My apocalypse, not his.

The Apocalypse. That’s what {D} called the email. That was his apocalypse, not mine. Mine was slow and twisted and incomprehensible to someone who has never lived that massive train wreck that kept rolling for almost 6 months of my life. I’ve talked about the realization of what happened to me. I have spoken about how there are stages. I have yet to find the words to quite describe how and what happened in a way that I think people could understand the insanity and mind fuck of the whole realization of trauma. Like it fucked me up. Bad. Like really bad. I can’t describe what the realization feels like and the pace or lack thereof that it rolls at.

So we all know the story by now. {D} and I were rocky. I was emotional. I’m emotional just to start with but I don’t generally put that out there because I’m the toughest bitch you’re ever going to meet. But I’m also incredibly sweet and loving and caring and I just want to make everyone happy and feel good about themselves. Do unto others kind of vibe happening. But you piss me off and we have a fucking problem.

I was on the phone. July 2nd 2024. I am talking to this girl and her mom about college cheer recruiting and she mentions she is taking her junior year over the summer so she can graduate a year early. Now I am a little “oh shit” at this moment because she is a little late to the recruiting game with that year skip. So I asked the mom why she was doing that. Mom tells me it was 7th grade when he hurt her and she was so brave and she was able to talk to the police and do what she needed to do. She homeschooled for 8th grade so she could get to therapy and get well after what she had been through. And they were letting the motherfucker out the following school year and she wanted to be as far away from him as possible. It was a family member. Holy shit I lost it. How fucking brave was that kid to stand up for herself and say no and fucking tell? Do you have any idea how many times I wanted to do that? Just scream no and go and tell and have someone actually punished? From the time I was little I wanted that.

I lost my fucking mind. Like I was, I don’t even know what I was. I got the kid a $5k scholarship from my company and I don’t even know where the rest of the day went. My poor boss I have no idea what he thought was happening. I was just gone. I was gone.

I watched that fucking video. I saw it. But, I still didn’t believe it. I still thought it was just me. That video is grotesque. What he did to me was horrific. The pain and the bleeding and the whole fucking thing went from being a memory that I glazed over and made into a funny story, which is how I have always dealt with my trauma in the past, to being the breaking of my mind and my soul. Holy shit.

I was going to forgive {D}. I was. I always told him “I will love you through anything and I will forgive you for anything, just don’t lie to me.” I was going to forgive him, but I desperately needed him in that moment. He was my person. My partner. My best friend. My rock. He was all I had to hold onto in my life at that moment. I had no one else. He was who I needed because there was no where else to turn. Trauma bonding, I suppose. I just needed him.

I had to try to keep it together though. The train was slowly moving on the tracks towards completely soul shattering at this point. Soul shattering was somewhere between the police interview and the DA calling me a whore. I wasn’t there yet. Yet being the operative word.

Now {D} being with his dumpy looking girlfriend who he complained to me about constantly made talking to {D} difficult. I wasn’t allowed to text. He told me I couldn’t for the week he was with his daughter. I knew where he was. I always knew. Again, I’m not dumb, just overly forgiving to abusive men. Dumb motherfucker thought he could lie to me. Fine, so I have to play the game.

He is coming back Sunday giving me Monday to talk to him about this video and what the fuck happened before I have to be a good mom on Tuesday. I am barely holding on by a fucking thread. Barely. I didn’t sleep or eat for a couple days and I made it very clear to {D} I needed him. I needed him. He needed to “come home” on time.

Then he hits me with it. His boss, Scott is sick and he has to go straight from Georgia to Houston for an insurance conference. He did it with such little feeling. He just said he was not coming “home” until Wednesday. He seems to have forgotten telling me he needed his suit on Tuesday because Carson City, Scott to be precise, was coming to Vegas.

But I needed him. He loved me he wouldn’t do that to me if I told him I needed him. Right?

He just sent a text. “I’ll be back Wednesday.”

