Learning I'm an empath.
This explains so much.
What it doesn't explain is how after 23 years of you constantly invading my heart, soul, mind, the 5 years total of you invading my body, I realized something. I was manipulated by you. Your feelings became mine, I squashed my doubts and swallowed my "I'm not ready yet," just to make you "happy." That turned into 3 years of unprotected exploitation. Only God had my back, those things you did to me you did with others...
Four years ago, I finally said, "no." I was ready to finally walk away, I had closure. Two years prior, I re-entered into a relationship with you, AGAIN, knowing you were not really mine. Your shiny, steel band winking on that finger, your wife next to you, approving, saying she enjoyed the "break" and that he wouldn't cheat because she was "OK with" me....
I finally said no. And you said, "Yes. I will always have my way with you." All that planning to protect myself, all my rehearsed lines, all my emergency funds for a cab, all my precautions; not drinking, sleeping on the other side of the house that summer holiday night, fully dressed... none of it kept me moving. None of it stayed in my mind. You had me bound, pinned, scared...I trusted you. Never saw such malevolence in your eyes.
Four years later,
I talk to an old friend about you. I told what happened. I told how I said no. I think about how her story is more tragic than mine, that specter of an awful childhood swallowing her soul. My empathy responds. Later that same night, you arose and choked me again like that horrible beast you are, you had your way with your physical, blood-filled instrument of torture. My eyes, emptying like fountains on my way to work. My husband, scared, concerned, even though he knew what happened.
Zoloft removes me from the world.
I would much rather feel.
I hope my story helps someone realize they are not alone, and even as adults we are allowed to be scared, to not really know what to do, and that making questionable choices does not excuse people from hurting them.
