I’m Tired Of Saying Sorry, Even Though You Were The One Hurting Me

Blonde woman in front of blue door
Redd Angelo

I don’t miss you.

I didn’t even miss you as I flew back to my hometown. I missed the person I cheated on you with, the one that made me feel accepted and whole again. That fizzled out soon enough, as I began to truly realize I was worth more than being with a man who broke me down every single chance he got.

I loved you once, I want you to know that.

I didn’t hate you, even when you were screaming at me so loudly that it felt like my eardrums were going to burst. I remember it vividly: we began fighting – once again – over the fact that I wanted children one day.

You didn’t.

You eventually began screaming at me, telling me that I’m a bitch, that I’m stupid.

I was always the one to say sorry.

I remember ripping actual chunks out of my hair one night when we were fighting in our bedroom. I was crying. You were screaming, and mocking the way I cried.

My head hurt for two days after that, and I combed my hair over to hide the parts I tore out in my severe distress.

Your family didn’t like me from the very beginning. I wasn’t like you, I was too different to be accepted into your elitist, materialistic, and wealthy family. So, instead of being accepted and loved as a member of the family, I was ostracized and made to feel like a waste of air.

Do you remember how I began to drink? I do.

I would buy a bottle of wine – sometimes two – every Friday night, and drink myself into oblivion. You didn’t think much of it, I’m sure you expected it of me anyway, from my background.

I can remember when we had not been intimate for three months.

I didn’t tell you the real reason why not, I told you that my libido was lacking. That wasn’t the truth. I didn’t love you anymore, and the mere image of you on top of me made me feel nauseous. Even the thought of kissing you made me nauseous, because ninety-nine percent of the time, when I would go over to give you a quick kiss, you would turn your head away.

In the beginning, it felt like a punch to my gut. As time went on, I no longer cared. I wanted out, I wanted to go home, as I whispered to myself on a daily basis, but I couldn’t.

I didn’t have the strength.

I’m sorry for cheating on you. Yes, it was only a kiss. But it wasn’t right to do.

Then again, what you did wasn’t right either. Tearing me down each and every day, breaking me down, telling me I’m stupid and incompetent, calling me a bitch when I didn’t do what you wanted and so much more.

You were eventually the one that ended the relationship.

I wish I had.

Either way, I got to climb on the plane back to my hometown, break down sobbing in my sister’s arms, and have my entire family witness the destruction you caused.

This consisted of screaming, drinking out of a bottle of wine in my bedroom and going entirely numb.

I thank Jesus every single day that I had my family there to support me. They still do, because I still have my off days, and it’s been a full year.

Even just the other day, I was held as I sobbed, believing that I’m worthless. Yes, that was one of the other names you called me.

My real name had been stripped away, and instead I was named Worthless, Useless, Unloved.

It’s been a year. I don’t hate you. But I’ve been hating myself, I don’t like myself. And I’m sorry to say it, but you caused this.

Day by day, I’m rebuilding what you broke. I work in a phenomenal environment, where my boss is born again and we attend the same church. I come home every day to my cats and my dog, my father, my amazing step mother and my sister, where there are pictures filling the walls of our pets, those alive and the ones that passed. Pictures of my brother’s wedding and other happy moments.

I come home to a place where they see right through me when I’m having my bad days, and when I come home, I walk into the kitchen where I was crying and telling my family I wanted to kill myself. Instead of wanting that same thing, I walk into the kitchen and smell the food my step mother is making, and I’m greeted with a kiss by my sister, who is usually in said kitchen.

I know you’re in a relationship again and I’m so happy for you. I truly wish you the best. However, I never want to see you or your family again. For my own sake, I need to rebuild what you broke.

I don’t blame you, your parents raised you differently.

I don’t hate you. Thought Catalog Logo Mark

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