I remember this poem I wrote, so long ago. It was about castles, made of love, and how time tarnished them to travesty. Vines grew within them, representing the things I thought and ways I felt and the failings I had. It was a beautiful poem, should I care to scroll back through my messages to myself maybe 3 or 4 years I might find it if my phone even has it remembered. I remember a poem about love, and what it does to your heart, and what hurt does to your heart, and how love heals it again. it was incredible, it helped people, it helped me. It’s so weird, the concept that something you produce can provide an insight and beauty that helps you. I remember I made the castle out of love, I remember that it was a metaphor for my heart. That the vines and monsters and failings were problems that I had and I must fend off to keep a pristine love. Looking back I realize the castle was me, except, it wasn’t.. me. It was my heart, my love, and at the time that was my everything. That’s why the vines could spread so far, that’s why the monsters were so big. Because I had allowed my heart to become everything I am and was and that’s not fucking ok. Something I learned from the worst person in my history: You are a person before you are a partner. I feel like this should be common knowledge but I either rejected it or chose ignorance but a relationship is two whole people coming together. It isn’t finding someone that plugs you up just right so that you stop leaking even if what they’re doing is sliding a knife in you. It isn’t finding someone who you know without a doubt will always come back, because holy crap how much shit do you have to work through till that becomes the only comfort. Remember that? Remember when the only thing I could do to calm you down from any spiral you had was assure you I’d never leave. Not in a million years, hell far enough down the line I remember I used our trauma and pains together to show you I wasn’t going anywhere. Like I was subconsciously acknowledging how bad we were to each other and that’s why we’d stick around. I remember each and every time I wanted to leave, knew I should leave, needed to leave. You’d have a spiral and i’d take that part of my head and slit it’s throat because any dissent would simply cause trouble when my Deamonic Angel needed me to give her comfort. I literally killed parts of myself to keep you happy. I still don’t know where certain aspects of me have gone. You conditioned me to fight for you even when I didn’t want you. Because if I didn’t I was a horrible boyfriend and that with everything else meant I should rot so I need to fight and I need to fight until you’re back with me otherwise i’m complete shit.... I knew you had damage, I knew and a part of that drew me to you, I always like helping with issues, I always loved putting other people’s problems before my own, I always loved the way you looked at me when I was the first and last thing that could help you sleep at night. But holy crap, was that too much to put on one person. I remember I’m not a machine, but the most mechanical I ever got was while I was with you. It was like all these cracks had formed in my castle and I thought it was problems with the heart No. It was problems with me, it was problems with my body, my mental health. It was problems I needed to work through but I never got the chance because I was off being Superman for a girl who didn’t deserve it. The castle was me, and the vines weren’t some mysterious crappy part of me, they weren’t something I needed to fight off so I could still be the perfect boyfriend. They were me trying to bring life back to this castle, even if I couldn’t see it. They were me trying to have control of my own damn self and my own damn mind again. Whenever I misspell your as our in a sentence I think of you. Because I’d always ask you how your mind was but honestly it didn’t matter if I said your or our because that’s what I was about, I was thinking for you, I was living for you, and those nasty old vines were the tiniest sparks of life that I could manage to start reclaiming my castle. Those monsters, scaling the walls, tearing through me, those weren’t me. Those were you. I did bad things, I fucked up, but holy crap I was held so fucking tight I had the choice to kill bits of myself or hide from you. I fucked up, I should have left years and ages before you. You were a horny teenager’s first fuck and when I got my first steady long term girlfriend at some point I made a decision that you should mean more than anything else to me. You helped me make that decision, with your toxic ass monogamy, with your suffocating texting and your constant, never ending need for anything huge or small. All the while making every little thing something I needed to needle out of you. I had to pry, I had to convince, I had to do some fucking unhealthy shit to you to get you to show me what you wanted because if I fucking didn’t then you showed me I was a bad boyfriend and I should rot. Do you know how many times I thought of the phrase I should rot while I was with you? It was my depression’s primary ammo against me, oh god my depression loved you. An endless source of guilt, misery, pain, stress, you name it. All in the name of love. The monsters were things you introduced, paranoia, obligation, unhealthy habit after unhealthy habit. In the Dresden Files he talks sometimes about crucifying doubts and voices in his head, locking them away to focus on the task at hand so he can get through a ritual or something. That’s what I did to the monsters. I cordoned them off, shoved them into abandoned hallways with no escape, locked them in towers with cemented windows. And each and every monster I trapped took a part of me with it. Till you got the perfect little automaton who wanted nothing more than to leave but was honest to god too weak to do it. You colored my perception of abuse victims too. When I help people never try to give a solid opinion, I find people usually want or someone to just listen when they’re spilling to you, or they want a benchmark of what’s ok and what’s not if it’s abuse and I see victims now better than ever because of how I was with you. The last girl I tried to help like this didn’t .. I don’t think she liked that I knew that, that I knew how she felt and understood why she felt she couldn’t leave and that she needed an external push. I should have paid attention to what my parents did when I was with you. Understand I wasn’t going to listen and but out, try to be as civil as possible for the happiness while waiting for the abuser to fuck off. My parents are good people, they’re great fucking people, even if they’re misunderstanding assholes sometimes. My ‘monsters’ were my own traits and desires with the back light of your toxicity until I hardly recognized them. My ‘vines’ were the sparks of life and interest I had in things and other people, but were an inconvenience to you and thus were not worth any time or energy and should be forgotten. You were so Fucking bad to me, I should have left so much Fucking earlier. But I didn’t. And now I have a lot to heal from. I have bad habits I’m recovering from, I have specific triggers and situations I go back to little automaton Luke, or bust down crying Luke, or oh god anything you want just be happy I have no desires no opinions beyond making you smile Luke. I am better than the thing you made me to be. And I am getting back. And I know, without a doubt, I was never as horrid as you. I should have left when I wanted someone else, even realizing now that I’m poly and it didn’t stop me wanting you I should have left because you weren’t treating me alright and I wasn’t going to treat you alright. I’m not making excuses for myself. I did some bad shit. I slept around, I ... actually, can’t really.. huh. You know I always thought of myself as just horrible boyfriend, my shade was dark but yours was midnight. But I’m realizing now. That I only ever lied to get space from your toxicity without hurting you. I am very adverse to taking responsibility or motivation for blockades because sometimes those were the only things that gave me space from you. Like if it was ever in my control you’d badger and pester and guilt me until I did exactly what you wanted, but if my parents said no then that’s that. Oh well. If I had an engagement I can’t end oh well, I’d be safe from your horrible guilt trips and calculated depressive spirals. I can say finding people I craved and being with them were the only bad things I ever did to you for me. Everything else was in response to the bad shit you did to me, the habits you formed in me. I only ever did it to give myself space, to pry some desire or want out of you so I could fulfill it, to try to get your constant overwhelming just sea of guilt and bullshit off of me. All of this crap you did that I’ve taken years to recover from, and i’m still not even done. Holy crap dude. The castle is me, I am nurturing it’s garden, I have befriended or slain the monsters, and now I’m not just a structure to give shelter and love. I am a person, a full person to bring to any relationship. Hell, probably multiple should I be lucky enough. You done fucked me up but god damn if I can’t help me I can’t help anyone.