The following is a writing excerpt from the first draft of my upcoming non-fiction work, much of which consists of private journal entries going back to the origins of my last relationship to the current day.
Valentine’s Day. Those that know me well, know I used to be the romantic type. I enjoyed surprising both my significant other and my daughters with reminders of how much they mean to my life, buying them gifts and taking them on adventures. These days, however, this day only serves as a reminder of how much I have lost, of how willing my ex-wife was to tear apart our family and bring false allegations against me in order to steal away my little one. As much as I do not want to think about it, my mind keeps turning to fact she is likely having a romantic weekend with the ghetto trash for which she went to the effort of causing so much pain to others. The injustice of this cannot be escaped, no matter how much I attempt to distract myself. Worse, it comes with the knowledge I will never again know the pleasure of an intimate embrace, never feel my arms around a woman as I pass into sleep, will never have that empty room in my heart filled. The realization of how much my life has been changed by the abuse I suffered, of how much it has changed me as a person, are not pleasant thoughts, and haunt me every day of my life, this day in particular.
Valentine’s Day will never be the same for me again. Then again, nothing has been the same ever since I discovered the true extent of Michelle’s cheating, the depth of her evil intentions, and the lengths she would go to lie. Had I not been through some of the previous traumas I have experienced, I would be able to heal faster from the physical damage I experienced, but that, combined with the effects of the abuse on my immune system and general health, has all but destroyed my body’s natural healing ability, as well as my immune system.
This is bad, but nothing compares to the emotional wounds, which are fresh today as the day they were inflicted. I have doubt I will live long enough to heal from those cuts to my emotional self, for they take longer to recover from than mere physical damage, as any victim can attest. The combination of both – with a world pandemic thrown in the mix – has made even the simplest aspects of my life more difficult
I don’t say these things out of self-pity; it is merely an expression of truth, of how I feel, and the events which inspired them. This negative emotional connection is now associated with so many days of the year, including all the holidays, but the fourteenth day of the month is especially hard. November 14th is my former wedding anniversary, April 14th my ex-wife’s birthday, and then there is today. Even after more than three years, the wounds are as fresh now as they were then.
Don’t get me wrong; I don’t disparage others who are capable of enjoying this holiday, but for me, it appears it will forever be a reminder of everything that has happened and continues to happen to me as a result of abuse. I no longer believe a normal relationship is possible in my life, and even if it is, it is not worth the risk of encountering another narcissist in my life. This is the extent to which such toxic relationships can affect the victim, and I will always encourage anyone involved in one to get out while they can, lest they suffer possibly life-changing – or even life-ending – consequences.