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  • By girly-d
  • On 16/10/2017

I walked out of hospital in a sundress and heels.

He was waiting for me; told me I looked amazing...playing the adoring boyfriend card. I don't think the staff bought it to be fair, although they didn't like to say. 

They didn't want me to leave.

The bed was free for two more days they said...I could stay if I wanted to? - Another forty-eight hours. Maybe that would have changed everything...

Who knows?

Probably not.

I'd chosen my hand... I felt strong enough to go.

It was emotional - Lots of hugs and "Thank you's" and then I left.

With him.

I thought that I was well again...

I lasted a week.

I'm amazed I lasted that long.


Because he didn't want me well, he wanted me sick.

If I was well he knew that I wouldn't put up with his shit and do what I should have done months ago.


The mind games started straight away -"Why was I wearing a dress? What was I up to?...Who was I "grooming" myself for?"

 He knew that I was wobbly and not up for confrontation...that I wouldn't be able to handle the constant accusations.

One week later I was sat back in Wetherspoons with a pint right there in front of me.

I can't even remember the row that drove me there.  He'd accused me of so many things by this point I'd stopped counting.

He came in looking for me...Caused a scene. Threatened me.

Told me that if I touched that drink he would call my brother, call my support worker, tell all my friends.

He'd put it on facebook...

He liked facebook. It's where he slagged me off to all of his equally tragic mates.

He wasn't concerned for my well being, worried about my health or trying to support me. He was playing games. He wanted to be the one to decide when I had a drink. One week later he was offering to pour it down my throat.

Funny how that conversation didn't make social media...  

I told him to go and fuck himself.

I didn't touch the drink...Not that time anyway.

I paid for my audacity later that night when he dragged me upstairs by my neck.

The mind games continued. His jealousy and paranoia escalated by the day.  He hated me being out of his sight. I was obviously out shagging the world the minute his back was turned.

He posted a gif of a mattress bouncing up and down on facebook and tagged me in it.

That was nice.

The fact that there weren't enough hours in the day for me to sleep with all of the men that I was supposedly seeing behind his back didn't stop him accusing me of it anyway.

 I never did cheat on him despite how twattish he was to me... I was pretty much off men at this point funnily enough. 

 Anyway, he won that one...

I stopped looking pretty, started to drink again. Continued to live a life of headfuckery.  Until I literally couldn't take anymore.

I saw him recently.

In Primark.

I was less than 5 feet away, shopping with Connor. I felt my blood run cold although I'm sure he didn't see me... Thank God for escalators and hooded jackets eh?

He was with a woman.

Poor cow.

I'd heard he was looking for me. He'd never really stopped. My messenger was full when I finally looked at it. Cajoling, begging, pleading, threatening...he tried every trick in the book.

I  kept them all - Just in case.

He couldn't handle the fact that I'd left him.

I was a "possesion".

I saw what he did to posessions. He'd trashed most of mine. He threw my cats ashes down the stairs along with pretty much everything else that I owned.

"Wanker" doesn't even come close to describing him when I think about that one.

I should have had him arrested. 

If he ever comes near me again I will.

He doesn't know this new me. He needs to be a bit cautious.

Blinkers are off and the gloves are on. I'm thinking straight and I'm boxing clever.

He still scares me I'm not going to lie.

But he angers me more.

I think about him a lot...I can't help it.

He creeps into my thoughts and I don't like that. I'm getting him out of my head the only way I know how to right now. By putting my thoughts and feelings into words on here.

Every time I think about the shit that he put me through I get angrier. When I get angry I get strong and I write.  The stronger I get the smaller he becomes. One day I won't think of him at all. He doesn't deserve my headspace.

He'd hate this... The fact that I'm alive and well and far far away from him and his nastiness. He'd hate the fact that he lost in the end. And he did lose. He was so sure he'd broken me. I would have loved to see the penny drop. When he realised that I'd gone. Actually dared to leave him. No more headfuckery.

 Unlucky M.

Better luck with the next one... Although hopefully she too has run a mile by now....and if she hasn't she really fucking needs to...

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