Hell Is Other People

Abuse, such a strong word.  It evokes different types of emotions in almost everyone.  Some of us have been victims of abuse, some of us, the perpetrators, knowingly or unknowingly.  It's not a feeling or a concept I've known for a long time, it's only been a month since I had to google the symptoms of an 'abusive relationship'.  All my life, I've been protected, albeit it was over-the-top, my parents did their best to protect me from the evils of the world.  I used to feel imprisoned and shackled but over time, I've learned to call it what it is; love.  I had a really great childhood thanks to my loving family and although adolescence always is a foray into hell, I never had any major incidents.  It was all good until I started college.  

College was a blur, to be honest.  I'd never really connected with people my age because I always felt I was a couple of years ahead, in terms of maturity and tastes.  That might seem arrogant but when you're 21 and your favorite band is The Beatles and you think Godard's movies are the best, it's kind of difficult to make friends, not that it's a bad thing.  So when I started college, I was really isolated and insecure.  My friends from high school were going to other colleges and I was on my own.  But as I got to know my classmates, I began to appreciate college, especially the part where you get drunk and do crazy s**t.

The day that I met A, I was getting drunk with a guy who was my senior and I was kind of bored.  I was pretty much chain smoking and listening to him ramble on about his conquests and his fantasies that would obviously never come true.  I went to pee and when I came back, there he was, with his friend.  They were really sympathetic and we bonded at once, although I felt he was annoying.  I was too drunk to care about the annoying part so I kind of went along with him.  Soon, we were matching our time tables to see when we could hang out and we were spending all of our time together.  At the time, I was dating P.  P was amazing, he was smart and witty and completely copacetic.  I had known P since high school and we always got along.  P was 4 years older than me and he worked as an engineer at this really reputable firm.  He would come to see me everyday at 5, and after spending most of the day longing for him, it was a treat !

Except it didn't last.  The good part never lasts.  As A and I were getting closer, we were also getting more intimate.  Soon he was kissing me, although I didn't want to but I let him.  Then there was the hickie.  That's when P and I broke up.  He noticed the hickie, one fateful Saturday afternoon and sat me down, asked me all those questions to which I didn't know how to respond, and I just sat there, feeling nihilistic as f**k.  Even now, I cannot believe how numb and stoic I was.  Eventually, it became clear A and I had been fooling around behind his back and I had to choose between them.  I chose A and to this day, this reminds me that I'm terrible at making choices.

P was mad and he had a brief scuffle with A, but I still didn't know how to placate the whole situation.

Fast forward 2 years later, I'm googling 'symptoms of an abusive relationship'.  This is what I get for making a bad choice.  A and I, we struggle to even find common ground.  You'd think we were enemies if you saw how our conversations go.  For 2 years, I tried to rationalize the whole thing, I would tell myself that he would grow up because eventually everyone has to.  The love part was brief and ephemeral, I'd have to travel in time to find that day, that moment, when caring for one another wasn't that hard.  I'd have to look at old photographs to remember when saying 'I love you' meant something.  Because all of that is gone now, what remains is the resentment, the mutual hatred, the pettiness.  When you have nothing in common with a person, sooner or later, it will devolve, you will dehumanize each other because you can't find the silver lining.  

It's terrible, when people fall out of love, but I think it's the best thing to have happened to me in 2 years.  If I still loved him, I wouldn't see him for who he truly is; a vituperative, resentful man.  The resentment, I can trace it back to when P and I were together, the anger is probably because I'm not as malleable a person as he'd like me to be, but amidst all these inimical feelings, I have found my Ataraxia.  There's no Jon Snow in a Joffrey, you can give it 1 year or 2 years, a Svengali remains a Svengali.