Friends talk

My friend said to me, “If my partner or husband found every excuse not to live with me, I’d kick him out of my life. It’s not love, dear.  You are his possession, something he sometimes likes to fondle. You are his shiny thing until he finds another.”

I knew she was right, I’d always known.  Ten years of knowing.  I used to question whether I really loved him.  Questioned whether I had become so used to being ‘his’ that I talked myself into still loving him.  Surely I was enduring this relationship for a reason.  There were times I wasn’t sure why. Maybe I’m a masochist, although truthfully, I haven’t got much gratification from the whole ordeal. 

What is love?

Every three or four months, after he had yelled and screamed at me for not agreeing with him and I felt suffocated and lost, I would feel a flicker of rebellion growing inside my heart. Flames of indignation, self realisation and self pity would break through. My resistance grew stronger when I started mentally tallying his effortless attacks on the very essence of who I was – it took some doing - I was proudly resilient.  I’d take a deep breath and tell myself to be strong - to step away from the destruction. I’d start seeing my friends again.

I would proudly tell him, no.

Determined.

NO! You can’t speak to me like that.

No! You can’t treat me like that.

NO!

I would breathe again without testing the air for his mood.

I would find my peace again.

It always worked for a month or two - but then he’d drop in.

Smile.

I would be helplessly forgiving. And my monster would return.

The monster returns.