To You My Best Was Never Enough

I gave you everything I could. It was never enough. I was never enough. Nothing could ever satisfy you.

The first time I set eyes on you my heart skipped a beat, my hands were shaking. It was like everything was telling me to run away. To run as far as I could and to never look back. My body and heart were telling me what was best for me at that moment, but somehow I wanted you to be the best thing for me. You were so generous at the beginning, never trying to make me feel unloved and inferior, but rather appreciated and cared for.

Unfortunately, this didn’t really last too long. It lasted to the point where you started finding mistakes in everything I did.

Nothing was ever good enough. Like a curse.

I would stay up all night waiting for you to come home and you would scream at me for being awake this long. I would make you dinner and you would throw everything across the room although you ate it with joy just a few days before that. Even if I would surrender to your abuse every time you would start, it wasn’t good enough because you thought that I was pathetic. I was your slave; I was your victim and everything someone else wouldn’t endure.

To someone else, you were that beautiful guy, the one whom I met at the beginning. To someone else, you were kind and generous, but to me you were nothing but an asshole (to say the least). There was nothing good anymore and nothing good would ever come again.

The moment I decided to leave you was the only decision I was proud of. This time I was going to be good enough for myself.

And if you were wondering: yes, I do remember how you reacted the moment when I told you I was going to leave. You threw a glass against the wall and you didn’t think twice about throwing another one towards me. The running around and the crying and desperate attempt to escape are the things that I still dream about. It’s like trying to escape a sure death.

But I escaped.

I left you everything but myself. I left you my entire life, but I took my damaged heart with myself. You weren’t able to keep it safe. You were never able to do that.

Am I good enough now? Am I good enough now that you don’t have me anymore. Now that I have realised that there is nothing more important than myself?

The bruises are fading, it’ll take them some time to heal, but it’s better to be left in scars than to be a walking wound.

Isn’t it funny that I thought that I deserved everything that happened because of the way you manipulated me into thinking that I was the problem in our relationship and that there was nothing I could actually do to make myself worthy of your time?

Today, after I am on my path of happiness, I am laughing at everything that happened. I laugh while tears are streaming down my face and my whole body shivers (because it was traumatizing) but still I laugh. I laugh to make myself feel better about it—no matter the fact that nothing can ever change the past as much as I would want to have the ability to change it.

I’ve learned my lesson. I’ve dodged the bullet to the point where it just hit me to make me bleed, but it didn’t kill me.

I will rise from my ashes again, but you will forever be buried in your body—the body of an abuser, not able to love or feel anything but anger towards his own self.