Man, I haven't posted on here in so fucking long. I think I stopped coming on tumblr a couple months after I started dating someone I thought was the love of my life.
God, I liked him a lot at first, sure, but then I actually started to love him. I was scared of that feeling, because I had never actually been in love with someone before. I had crushes before, or even felt infatuation, but I had never been in love.
We started dating in mid March of 2017. I had a small string of a few bad dates and short flings behind me from just a couple months before that. At that time I felt ready to get back into dating. I found him on tinder. Honestly that should have been the red flag from the start. His profile pic was of him drinking with a friend and I had found out they were both still under 21, as was I, still a few months away. Except, he was still over a year away, but I excused that from being a problem for me, because hey, I liked to have a drink or two every now and then. I saw the appeal of getting a little drunk, especially since we weren't supposed to.
What really should have been a stop do not pass go moment, was when I found out he had been a heroin addict and went to rehab for it. When he told me that a couple of friends of his were going off to do coke at a late night pool outting, I should have known. You don't just stop abusing one substance and comfortably be around people abusing another without being a part of it to at least some degree. I should have walked away right then.
When he pulled a gun on someone acting crazy I should have walked away, or when he nearly got us both into a serious car accident from doing a wreck less stunt. So many things that should have told me to run, but I stupidly let myself trust him, so I stayed.
After maybe three months I was already in too deep. We had fallen hard and fast for each other, spending nearly every free second of our time together. By August when he got so drunk with his friends that I had to fight with him and two of his friends to get in the car and let me drive them home safely, I should have ended it.
I had been so mad at him. I maybe could have even slept off my anger,but he and his drunk friends decided to make it a night time extravaganza at his dad's house and they kept waking me up while I slept in his bed since I was too tired to drive home to my parents house.
I had left that morning and taken everything that I had left or brought over there in the last few months and put it into the back of my car. I don't remember if I was just trying to get some space from him for a week, or if I was planning to end things the next day. It didn't matter though, because he called me that night telling me about how he had attempted suicide, because one of his friends that he had been with the night before had been apparantly as upset as I had been. I should have just called the police and told them to go to his address, and be done with him and his horrible behavior. Instead I forgave him, because I had low points where I wanted to end my life too, and I didn't want to even think that his death could in even some small way been partially my fault.
Then when his father kicked him out shortly after, I begged my mom to let him stay with us, just until we could get a place of our own. That wasted all of six months before his behavior left my parents telling him that he had until the end of January to figure out somewhere else to stay. He decided he'd go stay with his step-brother in Arizona.
For six months it felt like hell to be away from him, but the distance also help my perspective. I started to get tired of him, of the things he did, or the fact that all he did when we talked on the phone was complain. He never said anything positive about his day, and it started to drain me. I should have ended it then, but I felt like I'd be a horrible person to have cared about him for so long to just throw him away when he was two states over and miserable. So instead, I waited for him to come back.
When he did, it felt indescribable. It was like my heart was whole again now that he was back physically in my life. It was like our love was brand new again, burning with passion, but seated in a history of just over a year of being in a relationship.
I had just started a new job, one where I'd be making more money, and I had been planning with my best friend to arrange an apartment that we could room together in. It seemed perfect, like everything was coming together for us. We were going to have a place of our own. Somewhere that we could love each other freely without boundaries.
Then it happened again. Kenny was always good at getting a job just to lose it a few months later. I was only able to support the two of us by paying for our expenses with my credit card. He managed to find a job within the month though. Of course a few months later he also managed to get his truck towed. We couldn't afford to get it back and so we had to give it up. Now we relied on only my car to get back and forth to our jobs. Luckily they were both close by to our apartment though.
Then in December his hours got cut. He wasn't working enough to pay for his share of the bills, so I covered for then again. He decided he was going to pursue another job that paid better later that month. In January he found a place that made a lot of promises to him about what they could provide.
