I knew you were toxic. I knew it wasn’t healthy for me. I never called it abuse.

I remember crying myself to sleep every night. Praying you’d be different. I prayed you saw my value. Prayed you’d change. Prayed you saw my tears and they hurt you, too. Prayed you wouldn’t be so mean. I remember walking on eggshells to not upset you. Prayed you didn’t just see a cow in front of you. Prayed you saw what you put me through. Do you remember the yo-yo game you played with me? I prayed I was the apple of your eye and you would bring me around friends and family. We were together for so long. My heart ached.

Do you remember how you cheated? How I knew but I never said anything. I still took you with open arms and wanted my future with you. Do you remember when I moved on? You called me all sorts of names even when it took years to try and pick up my pieces. Do you remember how you proposed to the other girl months after calling it off? Still wanting me around because you knew I loved you. I had to move 250 miles to try and forget you. Do you remember coming all the way to my new house because you had the address from before we broke up? Do you remember crashing my car? Do you remember following me 90 miles to follow me to my new boyfriend’s car? Do you remember the gun? The gun you brought for ‘intimidation’. Do you remember all your half promises to never treat me like that again? How I believed every single one. I prayed my life would change and never knew why I was stuck in this cycle. It wasn’t me. It was you.

Do you remember me blocking you off everything? You still found me. Apologized. I prayed it was different but it was the same. Do you remember when I said I was happy. I moved on. It was “the dumbest thing” to ever come out of my mouth and family and friends were equally moronic. I was too busy praying you’d be different, to stop the tears, and for God to mend your heart. I never called you ‘abusive’ not even when you took out the gun. Part of it was my fault, I know. I kept taking you back, even when I knew it wouldn’t change, but hoping it did. I loved you... I still do... but I was so focused on the love I had for you, focused on what I put in thinking it was going to be enough to put us through.

It took so long to fix my heart and realizing that no, abuse isn’t just hitting me. It’s calling me names, making me feel so small that I can’t go anywhere because you were the only one to love me. It’s treating me so low for years. Hurting me emotionally, constantly. The gun could’ve been the end of me. I prayed you’d see the harm it could do. Maybe you didn’t pull the trigger for one thing or the other. Maybe then God mended your heart. I just want to know... why me? Why put me through all this hurt? Time and time again. Was I that easy? Did I do something to you? How could you have so much hate for someone who just tried making you happy? Cause so much hurt without even flinching? Did it hurt you too? Did you think about me? No I guess not.... I thank God for mending my broken pieces and pray my future daughter never goes through this. I should’ve listened. I didn’t. I hope for the sake of your new relationships, they don’t go through the same and you get help. I still don’t see an awful person, just a person who made mistakes.