They say when you love something or someone, set them free. If they don't return, they were never yours. I remember Zackary saying some form of this in those first few days of what I thought was our story of falling in love. Looking back now, I think he was testing me. He wanted to gauge my reaction to him never returning. This would become a constant for him and therefore us. Every decision he made was based on impulse and selfish desires. Every time he would drink all of the cold beverages in the fridge, leaving me none for when I got home from work; every-fucking-time I would feel this rage tear through my insides. My life was constant chaos. I was taking care of myself, my cat, his fish, and him. Bills, responsibility, the un-fun stuff; that all rested on my shoulders. As well as my desire to never pick up booze again. He couldn't even think of me when he took non-alcoholic drinks out of the fridge and that felt big for me. An outsider looking in may go to the first and easiest reply of, "Chill out. It's just a soda." It was more than a soda. It was a little decision that impacted me negatively. If he was willing to avoid doing the right thing here, can you imagine what the last 3 years of my life have been?
I remember I was really trying to understand myself back when we were just co-workers. I had gone to the library and checked-out some books on Childhood Trauma and therapy methods that had been deemed quite helpful. I remember how he saw me with those books. I remember how he came up while shit-faced and said, "He wanted me to know that we were friends and that he would miss me if he moved." He hugged me for the first time, and it came out of nowhere. Friends? After what would become the norm: him planning on running away from his problems. I believe this is where he decided I could be of use to him. The next night he offered me cocaine even though he knew I was trying to never touch the stuff again. I said, "NO". He asked if I was sure. I said no again. This was a huge, neon sign that I completely fucking missed. No is not a word Zackary understands. He then proceeded to make fun of me because I was still smoking weed. As if they are at all comparable, but hey, misery loves company. We ended up talking about how he came from an abusive childhood and that he was no longer in contact with any of his family. He said he was in Portland on his own, taking care of himself. The only truth here was that his childhood was abusive. I had no way of knowing how many characters he was capable of playing, and I bonded with him. I believe this was his intention.
Weeks later and my poor decision of texting him for rebound sex would then lead me here. Everything with Zackary moves fast. He keeps you on your toes. Whenever he felt me slipping away, he would love-bomb me or buy me something. I hated it but grew to take it as a sign he cared. My father did the same thing with my mother. I know this about my father. I just couldn't see what was right in front of me. I don't need things. Every time I would try to explain to him that I didn't want gifts or money, that I just needed him present and to help around the house or with groceries. Every time I would say a back rub means more to me than clothes, he'd tell me "Acts of Service" were him being my servant. Him doing the things I did for him would make him my servant. Fuck, writing that out and reading it back is rough. How did I go 3 years without intimacy, honesty, and care?
Kathy said that the day I almost relapsed had to have had something stand out more than any other time. I told her I couldn't really place it. That I had gone to work like usual. I was tired, sore, and lonely just as I was every other day. That day though, as I was cleaning up a few things before clocking out it hit me. I wasn't going to make it home without hitting a bar. I went to the bathroom. I tried to breathe. The fan was so fucking loud that day. It rocketed my head. Noises were too much. I just wanted to breathe; everything was closing in on me.
I sat in my car for over 30 minutes in what is referred to as "white knuckling" (LINK). When I finally thought, I could start driving without going to a bar that is what I did. I had to get home quickly. I couldn't make it. I ended up in a Goodwill. Walking around and around and around the aisles. I needed to pass time. I kept telling myself I just needed to wait it out. That I wouldn't lose my date; October 13, 2019. I got back into my car an hour later but then stopped at a Trader Joe's because once again I knew the exact bar I would go to. I walked around the aisles and bought things I didn't need. I had plenty of food at home, but I just needed something to make me feel better. I did make it home after the grocery store. When I brought up that I almost relapsed Zackary was unphased. I knew that I needed to be honest about my shortcomings but in that moment, I knew I really had been doing all of this alone. He didn't care.
So when I started to talk to other people and laugh more like my old self, and when I went out instead of going right back into our "home" I felt a shift. When I wasn't around him, I felt better. What I thought was my anxiety being out of control was actually our relationship. I was unhappy. I was unsupported. I was a pocket pussy that he enjoyed choking and throwing around.
Follow that Link to learn more ^
The truth is, Zackary almost killed me. Yet I stayed. I took his demons and made them my own. I wanted to believe that abuse in childhood couldn't ruin a person. And I was right, it didn't ruin me.
No comments:
Post a Comment