Lawlessness45

I've texted him more in the past 2 days than I have in the past year. Spilled stories about evil queens, forsaken kingdoms and lost loves. Woven tales of redemption, and hope and battles fought for righteousness. My finger have flown across these letters with grace and style, my words have cemented themselves into his notifications with clarity and beauty rarely matched. It feel like I spilled my own blood. Feels like I'm naked and raw and embarrased. I have told him more about my "home life" in these stories than I have told anyone. See, these stories stopped being fiction. I have spoken more about the confusion of loving my abuser, the confusion of defending my abuser, the confusion of being abused-- i have used those word more in the last 2 days than I have in my entire life. I have saturated his phone with all the tales I refused to tell, all the secrets locked behind my lips, all the lies I have told myself. Lies that sound like excuses lies that are excuses: They do not beat me. They have not beat me They will never beat me So it Is not that bad.

"You know my mom, my home life. What it was like..." she trailed off, her voice soft with remembered hurt. "It was bad." She stated the fact with profound clarity, glancing at me, her lips a thin line. I nodded. I was well aware of the years of abuse she faced. I often found myself wishing that I could go back and rescue her from the hell her life had been. But I was so proud of the woman she had become despite of it. "I never really told you about my last night there. I'd been planning leaving for months.  School was out for the summer, and my Mom was still working  night shifts. She had just left for work. I...I was terrified. But I just couldn't stay there anymore. Brad pulled up around 10:30. We loaded up what we could. I left a lot of stuff that was mine...just didn't want to take the risk of being accused of stealing, ya know? " She shook her head at this, before taking a breath and continuing. "We finished at 11:30. I...I had to take a moment.  I sat down on the floor of my empty room, closed my eyes and just breathed. Brad sat with me. He didn't rush me, didn't talk. Just sat there. I'll always appreciate that...always appreciate him." She squeezed my hand. "This place was my whole life. All I'd ever known. As horrible as it was...this was an end to my current life. It was scary. I was moving into something I'd never done and never known. For the briefest of moments I wanted to stay..." she closed her eyes at the memory, and I felt a pang of familiarity. "Then, that godawful grandfather clock my mom loved so much chimed. It was midnight. I was officially 18. And...I decided, really and truly, that it was time to go. I was done being afraid. I was moving forward, and never coming back here." She turned to me then, her green eyes pools depth and understanding that made me want to weep in releif. "The real question you've got to ask your self, is this:  when's your midnight?"

I've dreamed of you every night for nearly a month. Despite the vitriolic explosion that followed my words, I miss you. I woke up in tears 2 nights ago haunted by dreams of your death. My words that were honest, and kind and true...words that were woven is a desperate attempt to reach you--words that were woven in a desperate attemp to protect myself, to pull myself back, to give myself something other than fear for you. Words that were woven to help you see. By god, you are drowning--drowning in a sea of booze and sadness. Drowning, and I've tried so hard--so hard to pull you up, to drag you out, to be everything to you and nothing to myself. But I couldn't do it anymore. I couldn't watch you destroy yourself. I spent nights holding your hand, dragging you to the couch, taking your shoes off and covering you with blankets when you passed out. Nights worried and jolted awake at the buzz of my phone, because--what if you needed me and I didn't answer? What if you were dead, dying, and I slept through your last phone call? I had told you mere hours before to call me if you needed me. Needed anything. And then I broke. I broke at that phone call. I was tired. So tired of holding you up. Of sleepless nights where you refused to get help. Of watching you hurt each other over and over again. I didn't lie. I said I would be there for you...but I also need to be there for myself. I know I did the right thing for me. The right thing for my health and peace. But I didn't want things to end this way. I was kind and compassionate. I worried over my words and despertly tried to not hurt you. To tell you I loved and cared for you, but that you needed more help than I could give... The explosion that followed left me dumbfounded. You took everything I'd told you in my darkest times and threw it back at me. Told me I was horrible and brutal and selfish... Is it selfish to love yourself too? To drain yourself dry loving someone, and still try over and over to be what they need? Is it selfish to become a husk, and then realize that your needs matter also? Is it selfish to back away? I still love you. I still miss you. But I can't and won't watch you kill yourself. I hope you find peace and love and happieness Hope your life is everything you want it to be. Hope you get help... As much as I love you, I can't be your lifeline. And I despertly hope, someday you realize that I always loved you...