Yes, I knew. I knew you lied to everyone, to your friends and to your family, but no, my baby would never lie to me. I knew you avoided meeting people, just because you felt too lazy or had better plans, but no, my baby would never avoid me. People said, “I saw him out with his friends last night” when you said you’d be at home with your mother. But I was sure it must have been someone else, because my baby would never lie to me.
You painted such an amazing picture of yourself and filled it in with love and trust. I was so blinded by everything you did and said that it was all that mattered to me. I slowly stopped talking to my friends, because they were jealous of us, making up stories to tear us apart. How dare they? Mom said you didn’t seem like a decent guy, but what did mom know about you? I knew the real you.
You got a call from an old friend I’d heard about when we were cosily watching TV in the little studio we moved into. The girl you said you never talk to. “Why are you bothering me?” you screamed into the phone. My baby would never cheat on me. Look at how he talked to her. She was probably just bugging him. He was so great that everyone wanted a piece of him. “I don’t know why she called me.” That was enough for me, because my baby would never hurt me.
I spent six years with you. You were my reason to live. You made me happy, you made me smile, you made me feel so special. I drifted away from my friends for you. I moved out of my family home. I stopped going to dance class, so I could spend more time with you. I even pierced my nose, because you said girls with piercings were super sexy. I dyed my hair red and cut it short, because you liked me better that way. I started buying the type of clothes you liked. I was everything you wanted until I wasn’t even “me” anymore.
My life was yours.
One day we got into an argument and you beat me up. You whipped me with a hanger and burnt my hand with an iron. It hurt so bad, but you quickly hugged me and made me a bowl of soup. It was okay. You got angry at something I did. It was my fault. My baby would never hurt me otherwise.
On a beautiful summer night, we went to a bar to have a beer with your best friend. We got into an argument, because you thought your friend was flirting with me. You dragged me out and banged my head against the wall repeatedly. I ran away from you. You chased me and tried to pull my top down on the road, because I was attracting your friend and therefore you felt the need to embarrass me by screaming out, “Show everyone what you’ve got, you slut.” You got me flowers the next day. It was okay. My baby was only scared of losing me. How sweet.
I was mental.
I lost myself.