I Just Woke Up In My Bed. In Our Bed. The Paint,the Furniture, The Sounds. All Our Home. I Could Feel

I just woke up in my bed. In our bed. The paint,the furniture, the sounds. All our home. i could feel his leg against mine.

I wish i could say repulsion is what I feel. It's longing.

A year ago today was the day I started to want to feel better.

I am embarrassed to admit that I let him put one of those parental control apps on my last phone. It was after it all came out, and I did it as a sign of good faith. I had changed. I wasn't a cheater. I was actively building him up and saying good things about him.

He saw every text and every email. He knew exactly where I was at all times. I found some ways around it - he couldn't see whatsapp for example - but would see my useage of that app and then read all of my messages the next time we were together.

I had to navigate conversations with friends and my parents very carefully during that time. if he saw something that even remotely resembled a negative word or feeling about him from someone I was in for it.

I was constantly analysing all of my conversations, anticipating any possible interpretation. I would stategically delete parts of whatsapp convos with friends I didn't want him to see, and then agonize if the parts I had left made sense as part of a conversation.

He flipped shit a handful of times over spam I received despite that it clearly came from a shady source ([email protected].... Looks legit...)

When I got the phone I currently have in January of 2017 he told me he didn't want the app anymore. I took it as a sign that he was giving up on me and was devastated. But I always had the suspicion that he added it on somehow without me knowing it. At the time, I found that satisfying.

After waking up that fear terrorized me. He's calmed down trying to get ahold of me, so I have relaxed some in my paranoia. But occasionally i still rethink my word choice just in case *someone* is reading.

Another annoyed one:

Sorry.

Let me preface this by acknowledging the posts I’m angry at stem from a lack of support for survivors of abuse other than physical. This is a problem. However that does not give anyone license to throw someone else under the bus.

Don’t try to claim that any one type of abuse is worse than any other.  

The only people who do so have absolutely no idea what they’re talking about.  Take it from someone who’s experienced many of the exciting flavours of abuse this world has to offer -  IT ALL FUCKING SUCKS EQUALLY.  It sucks differently, but EQUALLY. 

There’s no hierarchy of survivorship.  And this scale you’re trying to create trivializes all of us.

So please hush.  You are doing a world of harm.

Streak Over

I was just thinking to myself the other day how it has been at least a month since I have cried properly. Yesterday I went to a movie and it triggered something fierce.

I wish I'd done what I normally do and read the plot ahead of time to be prepared.

I'm actually torn between sending a warning about it and spoiling the movie. .

When my phone rings, i get tense. If it's a number I don't recognize, I panic.

Another one of those things people think I should just be 'over.'