Trying to write about what you feel and what happens inside your body after a devastating rupture with someone you care about is like trying to sort 35 decks of playing cards outside during a tornado.
I’m frustrated that this is happening. I am DEVASTATED. I am DEVASTATED that I have lost my best friend. My bike riding partner. My Ma Maison coffee date partner. My safe space. I am DEVASTATED that I have become this person sitting behind this keyboard feeling like I need to defend myself. This person that has to tell his side of the story, because otherwise, I’m just another guy, being horrible to a girl. That because of her deeply engrained, instinctual default of lying, about everything, and my reaction to being lied to, gaslit, manipulated and otherwise, I’m now the monster. I tell myself that the worst part of this is that because I’m standing up for myself and telling my story, I have lost ANY possibility of ever being friends with her, and that breaks my heart. But then, I remember the lies, and the things she did to cause this hurt and damage and I say – I don’t need a friend that will do that to me.
All day, I have waffled back and forth about whether to write my story or not. My instinct is to care for the person I loved with my whole heart. But each time I have that thought, I also have the thought of… why should I show care, compassion and concern for someone that WOULD NOT do it for me? Where was the care, compassion and concern for me when I needed to feel safe?
I went for coffee with a friend tonight, and one of the things that came up in conversation is that when someone lies to you – about big things, little things, and really important things, it’s emotional abuse. It makes you question what you can believe, what you can’t, what is true, what isn’t, what COULD be true, and what MIGHT be true. You exist in a constant state of fearing your own judgement, never knowing what is really happening. It puts your entire nervous system in high alert, and never knowing what is safe and what isn’t. It’s like living in a constant state of “gaslight”, and makes you feel insane.
She would lie to me – straight lie to my face about something, and I would be afraid to challenge her. What if I was wrong? But what if I was right? What if I said “I know you’re lying!” only to find out that she wasn’t? Was she? Wasn’t she? Was *I* wrong? “She wouldn’t be THIS adamant she wasn’t lying if she was telling the truth, would she? Oh man, if I’m wrong, this is going to get really ugly!”
Living in a constant state of not knowing if you’re safe to believe what your body and brain is telling you is the truth *IS* abuse. If you’re afraid to talk about how you feel with your partner, you’re being abused.
So, what’s the purpose of this blog? Why write my story here? Why write it at all?
I’m writing it so I can get feedback from my peers. So I can ask “was I the asshole here?” So I can ask questions. This is for me. For all the times I was not allowed to speak. For all the times I was afraid to speak. For all the times I was told I was CRAZY for reacting to how I was being treated. For all the times I came away from an argument or a fight questioning my sanity and feeling like crying because I felt so helpless and so hopeless. For all those times I was told “Robb, I’m NOT lying! I’m telling you the truth!” and feeling like a complete asshole, only to be told later that “Ok, fine, I was lying!”. And especially, for all the times I was told “and I lie because of how you react”.
I’m telling my story for all the times I was told that it was MY fault that I was lied to, gaslit and manipulated, and made to believe that I deserved it because I reacted to being lied to. I’m telling my story so I can finally stop feeling crazy for being upset that my trust was broken over, and over, and over, and over, and over, and yet I just kept coming back to offer care, to be useful, to be wanted, to be seen, to be included.
~ R
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