When I was fifteen years old, I fell for him. Hard. Our relationship moved fast, and before I knew it, I was caught up. We were high school sweethearts, that counts for something, right? Nine years later, I have finally faced the truth that no, it doesn’t count for anything. Not when you lose yourself along the way.

And I did, indeed, lose myself.

I will now admit it, I was addicted to love. Only, it was never was truly love. I lost myself in him, and he in me. I know now, to remain true to yourself in a relationship you must remain ‘yourself’. Many of you may recognize the pattern: you meet; you fall; you start to hang out with only him; you drop your friends; you become distanced from your family; and soon, you don’t know where he ends, and you begin. Soon, one or both of you become jealous and possessive. You start to question one another, and demand that more time be spent. Statements like, “If you really loved me ..” start to fly about and soon, you feel trapped.

Then the breakups. Too many to count, too painful to remember. In high school, it seemed as if we broke up each week. As we got older, we didn’t breakup, we just never really got back together. He would come and stay at my place for nights on end, eat my food, dirty my towels, but soon, he’d be gone again. If I wanted to see another guy, he would get mad, yet, he would not commit to me. Looking back, why would he commit to me, like the saying goes: ”Why buy the cow ...”.

I came to realize that I was selling myself terribly short. Each time I let him back into my home, and into my life ...I was giving him permission to treat me as if I was unworthy of a respectable relationship. I knew this, and yet, I let him come back again and again. The harder I tried to pull away from him, the stronger my desire for him became. I couldn’t understand what was going on ...until I realized, that I was emotionally going through “withdraw” from him. It wasn’t about love anymore, it was about a fix. My eyes had been opened, and what I saw was a dead-end, emotionally abusive relationship.

I must fess up, this isn’t a story about “poor me”. The abuse went both ways. I began to hate who I was when he was around, and I despised him because of it. I lashed out at him at a moments notice. I held grudges so long that they became a part of who I was. This had to stop, it just had to stop. Deep down, I knew was not what a relationship was supposed to be like. In a healthy relationship, you grow ...in a "co-dependant" relationship, parts of you die.

I spent many nights crying out to God to please help me get out of this mess. His answers were not always what I was hoping for. You see, I wanted an easy way out. The truth was, the relationship didn’t form in one night, and it wouldn’t dissolve in one night either. I had to find out the reasons why I was staying in such a devastating relationship. I had to not pick up the phone when he called. I had to stop myself from remembering “the good ol’ days”. I had to keep a list of reasons why I wanted to be free from the relationship on hand. On and on. And you know what? Took some time, but it worked.

Don’t get me wrong, it was one of the most painful experiences of my life. Not because I missed him, but I missed having at least ‘someone’. I was afraid to be alone. I came to realize, however, that I was more alone when I was with him, than I was when I was actually alone. Besides, I knew God had a special someone out there for me ...and for me to meet him, I had to completely let go of this relationship. So, I let go, and went on a journey, a journey to me.

Nine years in a co-dependant relationship can do damage to your awareness and acceptance of self. The years under his critical eye had taken it’s toll. I was more reserved, more withdrawn. I was afraid to shine. Whenever I was with other people, all I could remember was his rejections, his put downs, the look he gave me that caused me to feel ashamed. The times he made fun of me, and made a joke at my expense. The times where he pointed out my flaws, and gave me degrading nicknames. He was out of my life, and yet, he was still here ... and I felt uglier than ever.

I got tired of it. I decided to get proactive with my recovery, and made up a game-plan. Each time I remembered his put downs, I would take charge of the memory and fight back. I wanted restitution. So in my mind, I took back my self-worth, and my dignity. I retrieved the fragments of myself that I thought were lost forever, thanks to the grace of God.

I know now that I don’t need a man to complete me, but rather, I want to present myself to a man, already completed. I had to change my whole outlook. For example, instead of focusing on the fact that a man hasn’t bought me flowers in six years, I just went out and bought myself some flowers. Beautiful pink tulips, my favorite.

Here I am. I’m twenty-four years old, and I am just now learning about the “real me”. For so long, I was playing a role, and wearing a mask. Not only did I hide my true self from him, my friends and my family, but from me as well. So here I am, in college, and learning that yes, I like to dance, I enjoy running, and I love to paint the kind of paintings that only I know the meaning of. I love to laugh at my own jokes, and I weep at Hallmark commercials. I am soothed when I hear the trains go by in the distance, and I get a kick out of writing fiction that makes no sense. I love being ... me.

In the other room, the endless ringing of the phone beckons me to answer, but I do not. I know who it is, and now, I know who I am. For the first time in nearly a decade, I did not return to him. Instead, I returned to me. And, yes, it feels good to finally be home.

 

Copyright © 2003 Skye Hardwick - Do not use without permission

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