A relationship, by definition, is something mutual. When it becomes one-sided, usually it turns unhealthy pretty quickly. I have experienced a one-sided friendship, from both sides. I have been the one fighting to keep it strong, and I have been the one trying to slowly distance myself.
It's difficult in either position. When someone is trying so hard to make you leave, how can you stay? Alternatively, how could you leave? If they are pushing you away, chances are that's when they need you more than ever.
But when you feel like someone is bringing you down, or affecting you poorly, sometimes you have to just let go.
My favorite quote about leaving is by John Green: “It is so hard to leave—until you leave. And then it is the easiest goddamned thing in the world.”
The first time I had to leave, it was the hardest thing I ever had to do. After three years of emotional abuse, I had to rip myself away from the poison that kept me close. I tried, many times, but I could not stay away from the lethal boy who held me tight.
It was the best thing I have ever done. This January will mark three years since I ran away, escaped, set myself free. They have been the worst and best years of my life. Incredibly difficult, constant struggles, emotional months, crying nonstop. I have never regretted it, and I never will.
I often ask myself what changed, why that day in January 2013 was different, what made me snap, what kept me strong in the most difficult decision of my life. I don't have a very good answer. It had been coming for some time, I suppose, and every day I grew a bit stronger, a bit more resentful, a bit more defiant. I had harbored so much anger, pain, emotion, and that day it just all exploded. I couldn't even call him to tell him it was over. I texted him, I couldn't hear his voice. I knew if I listened to his words, if I heard his emotion, I would immediately go back on my word. I'd done it before and I knew myself well enough to know this about myself.
I cried for hours that day. Only one of my friends knew why. It was so, so hard. No one else understood. How could they? They didn't understand how tied I was to him, how emotionally dependent I was. Even I couldn't grasp it. It didn't get any easier when his mom called me. She asked what had happened. Said he'd been crying in bed all day, and all he'd say was that it was because of me. This refreshed my tears, knowing I'd hurt him like that. When I think about it today, all I feel is anger. How dare he? How dare he cry over that, over me taking control over my life? And how dare his mother feel like she had any right to call me and ask what I had done to hurt her son when he was the one who emotionally and sexually abused me for three years. How dare they.
In the end, there was nothing better I could have done for myself. Since that day, I have had minimal contact with him, and unfortunate fake conversations. A few weeks ago, or maybe months? I confronted him. I needed closure. I told him he messed up my life, and he had the audacity to say, "I know I fucked you up." I wanted to scream at him, to punch him, to tell him he has no fucking clue. He ruined my life, he destroyed my childhood. He led me almost to the point of death, more than once. But I didn't say any of that. I took a deep breath. I told him I was done with him. I don't want to see him, or have to try and talk to him. I don't want him in my house, I want him out of my life. Since then I think I've seen him maybe three times. He has a stupid nose ring and the dumbest facial hair ever. It honestly makes me laugh. He's trashing himself, in a way that makes me so happy I disconnected. He's not a person I would ever trust again. He's hurt me in more ways than I can count.
Talking about him, thinking about him, writing about him, it sometimes physically hurts. But the pain reminds me of where I am today, how far I've come. Instead of focusing on how long I was stuck there, I remember I'm not there anymore. And that's really the most important bit.
It's difficult in either position. When someone is trying so hard to make you leave, how can you stay? Alternatively, how could you leave? If they are pushing you away, chances are that's when they need you more than ever.
But when you feel like someone is bringing you down, or affecting you poorly, sometimes you have to just let go.
My favorite quote about leaving is by John Green: “It is so hard to leave—until you leave. And then it is the easiest goddamned thing in the world.”
The first time I had to leave, it was the hardest thing I ever had to do. After three years of emotional abuse, I had to rip myself away from the poison that kept me close. I tried, many times, but I could not stay away from the lethal boy who held me tight.
It was the best thing I have ever done. This January will mark three years since I ran away, escaped, set myself free. They have been the worst and best years of my life. Incredibly difficult, constant struggles, emotional months, crying nonstop. I have never regretted it, and I never will.
I often ask myself what changed, why that day in January 2013 was different, what made me snap, what kept me strong in the most difficult decision of my life. I don't have a very good answer. It had been coming for some time, I suppose, and every day I grew a bit stronger, a bit more resentful, a bit more defiant. I had harbored so much anger, pain, emotion, and that day it just all exploded. I couldn't even call him to tell him it was over. I texted him, I couldn't hear his voice. I knew if I listened to his words, if I heard his emotion, I would immediately go back on my word. I'd done it before and I knew myself well enough to know this about myself.
I cried for hours that day. Only one of my friends knew why. It was so, so hard. No one else understood. How could they? They didn't understand how tied I was to him, how emotionally dependent I was. Even I couldn't grasp it. It didn't get any easier when his mom called me. She asked what had happened. Said he'd been crying in bed all day, and all he'd say was that it was because of me. This refreshed my tears, knowing I'd hurt him like that. When I think about it today, all I feel is anger. How dare he? How dare he cry over that, over me taking control over my life? And how dare his mother feel like she had any right to call me and ask what I had done to hurt her son when he was the one who emotionally and sexually abused me for three years. How dare they.
In the end, there was nothing better I could have done for myself. Since that day, I have had minimal contact with him, and unfortunate fake conversations. A few weeks ago, or maybe months? I confronted him. I needed closure. I told him he messed up my life, and he had the audacity to say, "I know I fucked you up." I wanted to scream at him, to punch him, to tell him he has no fucking clue. He ruined my life, he destroyed my childhood. He led me almost to the point of death, more than once. But I didn't say any of that. I took a deep breath. I told him I was done with him. I don't want to see him, or have to try and talk to him. I don't want him in my house, I want him out of my life. Since then I think I've seen him maybe three times. He has a stupid nose ring and the dumbest facial hair ever. It honestly makes me laugh. He's trashing himself, in a way that makes me so happy I disconnected. He's not a person I would ever trust again. He's hurt me in more ways than I can count.
Talking about him, thinking about him, writing about him, it sometimes physically hurts. But the pain reminds me of where I am today, how far I've come. Instead of focusing on how long I was stuck there, I remember I'm not there anymore. And that's really the most important bit.