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| Photo F LoBuono/Words Anonymous |
For the past 11 days I’ve felt shame, anger and sadness. What happened?
I told you I love you and was rewarded with silence. You belittled me from the start, then made nothing of my feelings for you. My words made me feel vulnerable. You couldn’t have cared less
.
Did you have any feelings for me? I called you friend, trusted you, confided in you and believed you. Despite your insults, some in front of other people, and lack of respect I believed you cared for me.
How many times I ignored those insults, the disparaging and critical comments of others you spoke only in my presence, never telling anyone because I was afraid. You did it again recently; I kept silent because your temper was fierce. I didn’t want to see it again.
There was a time you’d tell me stories about your past and share who you were. You made me laugh with your jokes and feel trusted by your confidence, protected at times, happy with your hugs. Were the roses a mask, hiding the real you? Roses have thorns. I didn’t see any in the ones you gave me. I feel them now long after they’re gone.
Last week it was all I could do not to call you and ask what happened. The hurt I feel crushes me, and you have no clue. Or maybe you do and don’t care. That’s it. What hurts the most is that you know what you did and are relishing in the pain you’re causing me.
Going silent is immature. Turning cold is cruel. My eyes are open.
A strange reason you gave for not talking to me at work. When my calls went to your voice mail I asked why. Auto-reject is simple to reverse. You chose not to undo it. Power, control. Have you so little in your life that you had to cause pain in mine?
You have lots of toys that most people couldn’t afford a hundred lifetimes over yet you had nothing inside for me. A big child with lots of toys, who thinks buying things and putting people down makes important.
The gift certificate was to make you feel better. You let me know loudly and clearly I had chosen incorrectly. “I won’t use it, and if I don’t use it in a few months I’ll mail it back to you,” you told me.
I felt the sting again when you gave it back to me months later. “You work hard for your money,” you said.
How dare you tell me how to spend my money? Did that make you feel powerful? Would that I had torn it up in front of you.
Money and power don’t mean anything if you’re hollow, shallow inside. Was that faux empathy for me? You’re a great pretender.
A curt email reply, a phone call returned upon request with none initiated . . . I need no more clues.
I’m getting used to not hearing your voice, not speaking with you, not seeing you even though I miss you. Don’t call weeks from now and ask how I am or tell me you want to see me.
Run instead to your toys. They make you feel secure.
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