I'm prepared to write on it just yet. However I can say that he made so many things worse: shame, humiliation, and ridicule - among other things.

I was certain, back in October when we first ceased contact, that I would never have sex again.

I am not ready, but I am certain now, that I don't want that to be true.

One day, when i know myself and I trust myself, I will let someone touch me again.