I will always miss you and hope the best for you, but I cannot describe the respect I've lost for you.

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@crybutchcry
I will always miss you and hope the best for you, but I cannot describe the respect I've lost for you.
Alicia Ostriker, from âIn the Twenty-Fifth Year of Marriage, It Goes On.â
Angry at myself for ignoring my better judgment
Angry at myself for how low I let myself sink
Angry that I keep expecting a different outcome and get a worse one every time
Hurt that when you told me "I don't care about your feelings" it feels more and more true
Hurt that your first line of defense so quickly became the most hurtful things you could say
Hurt that I feel so dismissed
Angry that you keep doing it anyway.
It wasn't your hands around my throat that traumatized me most.
Even more than the grabbing, and the groping, and trying to put your hand up my shorts, and the trying to convince me no matter how much I said no,
What hurt the most is that while I kept telling you that I liked you and cared about you, and I would never take advantage of you like that -
You told me, "I don't care about your feelings."
I tried so. Fucking. Hard. And for so so long to combat those words in my head, to convince myself it wasn't true
And I still don't know that it's not.
When I take accountability through our talks, I don't see it as a chore or a burden. It's important to me because how I made you feel is important to me.
But when you talk about being able to receive my feelings, you frame it as "I'm sure there are things you want me to take accountability for"
And I think that highlights the difference in our approaches quite well because no I don't want to force accountability and guilt upon you. Or make you accept the blame for the relationship ending bc every dynamic has two halves to it. I am an equal part of that
All I want is to be heard
And to actually be understood
You're so quick to say you understand and it's meant to be reassuring, but it's not bc you say it before we've actually talked about it. You didn't even understand I was initiating a breakup until a week after I said it, but that's what you kept saying the day of - I understand, I understand. You had no questions, you needed space. I thought I had been pretty clear and wind up hurt at not only the stonewalling, but the apparent dismissal of what I said.
How can I feel like you listen to me and understand me when that happens?
I know I've made it difficult for you to feel like I you're heard and understood too - but I have tried to put a lot of effort into asking to hear it, I've invited those conversations, and even when I can't have them yet I still acknowledge that I can see specific examples of how I've hurt you and that I want to do the work to be able to receive what you say. for you it sounds more like something I'm putting upon you, an expectation, something to dread.
"I don't know if I can offer the connection you need to have those accountability talks" "
That's fine, I say. You don't have to yet, I reassure. I'm still here to talk, I insist.
Is it fine with me? To keep trying to give that capacity and presence when I'm being told I can't hope for it in return? I think there's a limit to how much of that emotional labor and accountability I can take on without knowing it will be reciprocal, and that my feelings can also be acknowledged. I resent the futility in being told outright not to expect that. But I'll continue to willfully offer up my own energy - to whose benefit? Ultimately not to yours, and definitely not to mine.
We talk about talking more than we actually talk. I over extend myself and sacrifice the hope of being heard to do it. I get triggered and emotional, you get avoidant. We go round and round.
I just want to be listened to. I want to know you actually do understand, I want the things I say to be acknowledged. I want an opportunity to hear you in return and just talk back and forth with mutual openness. I am so tired of feeling like I'm something you're subjected to, rather than someone you can connect with
And forcing it isn't going to fix that
I had a dream we were in some kind of park, and were on the run from either zombie-adjacent attackers, or people who would surely hurt us if they found us. Maybe it was our families looking for us, or we were trying to get to our families - I remember them being present in some way. I was flying in some kind of glider looking for you in the earlier half of the dream, and after we made our way through whatever infrastructure we were stuck in, we came upon apartment-like housing full of compartmentalized rooms linked by hallways and boardwalks. I think we stayed there to sleep, and there were people there we didn't want to be around, so we snuck off to try to find somewhere that felt safer. You pulled me into a hotel-like apartment, frustrated, full of adrenaline, and wanting to have sex. You didn't close the door behind you or check the place to make sure it was safe, you just tried to kiss me as soon as we got in the door. I was nervous and kept looking around trying to say we should make sure it was ok to let our guards down. You pulled me onto the carpeted floor and started trying to make out and grind on me while I was on top of you. I tried to get into it for a second, but just as I was starting to I heard a noise. I got up and checked on the door, still cracked open, and came face to face with one of the people hunting us outside. We scrambled out of there and made a run for it, but we were bickering about sex while we were running.
I Am In Eskew, Episode 25: Melody
to what degree have I convinced myself that the sexual trauma is just "par for the course," to what point does that only serve to keep me feeling ashamed and isolated when Im struggling with it? It's not the worst thing that could have happened, I remind myself constantly. But some of it is still the worst stuff to have happened to me, so,e of the worst betrayal I've experienced. I know it shouldn't have happened. "But it did anyway" is how I shut out those big painful feelings about the unfairness of it all, and maybe some amount of numbness is useful on the way to acceptance, but this isn't that -
it's just repetition
Is it even possible for me to be desired and understood at the same time
â BrĂŽnduĹa E. Grigoriu, "What Was She Thinking? Ysolt on the Edge"; The Inner Life of Women in Medieval Romance Literature: Grief, Guilt, and Hypocrisy (2011)
âIsnât heartache sweet? It tastes of everything you ever wanted. The rain-soaked lilacs I pressed my face into as a child, knowing, even then, something I needed was there unreachable. If youâre going to touch me, I want you to drink the water from those lilacs.â
â Amy Dryansky, from âBecause the Moon Is a ClichĂŠ & Not Exactly Steadfast,â Waxwing Literary Journal (no. XIX, Fall 2019)
Catherine Gildiner, Good Morning, Monster: Five Heroic Journeys to Emotional Recovery
Mark Wolynn, It Didnât Start with You: How Inherited Family Trauma Shapes Who We Are and How to End the Cycle
on loving someone who has passed
a self portrait in letters by anne sexton / aubade by louise glßck / achilles and patroclus by @maieste / all about love by bell hooks / blue sun by nina mouawad / albert camus correspondance to maria casarès / un homme et une femme by stephan sinding / the gods show up by michael kinnucan / the chronology of water: a memoir by lidia yuknavitch
The grief of mourning something you never really got to have but wanted so deeply
The familiar loneliness of desperately wanting to know someone and to feel seen by them in turn, but sensing the walls between you and fearing the exposure and risk that accompany vulnerabilityÂ
I want to feel safe. I want to feel certain that you want to know me, that iâm wanted as I am, not for what I can do or give. I am too tired to keep up facades. I want gentleness and sweetness and tenderness. I want to see the raw, unmanicured version of you, the honest version that isn't processed for consumption. The open and scared parts.
But I don't know that you want those things from me, and so we both bite our tongues. We both withdraw and try to keep our insecurities to ourselves because discussing them feels like assigning blame, or burdening the relationship with baggage.
I feel guilty for crying now when I've barely been able to grieve Mischief.
Sometimes I deeply resent you for the way your love continues to affect me
Sometimes I feel robbed by the fear and anxiety you instilled in me.