An Open Letter to the Man Who Broke Me

Hello, You.

You know who you are; the man who believes he knows it all, who has all the answers, and yet only really has his mother to call a friend. You seemed so mysterious when we first met; you were older than me, more experienced in the ways of the world... You had an answer for everything, and before too long, I was convinced that you were the most brilliant man on the planet. Exactly as you planned.

The whirlwind was intoxicating at first. It was never about money with you, you paid attention to me. You learned about what I liked and what I didn't like, you would take me on day trips exploring the province, talking philosophy and the world for hours on end; you made sure that I knew that I could depend on you.

At first.

I'm sure you started testing the waters sooner, seeing what cruelties I would allow in the name of keeping the peace. I don't remember those ones. I remember the first big one, the first time you really came for my core and left me an empty shell of a person, begging you for forgiveness. I should have walked away then, but your claws were already in me deep, and you were not about to let go.

Do you remember how many times you asked me why I stayed? Countless times, we would be in the middle of a fight, you would see me slipping away, so you would take the opposing side. "If I'm so awful, why don't you just LEAVE?" You knew exactly what you were doing. Forcing me to argue how amazing you were, what we had built together, why we needed to work through this. You made me do the work for you, until walking away would have meant proving myself wrong.

For over a year, you worked me over. You slowly eroded away everything that made me me. You drove a wedge between myself and my family, my friends, until I had no one. You indoctrinated me into a cult, took over my personality, my mind, until I didn't even recognize myself anymore.

And then you got me pregnant.

I can never forgive you for the years that came after. I was trapped. I was alone. But I was desperate to be happy. All I wanted was that same man that I had fallen in love with. He was capable of it, that was him! Clearly, these changes must be because of me.

And you used that to break me.

You forced me to stay home and be a "trad wife," just without the actual "marriage" part. You monitored everything that I ate, forcing me to survive off of nothing to get rid of the "baby weight." I could only leave the house for groceries, the cult, and the playground. No processed foods were allowed, all day every day was spent cooking, cleaning, and helping you and your mother on whatever business scheme tickled your fancy this week. You didn't work, you relied on your mother for money, and somehow made it my fault when times were tough. You would spend your days in your studio "working on your art" while I was all but chained to the stove. I catered to you hand and foot, and still it was never enough.

Every morning, I would make your coffee the exact same way. I would bring it to you at exactly 7am, with a little song and dance just for you. Not 6:59, not 7:01. 7am on the dot, or I would hear about it. Rarely, that would be the best cup of coffee you ever had, and I would know that would be a good day. That would be the once-in-a-blue-moon time where you decided I wasn't the devil, and it would be a good day. Maybe we would go for a drive, to buy you something nice of course, but we would be allowed to come along. Those were the rare, beautiful days that I would hold onto the other 99% of the time.

Most mornings however, that was the worst cup of coffee that you had ever tasted, and I must be trying to poison you. You would bitterly drink it, then come downstairs with your head on a swivel. I would hold my breath, trying to scan the room ahead of where your eyes were, desperate to spot any flaws before you could angrily point them out, and save myself from what would come next.

You never left a bruise, not really. You were very careful not to be violent in that way. But that doesn't mean that you never hurt me. How many times did I sob, beg you not to, but your physical desires were more important than my own? How many times did you push me, shove me, roughly move me out of the way, when I just wanted to talk to you? How many times did you berate me? Scream at me? Punch and throw things around me? How many times did you promise me something, only to dangle it over my head and rip it away the second I stepped out of line?

How many times did you break me?

And then, when I somehow managed to find myself again, through all of that trauma, all of that brainwashing... When I finally had the courage to stand up and say no, this is over and I'm not taking it anymore?

You took my child away from me.

I am not blind to my own wrong-doings in this situation. I will never forgive myself for how this story played out, but I will never stop fighting to make this right for my child. I can go to sleep at night knowing that I have fought tooth and nail to protect those that I hold dearest, that I have gone thousands and thousands of dollars in debt trying to rectify this while being met with nothing but a brick wall, and that I am now laying my life on the line trying to help and empower other survivors of abuse.

You forced me to lose myself. I almost didn't survive our relationship. I left because I knew that if I stayed, my only way out would be in a body bag. And my child deserves to know the truth some day.

I know exactly who you are now. I've watched the parade of women that have come after me. I was six years younger than you. The next one was ten years younger than me. The newest one barely looks legal, while you're creeping closer to fifty. It's difficult to control and manipulate women who have dealt with a million of you before, isn't it?

So tell me. How do you sleep at night?

Sincerely,

The One You Shouldn't Have Let Get Away