The Spell is Broken

The spell is broken.


Shame and guilt and plain old meanness. Nasty comments, resentment, jealousy. Lack of trust, constant doubt, a horrible swinging pendulum—one week everything is beautiful, the next week it’s the end of the world and nothing will cure what ails.

That’s a hell of a price to pay for a relationship of any kind. But when that person is supposed to be your partner, your lover, your other half, it’s all the more ugly.

I could go down a list of things I loved about her. It seems harder and harder as the weeks go on. What I’m left with is the realization of just how much emotional abuse I tolerated for the entire year we were together, and memories of the emotional devastation that came when she banished me from her life. To think, that someone could treat you so miserably, and then in the aftermath behave as though YOU were the villain—to sting you with threats and menace.

The laughter has long faded now, and that was the best part. We used to laugh so much; I’d never laughed with anyone as much as I did with her. The tenderness and comfort that came from holding this person in my arms helped me to ignore the insanity.

It’s been well over a year now since we split up, and if anything, the pain that I became accustomed to during our relationship continued, and in some ways increased. These people will get in your head. It always happens slowly. But soon enough, no matter how you contort and deflate and ignore your own feelings, your reality, your life, very sense of who you are, they make it seem like none of that is good enough; if only you did it right, they wouldn’t act the way they act. The message is clear, even if it’s never spoken allowed: it’s your fault I treat you this way.

I hate oppressors and I hate the oppressed. I hate the impulse to bully or be bullied, most especially when it arises within myself. I hate people who embrace victimhood as a way to have power over others. I hate being manipulated. Sometimes it’s so hard to see, and even more so when you’re in love and you just don’t want to believe that this is what’s happening. Even when you think you can handle anything they dish out, it doesn’t change the fact that THEY ARE MAKING A DECISION TO DISH IT OUT. This makes them the villain, no matter how bad you don’t want them to be.

Nothing is worth this kind of treatment. Nothing justifies it, not even the COMPLETE NORMALIZATION of this kind of behavior in the crumbling empire and dying world at the end of the pyramid sun. Bullshit is always bullshit, no matter the date on the calendar, and no matter if the assholes around you are smearing it all over themselves and serving it for lunch.

I don’t want this kind of treatment. I don’t need this kind of treatment. I don’t like it, and most importantly, I have finally reached a point in my life where I simply WILL NOT TOLERATE IT. I will not allow people into my life who are willing to treat me this way. Most especially people I am dating.

What broke the levee on this was when a friend of mine asked how I would feel about them inviting my ex to their wedding reception… which will be held at my house. After three days of drinking & thinking, I woke up one morning ANGRY. Angry that my ex had treated me the way she did. Angry that I put up with it for so long. Angry that I spent the next 17 months after we split up tearing myself apart, and hoping in my heart of hearts that my ex would come back to me. It’s like being poisoned by a vampire bite; you crave fangs in your neck.

It took the possibility of her appearing at my house to wake me up. I know she would never come here; to do so, she would have to be willing to face her own shame and guilt as an abuser, a liar, a pathetic and hurtful ex-partner. Even so, just the possibility of her coming got the wheels in my head spinning something terrible, filled me with the most dreadful feelings.

The worst thing? At first, I AGREED to her being invited to the reception. Just like that. Thirteen months of abuse, and seventeen months of lingering self-destruction, and when asked how I would feel about her being INVITED INTO MY HOME, I simply capitulated.

Well, it took a few days to mull in my being. And when it was done, I woke up ANGRY. And in one simple word, I moved to reclaim all that I had lost:


She is not welcome in my home.


About DZAtal

The true and living
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