No one will ever understand how painful it is that I barely see my Ali anymore because of not living close. I didn’t stop caring. I just stopped mentioning it.
Sometimes you
can’t acknowledge you’re being abused and traumatized while you’re living it.
It feels too unreal, too dangerous and too self-indulged to even think about
it. You’re used to having your every feeling being dismissed, ridiculed,
minimized, and just portrayed as a attention-seeking, something you’re too
sensitive about and should hide unless you want to be humiliated about it. How
would your pain suddenly matter and be a big deal if you’ve been even telling
yourself it’s nothing all your life? How could it be trauma if you were able to
just push it all down and still function for some time? It’s all too harsh,
acknowledging that you actually had no choice but to push it down because
openly experiencing pain wasn’t even allowed for you, because you weren’t safe.
Some of these
things you’re only ready to know after you’re away, safe, after you don’t have
to be aware of everything, and still pretend it’s not happening. Being aware of
abuse, and having to live in it, is an intolerable hell.
It’s interesting to me that after 4 years, I still haven’t ran into said-somebody. I haven’t seen them at face value since I rented that apartment. since they said they love me. It was the first honest conversation in years and it was our last. It’s strange that I havent had any forced interactions like a lot of ex lovers end up having. We have mutual friends but the paths haven’t crossed.
