Whispers Through Wheat

Writing has become an outlet for me. I open up when I write, opening up is something I struggle with, so I find it therapeutic. Throughout the past nine months I’ve written many things that will never see the pages of this blog, but some of those things I want to share. I don’t want to share them for any reason other than hopefully helping someone avoid the mistakes I made, to realize the things that I learned the hard way. I started writing letters to T soon after I realized we would never fix the broken relationship between us, and I still write these letters to this day. Sometimes they’re pages long, sometimes mere words, but each one helps me heal, helps me recognize things and move forward.

T.

Do you remember St. Patrick’s Day, the very first one when we lived together? It’s a day I can’t seem to forget, a day I see now as a turning point in our relationship. That one disastrous night that changed the way I thought about you, even though it took me a long time to realize.

Getting that call, from a guy who I don’t even remember, telling me I had to come home, but not explaining why was scary. I was worried something was wrong, seriously wrong. I knew when I left to the bar that you were drunk, but you and your friends were having a good time. Little did I know what I was coming home to…

You, in a drunken rage, were a scary sight. Your hand was covered in blood and other debris. Then I saw the holes, down the hall way, in the living room, and instantly knew. And I was instantly scared. Petrified. You had gotten so mad that I went to the bar that you punched holes in our walls.

Seeing your fists clenched at your side, knowing full well they were there because of anger direct towards me, is an image that will never leave my mind. From that moment on I never looked at you the same again. I lived in fear.

I walked on eggshells. I never went against what you said. I sank down. I let myself become a victim.

I’ll never understand why you lost it. I’ll never understand why you were so mad. I’ll never understand why you let your anger come out in violence. But the one thing that I will always understand is that you have an anger problem, one that you will never admit.

And it’s not your fault I sank down. It’s not your fault I became a victim. That is all on me. Yes, you were in the wrong, but I could have chosen to rise above it and help you, or leave you then. Yet, I stayed knowing how dangerous and toxic you were to me.

I stayed because I loved you T. I gave you my everything. I suffered through the bad moments for those rare moments of happy. Was it really worth it? If you could go back to that night, would you change anything? Would you make yourself control your unneeded anger? I’ve been mad too. I’ve wanted to scream and yell in your face. Sometimes I still want to, but I don’t do it. I know it’s wrong. Where’s your right and wrong sensor?

Was it really worth it all?