I have learnt a real valuable lesson recently, well it’s taken a very, very long time actually, not that I think I can be blamed for that in all honesty.
The higher you hold someone, the further they have to fall.
It’s true, isn’t it.
As you know, the rape happened at my home, so I can never really escape it, not fully. That really hinders any recovery that I attempt because it serves as a horrible bloody reminder, every single day. It’s not exactly fair is it, especially when he can flounce off and not have to have it in his face 24/7. Lucky guy.
My friend got me out of the house yesterday; a trip up to Central London. A Swedish massage, prosecco drinking, walking and talking and a boat trip along the Thames. It was lovely, a really lovely time and indeed thing for her to do.
I kept on ruining it, though.
Seemingly everywhere held a memory of me and him, and it drove me fucking mad. The Tower of London, our walks along Southbank, the boat we had a lunch date on, the parks we would stroll through completely loved up, randomly seeing hotels we have stayed in being advertised, Westminster St, and one that particularly got to me, a bench under a bridge on southbank. I sat there yesterday and I remembered sitting there, with him, just before Christmas. We were broken up but decided to meet up for a drink and a walk as I was out in Central anyway. It was night time and the Thames and skyline just looked beautiful, I remember we just walked for hours, talking like nothing had changed. There was a busker singing Hotel California in the background, which is my favourite song. he put his arm around me, I remember wanting to cry, hit him, yell at him why he was doing that, why hurt me like this? I remember feeling such fire between us, such passion, yet having to sit on a bench pretending that I wasn’t feeling those things, pretending to be happy that we were now separate, single.
Don’t get me wrong, here. I am happy that happened. If we stayed together then I would never have confronted what he did, and it would have only made me worse off.
But it got me thinking. I am not the sort of person that lies when I tell someone that I love them. It’s meaningless if you do and I really dislike people like that. I’m a good person. I champion people, sometimes to the detriment of myself, but I still do.
I never ever lied when I told him that I loved him. I don’t anymore, obviously, but I did, Christ alive I did, and it hit me like a truck yesterday when I was seeing these places again.
If he ever felt as strongly about me, as I did him, then why would he not apologise for what he did and has caused? I don’t want him in my life again, I’m very glad that he is out of it, I think he is a complete monster, but, he can’t run away from this, what he has done. It will catch up with him, soon.
I think he is a monster, but, I loved him so passionately for two years part of me would still rather he just spoke to me, confronted what he has done and apologise, rather than the police catching up with him.
I am a good person, but how many chances can you afford the one person (coward) who completely ruined you?