Your self-centered love

Your face showed something brewing beneath, a level of pain that you would not expose. When asked, you would lie, tell me all was well, and that you were tired. I noticed you close your eyes as we grew intimate, saw your kisses withdraw faster and told myself was imagining things, that I must be crazy, after all, I do have BPD. You saw my mental illnesses and the work i had done on myself as an opening to convince me you would never cheat, would never look at another.

I told myself you were a good person, that you would never have told me what my ex had done was wrong of him, evil even, if you would do worse to me, I fooled myself to ensure you would have a healthy first relationship, I allowed myself to be made a fool, so you could have freedom. You knew well what you did, and you did so anyway. You took me to couples' therapy and still did not have the will to tell me who you were. You convinced me y0u were depressed, suicidal to create a cover story for where you were, told me you were regularly driving or walking upwards of six hours...due to depression.

You spent nights sleeping soundly next to me as you pretended to love me, spent years convincing me we were the only two in our relationship. How pathetic. You were accepted into a school program abroad and could not fathom why I would be sad or miss you. I spent nights awake, crying, thinking of the years we would spend apart. I spent hour upon hour ruminating on how I would get by without you, effectively processing our breakup before it ever crossed my mind, so thank you for that.

You defined love by what could be given to you, what you could take. You robbed me better than any roadside robbery would have taken. You took my sanity, my ability to trust myself when anything remotely suspicious act takes place. Why you chose to stay with me for years while you saw others, I will never know, but I speculate it was so you could remain in the closet from you overwhelmingly supportive family. The family who bank rolled your habits and your rent. Why else stay with someone you don't love, when all bills and whims are covered by your "mommy".

I eventually asked you for an open relationship out of desperation, having spent the last year without intimacy, attention, and seeing the next two years with you abroad. I realized how unhappy and unsupported I was with you, as if you hadn't chastised my ex for less neglect than you showed me. You granted my request, which surprised me but makes sense now. You had gaslit me into being alone while you saw other people, only to then break under the pressure of others showing an interest in me, like a childs cast off toy, newly found by another. You threw an ill received tantrum. You expected begging, pleading for you to stay, like the first time you tried to leave, instead, you received cold empty words. You had broken me of my addiction to you.

I met someone, I had never struggled to meet people, you knew that, and we began to spend nights together, as we did, you saw your side piece. I found little things like socks, eyelash extensions, on my side of the bed, but given I had fallen in love anew, did not care. I just needed to wait this out as you would be leaving soon, but you left me before we could get there, as you saw me fall, I knew you were unfaithful. I just had not realized you were also gaslighting me into insanity. Your self serving fantasy of a woman besides herself with you as you gallivanted was over.

I let you scream and fake tears as your face remained dry, your face inches from mine as you exploded into fits over me finding someone, your other partners on my mind blocking my ability to feel for you. You had wasted years of my life, bending my spine till it broke like that of a book to suit your life. I allowed you to act out, watching you act as childish as a teen.

I have moved on, in case you care, and I have moved on well, I am healing the scars in my phsyche you provided, allowing me to trust myself again. You may have seen a weak girl in the mental hospital when you found me, and may have perpetuated it once we moved in, but I hope next time I see you, I can tell you what I really think of you before I lose me temper and slap your delicate face.