I was staring at blank pages for hours. Then hours turned into days.
Days turned into weeks.
Then I finally gathered enough strength to get up and realize that no words are coming out of me.
No emotions are leaving my mind and heart. I’m not ready yet.
I wasn’t ready to accept the truth. I wasn’t ready to move on because the pain was pinning me down to the bed.
It was draining my energy, sucking the life out of me. Because what you did to me, what you did to us, was beyond my imagination. And trust me, as a writer, I have a quite imagination.
I never thought that getting out of the bed would be my biggest accomplishment of the day. I never thought that eating breakfast would be something I had to put on my to-do list.
I never thought I’ll be that woman, broken and hopeless, locked up inside her own hell. But I was.
Morning after morning, getting out of bed got easier.
Day after day, leaving my hell became closer. I could feel it coming. I could feel myself returning.
It took me months to rebuild what you broke, but I did it. It took me months to prepare myself to finally get out and face the possibility of seeing you on the street.
It took me months to rebuild myself only to realize that I’m over you. It took me months of taking care of myself to realize that I no longer care about you.
You made me feel worthless.
You made so much fun of me that I never realized it was taking parts of me away. You made fun of my body, so I started hating it.
You made fun of my success, so I started believing that I’m not good enough. You made fun of my mind, so I believed that I was stupid.
You flirted with skinnier, fancier women, so I started starving myself and buying new clothes so you would flirt with me.
You would leave me all alone while you were drinking at the bar. I thought I wasn’t funny enough. I thought I wasn’t interesting enough. I always thought I wasn’t enough.
You made me feel unlovable.
All those times when you would turn your head away, all those times when you would leave my bed not wanting to make love to me, all those times you preferred TV over me—all those times I believed I was to blame.
I believed I was unlovable—how could you even love me? Boring, ugly, stupid me?
You destroyed me.
You destroyed everything I worked so hard for. You took away my passion. You took away my love. You took away everything that made me the way I am.
When you left, I was nothing more than a shell filled with pain and tears. There was no trace of the old me.
You destroyed me, now watch me thrive.
You made me feel worthless, but now I know my worth. Now I know that you were the lucky one to love me—it was never the other way around.
Now I know that I’m smart, funny and hot. You made me feel like I’m not enough, but I’m more than enough. Maybe I was never perfect for you, but I’m perfect for myself. I love my small boobs and stretch marks. I love my frizzy hair and sweatpants. I love my imperfect body perfectly.
You broke me, but I’m now stronger than ever. You beat me to an emotional death, but I rose up. You took away the words from my mind, but now I’m writing goddamn novels. You destroyed me, now watch me thrive.