Holding On To Nothing

The day didn’t start out too well; my boyfriend, who I had been dating for more than a year at the time, was angry for one reason or another. That day I decided I just wasn’t going to put up with his mood and decided to ignore him, which would end up make everything so much worse. He started screaming at me, threatening to leave, making me cry. I went up into my bedroom and laid in bed. He followed me in, calling me a slut, a whore, a cunt, and almost every other name I can think of, then spat on me and walked out of my room. I got up, quickly closed my door, and locked it. He started to kick it and bang on it, screaming at me. Then everything went quiet.

After a couple of minutes, I heard the sound of paper ripping, and I soon realized he was tearing up all the cards he had ever written me and all our pictures together. I was heartbroken. He threatened to break up up with me if I didn’t open my bedroom door and, when I finally let him in, he presumed to rip all my pictures off of my wall while telling me how I ruined every part of his life. The argument died down, and he went over to his friends house, but we were still going to meet up again later that night.

When I finally went to see him at his friend’s house, they were all making fun of me. He did nothing about it, which in my mind was a red flag. After a couple of glasses of wine I started to feel more calm, but my now-ex was probably already on his 5th shot. He took me into the bathroom, looked me dead in the eyes and told me not to blame him if he hooked up with other girls that night. I slapped him. After all of the shit I had already put up with, I still forgave him after a couple of minutes so that we could try and have an OK night.

We got into an Uber with all of his friends to go out, and he grabbed me by the boob and squeezed it so hard I screamed. His friends just laughed. I wanted to cry. My ex was so drunk that when we got out of the car, he blew up at me, again. He was screaming and grabbing my arms and telling me how much better he could do without me. It was so loud and terrifying that people started to walk over and ask if everything was okay. I took both of his hands and dragged him up a flight of stairs and to a secluded area. He wouldn’t stop squeezing me and hurting me so I called a cab and cried the entire way home.

My ex made me think that he was the best thing I was ever going to get and that love had to be painful. It doesn’t have to be that way, and it took me so long to learn how to love myself enough to let him go.

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