I’ve said it before, somewhere. There’s a big part of this that is recovering from the emotional abuse aspect of it. And there’s a part of it that is just recovering from a big ugly breakup.
I spent the last few years expending so much energy, putting so much of myself into this relationship, into this other person’s happiness, and now… it’s just gone. There was solidity, and now there is only vapor. There was something and now there is nothing.
But part of me still has the habit of him.
And obviously not every waking moment was torture, or I never would have stayed, nor survived, as long as I did. (And, yes, I know how that fits into the cycle of abuse, also known as the story of our life together.) And it has been those moments, those softer moments, that have been coming at me like grenades lately. Because the beautiful is now forever shrouded in the vile. And all my memories are seen through the veil of what I now know.
I learned of the death of a friend fairly recently. He was a beautiful, beautiful person. The world was better because of his much too short life. I met him in the years I was with X; we met him together. And nobody in my everyday life knows him and I wanted to turn to X to commiserate, to mourn with him. And I was taken aback by the vacuum that was there.
Part of me still has the habit of him.