The House of Smoke and Mirrors. in Musings

I was just looking at my previous entry.

I hesitated to do so because I didn’t really want to believe I said those things on paper.

It’s scary. It’s scary now because it’s actually real. Like it exists not only on paper but now it’s scary because I should have the will-power to leave him. Before it was just that I didn’t believe it.

Clearly, I’m not stupid, but sometimes I would just pretend that it never happened. Even if the inside of my mouth was cut up or he would walk into a room with his own lip busted open from me defending myself.

When it all comes crashing down on him, he cries and cries. I feel sad, and I know it’s really not my fault that he doesn’t know what love really is, but I can’t help to think that maybe,deep down in him he does love me.

Then I look at all the miserable things that he does… like his incessant paranoia. His constant obsession on me not working.

Then again I look at all the good things that he does…like the romantic dinners and dates he sets up. I even feel bad for his family—his aunt in Paris calls me at least 2-3 times a week to talk to me, she sends me macaroons and galloises in the mail.

Sometimes I just look at everything. I step back and I don’t know how I’ve managed to come down this road.

Marriage is forever right? I don’t fear that if I leave him he will attack me, because I am a man myself and even if he is a lot stronger and bigger I can defend myself…I’m just really sad.

I wonder if he truly loved me. Or if it was all some sick ploy to marry me and use me as some sort of emotional and physical punching bag…

yeah… Alexander is wonderful—when he is. I love him not out of fear but out of pity…and sometimes I know that he clearly doesn’t love me, but is obsessed with me and obsessed with the fact that he relishes in the sick power struggle…he’s big and muscular… I’m lanky and thin. He was born into money… I struggled to make my own.

maybe if I could take a step back and look at all the jewelry, clothing, houses, and expensive trinkets that linger about the house—I would realize that for each of those things, I received a bruise for each.

maybe it’s that I want to be loved so much that I see him as my only chance. maybe I should just love myself more. Maybe I should slip ketamine in his drink and beat the shit out of him, pour bleach on all his clothing, take a bat to all of his belongings…

but then here I am again. I see him sleeping. I fall in love and I’m reminded that he’s sick and he loved me eternally once. and maybe once again he’ll look at me like magic and we’ll have kids and a white picket fence and a nice car and I’d work and run to our kids school to pick them up and play house-husband until he comes home and all of the lashings and verbal abuse will be a thing of our past. a disastrous mistake. he’ll love me again…or he’ll love me again?

like a serial killed he’s charming. he makes me laugh. he’s loving and loyal—at least to the outside world he is…

but in this apartment he becomes a paranoid mess, thinking that I’ve fucked his friends or his brother or I’ve fucked the concierge man because we smiled at each other or said “hello” way too friendly.

and then he corners me against a wall. presses me by my arms really hard, where I feel the skin on my arms about to burst open. I shove him away. He slaps me. I slap him. He spews out hateful words and spits on me landing on my neck. I look at him in disgust and throw a book in his face busting open his lip. I tell him calmly if he tries to hit me, I will slice him open. And only then does he stop…

he locks himself in his study. i hear him throwing things about. I look at myself and inspect the bruises on my arms, the cuts inside my mouth. My face is swollen from his hard slap.

then he emerges. different. he cries. he doesn’t want to lose me or doesn’t know why he is the way he is with me and he pulls on his hair. and i hug him and it’s all better again…until next time…

until the next time someone flirts with me. or a random guy says “hello” or when his brother comes over and we bond together. or if a friend he doesn’t approve of texts me.

it’s a house made of smoke and mirrors. I’ll wear long sleeves and ice my face down. He’ll tell everyone he was playing soccer and his buddy hit his head on his lip. We will both sit there uncomfortably…I lean over and kiss his cheek. He puts his arm around me… and all of our friends at brunch will say:

“you guys are so perfectly cute together! I wish I could find love like yours!”

no.
no, you don’t want this love. it’s like cocaine. it will make you look like you feel good on the outside, but it’s destroying your brain, your heart and your life with your consent.

i know i’m smart enough to leave. i have the resources to leave. i just wish i didn’t have to…i wish he would just love me again like he use to.

now that it’s all out.
i feel disgusting, like i’m some sort of hypocrite. i donate so much money to battered women…yet here i am…a battered man.

i miss him.
i miss me.
i miss who he was when i was me.
it’s not my fault he’s an animal.
it’s not my fault i attack him back, i still have the will to survive.