I must have replied within milliseconds. I sent probably 50 texts explaining that no I really I wasn’t okay and I needed him. As a human as a friend as whatever, I needed someone and I was clear that I wasn’t safe with myself. I was fucking mentally gone at that point. I was begging for hours I think I finally passed out just from the exhaustion. I read some of those texts and I’m apologizing and begging. And telling him I can’t self soothe at that point. Like this was a literal nervous breakdown and he ignored me. I just kept apologizing.

Some time shortly after midnight as he always did while he was with one of his us, his tummy hurt and he went to the bathroom with his phone, I believe, and texted me to not text him when I was on drugs. Like motherfucker, if I were on drugs at that point it would not have been that bad. People do drugs for reasons like that trauma. And he knew I had stopped doing drugs. I was having a breakdown because he raped me and was gaslighting me for some sick little game he wanted to play with one woman who thinks she is so worthless she lets him beat her and rape her and me who he complained about her to and told me he loved me because he didn’t have to do that to make me feel. This man is an actual fucking psychopath. I still didn’t see it yet, but Jesus.

So July 4th shit went down. Fight. Or. Flight. That is my baseline. I had enough and I told him I didn’t care. I forgave him but he needed to get rid of her because I needed him, again because and this still makes no sense to me, I needed him because he had raped me. What the actual sideways fuck reality was I in? I still I don’t know what I was thinking. That? What the fuck.

He keeps doubling down on being in Georgia. He has muted me so I can’t text him.

Fight. Or. Flight.

I decided to go to his place with the fucking keys I had because I practically lived there and worked there every fucking day. He will be there or he won’t. Now I’m angry. Bridge is flaming.

I get there and his car is gone. I email him and I’ll put some of the emails here, but he tells me he had a heart attack and is in the hospital and that is why he can’t text me. He sent me an email on the phone he can’t use to text. Okay. Oh and he called me a stalker. I was, to my knowledge still his girlfriend at that point and I had fucking keys.

So where the fuck is the car? He tells me his parents must have taken it. His parents were of course staying at his place that is why I had to clean for them the night before he left.

Did {D} have a heart attack? No. I will always believe he faked it because he was too much of a little bitch to fucking face me. He knew I could beat his ass. He fancies himself a bad ass because he beats women to get off and had a losing record as a boxer in college.

I stayed in that garage for hours and I watched that video on my fucking phone. Over and over. I just wanted him to pull up. I can take a fucking punch but he was getting the beating of a fucking lifetime.

I guess you could say I was maybe a little angry at that point. Just a touch, though.

He wasn’t going to show up because he is too much of a fucking pussy.

I went home. I should have gone straight to the the police station a half block down the street. If I had done that he would be in prison where he belongs right now and I wouldn’t still be fighting. I would be able to move on and not have to keep reliving it because he needs therapy. I am suing that man to force him into therapy. No other reason. He ain’t got shit but a used E Class with my name on it that pays $800 a month for. Like get lease, loser. That man needs help. And this is coming directly from the person who just told you about that little mental instability moment in my life. Seriously, if I think you’re fucked up, you probably are.

I sent the email. Now both of our worlds were burning. Was it the right thing to do? No. It wasn’t it. Was a huge mistake. But the smarts they go out the window when I can’t face down the man who did that to me. The man who fucking held me down and raped me while I begged. The man who made me bleed. I wanted to make him bleed. I wanted him to feel what I was feeling.

Of all the people, he had to do it to me. Like he had someone who liked it. Why do it to someone who it would scar for life? What was the fucking point in that? Oh yeah I forgot, he lost control. The one thing he always wants to have, he lost and he did it to me.

But I’m the toughest bitch you’re ever going to meet. The sweet loving me, that bitch is gone. Fuck her. Fuck the one good part of me, right? Fuck the one part of my core of my personality that I was proud of. Fuck her she needed to die anyways, right? Where the fuck does idealism and love for others get you? No fucking where. {D} taught me that lesson  

I asked him after the apocalypse why he had to do the love thing with me. It was so unnecessary. I would have kept fucking him regardless of whether he told me he loved me or not. Why lie to me like that and try to convince me you can feel something like love for another human being when you’re capable of being such a monster. He told me, “why does it matter, you had one foot out the door on life already.”

Ain’t love grand?