After a month and a half of that job not only not meeting those promises, but failing to pay him at all, we realised he was working for an MLM disguising itself as a decent company. By this point the financial strain was really taking a toll on me and our relationship. I needed him to get a paying job and help out. I was already starting to drown in debt again after covering for his share of the bills for yet another month.
In late March he had a mental break down. We were going to celebrate our 2nd year anniversary by going to see a movie together, or maybe it was Valentines day, I don't quite remember. I think it was the Incredibles 2 or maybe the second Lego movie, I don't really remember. What I did remember is him threatening to kill himself, opening the passenger side door of my car while I was going 50 mph down the side of the highway, and then threatening suicide again when I got us back to our apartment safely.
I was so scared when I called the police that night. He owned a handgun that he was gestures around his head with. I thought that night that he was either going to kill himself, me, or both of us.
I should have ended it there, but by that time we were still only about halfway into our lease and I was so twisted around him that I didn't know who I was or what I would do without him.
So when they released him from hospital that night, I took him back.
Kenny got a job in late March. I was 5 or 6 grand in debt by this point. My debt weighed on me considerably. In April I had to take out another credit card so that I could move the debt where it would be interest free a little longer. At this point our relationship was hemorrhaging. I was barely holding on to any love I felt for him other than out of what I can only describe as obligation.
We barely had sex, and hadn't really been doing so for months. I felt like he might be lying to me again, as he had done so in that part about drinking, or doing drugs, or some other stupid thing. I tried to keep loving him, but it was getting hard. Then I lost my job. It felt like the universe was out to fuck me over. I was in so much debt and now had no way to pay it.
Kenny tried then to be a rock, steady and solid in our relationship, and I needed so bad to feel like I still had my feet under me that I latched onto it. I was in a depression for a month, either barely eating or gorging myself with food. I tried to distract myself from all the pain within myself that I opted to pay attention to only outside perspectives and fantasies that were nothing like my own world.
In order to project a light of hope at the end of my misery, Kenny told me that he would go into the Navy, about how he'd make good money doing that and how we'd be happy. I think hearing that did help me in a way. I was able to finally get a job after a month of no success. I was starting to feel happy again. I was starting to take interest in my boyfriend sexually again, after feeling so detached for months.
I thought if we could make it through those awful things, we could make it together and always. I was going to want to marry him before he'd go into the Navy.
Then it happened again. I had gone to spend father's day at my parents house and he had stayed at home with a couple of his friends. When I got back I could see that they had been drinking. He knew that I felt uncomfortable with him drinking from the way he had acted in the past. I didn't want him to touch me or talk to me. I just wanted to be angry at him and alone.
He lost his mind again at that, and scared me so bad that once again I needed to call the police, because I didn't feel safe for either him or myself.
Now, after not being able to sleep for more than three hours, I'm wondering what I do with myself.
I'm so fucked up in the head that I don't know who I am without him, or who would ever love me like I love him. I don't know if I could love anyone again like I do him. I'm stuck between wondering if I should just kill myself, because at this point I really can't see what the future could hold for me other than more pain and suffering, or do I forgive him again and take him back.
It makes me sick to think about if I still love him. I can't think straight and I'm crying my eyes out as I write this. It would be insane to go back to him. I would just be another stupid bitch who lets herself be the victim again and again. Except I understand so completely why so many women stay in abusive relationships. I feel like I have nothing and no one else.
I know I'm not alone, but it feels like I am. I've lost touch with people that I was so close to that I would have considered like my siblings, or like they were predestined to be my friends and confidants in life forever.
But now I'm just sitting here in my room with my dog, filled with things that belong to Kenny and I, and I have no idea what to do.
I feel like either way I become some sort of statistic. I'm either the girl who goes back to a toxic relationship. The girl who kills herself. Or by some entirely miraculous event, I make it out of this alive and away from him.
Although in that last scenario, I'd probably be so fucked up in the head that I'd end up in a similar situation down the road anyway.
So I guess long story short, if you don't hear anything from me after this, I've chosen option number 2.
