It’s 4 a.m. that cursed time that always finds me in a thoughtful mood, I find myself thinking about you.
Thinking about us and what you did.
I was never much of a drinker or a smoker, but it has become a mandatory support system since that night. It numbs the pain, you see, even if only for a short time.
Chain smoking Marlboro’s and drinking bottle after bottle of Jack, hating the taste, but loving the dull ache it gives me.
It helps me, that’s my excuse, and I’m sticking to it.
As I down another shot, I think of all the cruel things you did. How can anyone say to another human being “I love you” when it is all a lie to feed a dark soul!
Looking back, I see how blind I was. You took me for granted. You used me up and then moved on to the next.
I grew sick of you, heartfelt sick of you.
You never made me feel special, beautiful or loved, did you? Oh, let’s be fair, you did in the beginning, but that was just to pull me into your web of deceit.
You killed the free spirit that was me, but worse, you are a murderer, and for that, there is no forgiveness.
You wore me down, your constant barrage of abuse, telling me I was ugly, crazy, fat, stupid. You hated that I could hold my own, that I didn’t need you. Your temper when a friend of yours told you I was out of your league was legendary, I should have known then what was to follow.
Despite all the wrong you were doing you were still my world, until the night you went too far.
I had prepared a special dinner for us, because I had such exciting news and wanted it to be a night to remember. Sadly, it turned out to be a night to remember, but for the wrong reasons.
You came home in a bad mood. I thought the good news would change that, how wrong I was to think that.
I told you I had seen the doctor that day and that we were to be parents. I was three months pregnant.
The expression on your face was the kind of rage I had never seen before.
You totally lost control and pushed me.
I slammed into the counter with such force and then fell to the floor.
Then you were screaming at me.
“Why the fuck would I want a child with you? Get rid of it, or I will fucking kill you.”
Then you walked out of our home.
I tried to stand up but my legs kept giving way underneath me. Then I saw the blood.
Our baby died when you pushed me and for me that makes you a murderer.
I remember the doctor’s sympathetic face when he told me there was no heartbeat.
Then the surgery; still a blur to me.
I was laying that night in the hospital bed, knowing enough was enough.
You had killed the woman I was, but the fact that you were the reason why I didn’t become a mother was more than I could handle.
You broke me, and I felt a strong emotion of hate build up in me.
You arrived the next day with a huge bouquet of flowers, to be told I wouldn’t see you.
You caused a scene and security had to be called. At that point in time the only safe place for me was there in the hospital where you couldn’t get to me.
You were shouting “I’m sorry” again and again.
You underestimated the support I would receive once you came home to find everything that was yours on the front porch, locks changed. You had been evicted from our home and our life.
You made so many empty threats, empty because you knew you were being watched.
I hope you feel the pain and guilt of what you did.
I want you to suffer just like I did.
You and me, we are done.
I often told you: “Be careful of your actions as it will push me away, I may end up liking it away from you!” And I do!