Four Years Ago. in Phoenix

If I don’t stand up for myself, I’m weak, a doormat. If I do speak up, I’m being a bitch. If I keep quiet about my feelings, I’m bottling them up. If I let them out, if I’m honest with someone about how they made me feel, I’m once again being a bitch. I’m supposed to be this strong, independent woman, except when it comes to you. Then I’m supposed to be meek, quiet, obedient. I’m supposed to be just what you think I should be, I’m supposed to do what you think I should do, what you want me to do, and yet be myself, my own person. I’m supposed to be responsible for everything, take care of everything, never let anything go wrong. I feel like I’m supposed to be this loyal puppy, following you around, performing exactly how you think I should, or I’m just a disappointment.

People say actions speak louder than words, and most often, they do. But words hurt so much more sometimes, they can leave bruises that never heal on top of those other, older bruises that still ache. And those new bruises, they just make that ache deeper, so much more painful. And the thoughts begin, that other me talking in my mind, “You’re so stupid, so worthless, you’ll never be good for anything or anyone, no one loves you and no one ever will, how could they when you’re so rotten, rotten to the core?”

Do I know those things aren’t true? Sure, most of the time. But when the thoughts come, there’s no stopping them, no shutting them up, and no convincing them that they’re wrong.

I just want to be normal, mentally healthy, strong, confident. And I want to be loved, for all my good, for all my bad, for all the in-between.

I wrote that on Facebook four years ago today, set to private, visible only to me. It showed up in my memories, along with a post from six years ago today that said, “Nothing in life is free and anything worth doing isn’t easy.” Six years ago today, I was planning a wedding. Four years ago today I was dying inside because of that wedding, that marriage.

We got married on September 13th, 2015. A week after we got married, he flew back to the UK and stayed there for 9 months before coming back to live with me. After I’d written what I wrote four years ago today. I wrote that before he lived with me. I felt that way before he spent almost another four years in my home, in my presence every day. Belittling me, degrading me, making me feel like the most worthless person on the planet.

I couldn’t win with him, no matter what, I just couldn’t win. Nothing I ever did was good enough, nothing I gave him was enough. I was going through some of the hardest years of my mental health journey and still worked my ass off and did every possible thing I could think of to be a “good wife.” What the fuck does that even mean? What makes a good wife?

I’ve spent my entire adult life trying to be a “good wife” to some sack of shit man who doesn’t deserve even a bad wife. And every one of them made it blatantly obvious that I was a failure at being a good wife, at least in their minds. Because nothing was ever enough. I was never enough.

And you know why?

Because they were selfish, narcissistic fucking pricks. I’ve always been enough. I’ve always been more than enough, more than good. I have always been fucking incredible and those assholes were too selfish and self-centered to see it. No, I wasn’t perfect, but it’s hard to be perfect when the person who is supposed to think you’re perfect by default can’t stop finding flaws in you, things about you that just don’t suit them and fuck you if it’s something you actually like about yourself. Like, everything about myself. I’ve always liked so much about me but was made to feel like I shouldn’t because I didn’t match what someone else wished I was so they could like me. It was as if they could just change this or that about me, then I’d be perfect. No, fuck you, dudes. Just fuck you.