Sinful Sunday

My counsellor said…


You chose to grow, you had to grow.

I had asked him “what happened, how did I get here, how did it go from good to terrible in such a short time?”

He said “you had a choice to make, you saw it and you chose the right one for you.”

I was in bits. Tissues scrunched up in fists, eyes streaming, head shaking, no, no, no, no. Just no. Not me. Not us. We didn’t do this. We were better than that. I believed it. But when push came to shove guess who got shoved?

It seemed there was a reason. Something I said… or didn’t say… with the right sense of commitment.

It was hard.

There was a buzzing in my head as he asked me to affirm us, our us, the way it had always been and I thought, clear as a fucking bell, I thought, say it. Say what you think, not what he wants to hear. Believe that that is what a partner wants to hear. Believe that what you think is more valuable than anything, not what you need to say to maintain the status quo at the expense of your own sweet life. Believe what has always been said, this is for always, this is forever, this is the real you, here you can say things to him that you can say to no-one else.

Until. Not that. No, no, no, not you, not us, we don’t do this. Crash.

My counsellor told me, “this is abuse, after furniture comes people, don’t be a statistic.”

I thought, no, no. no, no, not this, not us, not him, not me. No.

It was hard. The loss of a dream, the picking apart of a life, the destruction of an illusion, the wrenching off of a limb.

Some days I wonder, “what happened? How did I get here?”

Some days I remember, I chose to grow, I had to grow.


eye September 2015

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