The Day It All Broke Down Part 3
The third part to my story about the catalyst that ended my covert narcissistic abusive relationship. Content Warning: Self Harm; Domestic Abuse
I pulled knives, not to end my life, but to get Him to stop. Slash. Slash. Scar.
Four days had past since Him moved out of our bedroom. I was stonewalled…given the silent treatment during this time, even at work, despite our agreement that no matter what is happening at home, we are cordial and professional in front of our colleagues and students. I was surprised on Thursday when he sent me a message saying it would be okay to talk after work. I still loved him, so of course, I jumped at the chance to fight for my relationship.
We did talk that afternoon, but to be honest with you dear Reader, I have no idea what we said. I won’t make up phony dialogue because it wouldn’t be fair to you or to Him (note: I don’t give a shit about what’s fair to Him, but I do always try to write with honor and integrity). What I can tell you is that, from my recollection, the conversation ended on a high note with Him leaving to go eat tacos and decompress. So allow me to tell you what I had hoped for, but before I do, let’s talk about hope for a second. Do you remember the movie The Hunger Games? There is a scene where Donald Sutherland’s character, President Snow, is talking to the games’ Game master. He says, “Hope. It is the only thing stronger than fear. A little hope is effective. A lot of hope is dangerous.” In this case, I find this quote to be quite accurate. After my talk with Him, I hoped that he would sleep in bed next to me that night. I hoped that we would be sexy that night as touch is Him’s love language. I hoped that we would move past this and be stronger for it. I hoped he would move back into our bedroom, and we would continue on the path toward marriage and the promise that we’d be a #PowerCouple he dangled in front of me would become reality.
I had a lot of hope that evening.
Through the events that are about to unfold, I learned that a lot of hope isn’t just dangerous. A lot of hope is also fucking stupid.
So, Dear Reader, allow me to tell you what actually happened that night.