My Dear Once Upon A Time

A letter to help me find solace in that which has been lost to me in the form of my 8 years of life and love that is now gone because of domestic violence.

My Dear Once Upon A Time,

I had a dream of you. In the dream there was fire, and yelling. Screams could be heard from all around but my focus was on you and only you. You were pulling away from me and my heart broke; I grabbed your shirt front and pulled you close, my lips crashing against yours, desperate to find the passion that once overtook me with just the gaze of your eyes. But it was gone. There was nothing, not even sadness in the kiss. There was nothing familiar, no memory of love existed in the meeting, the touch of my mouth to yours. As we pulled apart not even the heat of your breath brought me warmth. Everything was gone and I was left empty.

I looked at you, staring into your eyes and felt nothing. It was like all the years we had spent together weren't even worth the space in my mind or heart. It was that thought that you didn't even matter to me anymore that made my heart break, the last piece shattering. Our souls severed, you were lost to me and I to you. Our ending as swift as our joining, a swift breeze that had come in one burst and faded away into nothing in the next moment. In the dream I released you and pulled back. The screams, the fire, the fear and the anger; everything that had surrounded us in the dream blurred and faded into nothing, and in that moment you were gone and I was alone. Like a fire doused in flame my love for you had flicked its last. The pain remained as I awoke. Regret. Tired. Cursing the dawn and cursing the night because neither brought release.

The days pass in motions and gestures, vague remembrances of you swimming through my subconscious and the different emotions torment me. Joy, a sense of freedom, no longer needing to fear what I say or think or want. Sorrow, regret at what we had, what we lost. Anger, a vehemence if you will, that I let you hurt me over and over and brushed it off as my price for love. And courage, the courage to take new steps into the future, into the sunlight that felt lost to me. I can feel energy I hadn't had before, yet an exhaustion sets in and yanks me back into the desire, the missing you. I distract myself, search desperately at times to find a means to forget, forget you, forget us, forget how much I miss and want you.

Oh yes, there are times where I want nothing more than time to rewind, to be in your arms, to be held and live in the world of pretend love. To play my part as your little wife, going to work, caring for the children, all while you are not around because you were too busy with your little mistress. But I always overlooked, always defended. I always took the punches, the slaps, the choking and biting and kicking. I hid the bruises to my body, to my mind, my heart. But the scars remain, even those left unseen. I was dying, falling into a darkness I would have never been able to escape, and my one light was extinguished. You had made your choice when you put your hands on me in front of others, in front of our children. Their screams resounding echo in my head cover the sound of your voice as you whispered you loved me.

I look in the mirror and I see the bags under my eyes, the darkness and lack of rest. I try to smile at myself and the smile looks faded, closed. Fake. There is no smile left, I pull my lips up with my fingers but my eyes show only sorrow. There is no smile in me anymore. My smile left with you I think, washed away in the flood that swept away my ability to love another as a woman to a man.

I have tried to look for it, but I think it can't return, at least not right now. I sometimes find glimmers of it, in the laughter of our daughters, in their smiles and playfulness, in their hugs and kisses. But it is a bittersweet glimmer because in each laugh, each smile, each I love you from them, your shadow appears. I can see them in you, just as I see myself in them. Because they are what was created by our love, a combination of my heart to yours, bodies entwined in passion and serenity.

Even now tears still fall for you, and as I shove them away, scrape them from my face, refuse them to fall because of you, the continue to roll down in salted caresses, like the brush of your fingers.

And I hate it.

I know you have long since replaced me, you had replaced me even before you had left. I had just not wanted to accept the truth, although neither had you. It took something so extreme to break the cycle, and from it you finally kept one promise to me, the only promise ever kept. To leave me after you broke me, beat me, lied to me, and cheated. You kept the promise to leave me instead of honoring the promise to love me forever. Till death do us part had been just a child worthy wish I suppose.

A small part of my heart, just a sliver, will always belong to you though. Even though you hurt me, even though I bear a scar on my chest from your attack, and a scar on my heart from that which was lost, there will always be a piece of me that is yours. The rest of me just can no longer be with that piece and I think in time I will be able to fully accept that reality and no longer hurt from it. It will take time, but, every day a small piece of memory of you fades away. The look of your smile, your eyes full of love, your tears falling. The anger, and hatred, the face you made as you lied. It's all blurring and fading and swirling into everything and nothing. All disappearing into that which does not matter. Someday I will forget, you will be just a small puzzle piece in the scope of my life. Someday I will be able to find new love, whether it be for myself, or for another, who is to say?

Thank you for releasing me sooner. How many years would I have allowed myself to suffer had you not struck me in front of others? Who knows. So thank you for the swift end, like ripping off a band aid. Painful, but quick. Thank you.

And goodbye.

Reviews

[Wolfwind Words]

Deep words that are full of the resonance of trial, pain and the muse of a future tense. While the past build us, the steps onward from there, especially when fettered with turmoil, can be difficult and emotionally straining.

I think you've carried the piece of ink into that area of the mind that cause introspection, reflection and though about abuse and how it effects.

Thanks for sharing.
Aaron