The Last Time

My best friend had just called me to tell me she had a stroke. I was still stunned when my boyfriend at the time walked toward me. I tried to tell him, but he responded as though he hadn't heard me. "What?", he said, wearing a face that somehow on its own belittled. I asked with annoyance back, "Did you not hear what I said?" He didn't like that. I was already sitting on the floor when he stormed up to me, took me by my throat, and pinned me to the floor. He said something along the lines of me being full of myself (projection) and I firmly and repeatedly told him to let go of me. Once he did, I told him I would help him clean up and then I was leaving.

He followed me around the kitchen, mocking me as he did every time I stated I was done and leaving. I quickly gave up on cleaning and went to the room we had taken up to pack my things. He continued mocking me, saying anything degrading he could think of as he stood in the doorway. I asked him to leave me alone and after numerous times, he did.

I packed and asked my mother to pick me up the next day. It hadn't even been a week since we moved into the house one of his brothers bought upstate. My mother would have to drive hours to come get me, but she didn't refuse.

Later that night, my ex and I laid together for the last time. We didn't have sex. There was nothing romantic about the act. We just laid there till morning came.

The way he spoke to me, his mother, and mine, and the way he carried himself suggested I was being unreasonable, as if we could work this out. But we couldn't. It had been three years of this cycle and he hadn't changed. Behind the masks and guises, he was an asshole, but to him, everyone else were the assholes.

I don't remember everything that was said before I left, but it really doesn't matter. It didn't matter if he apologized again after he said he wouldn't put his hands on me (again).

Whatever I said or did before he held my throat for the first, second, or the last time, for him to get in my face, talk down on me, threaten to leave me in a foreign country countless times, break my phone, spit on me, and so forth justified none of it.

And for reasons, I thought my story wasn't worthy or harsh enough to share, for others have had it worse. This is what I thought, what I believed, so I minimized how much I actually shared about it.

I've wanted to forgive my ex because I thought it was good to, to forgive his many mistakes, acknowledge his flawed humanity, and all of that. But I've really struggled to completely forgive him. Because while yes this, that, and the third, he was fucked up.

On the same coin, I feel like I betrayed myself, too. And I'm not sure I've fully forgiven myself for that. I stayed for so long. I chose to stay over and over again, and for that, I share the blame and the shame. It's actually made me feel like all my complaining is in vain because of the fact.

Yet so are the complexities of contradicting ourselves...

At any rate, I no longer believe my stories are unworthy of being shared. On the contrary, I believe that I was meant to share stories, experiences, perspectives, and insights. I was always meant to be exactly who I was and who I am, and I plan to do a lot of good with my ability to share and express myself.

My story, my experiences, and my own mistakes are not for nothing. I will continue to be and do better.

With love and care,

Souvany Jimenez Panoun