Monday, December 29, 2014

He likes to tease me about breaking me down. It turns him on to imagine me sobbing, hopeless, helpless. I'm ok with that. It turns me on, too.


I think I am broken, a little.

He's cheated on me. We worked through it. He's hidden things from me. We worked through it. He's flat-out to-my-face lied to me, and still, I opted to work through it. Every time I find another shard of something he's withheld, I break a little. Every time he makes plans without telling me, another crack begins. And part of me -- a huge part -- acknowledges that there has been progress. (At least he's not actually fucking anyone behind my back. That I know of.) But another part sighs with realism. It will happen again, that part says, and there's nothing you can do about it.

And here I am. Neither willing nor wanting to leave. Only morbidly curious to see when and how the next fracture will spread. I know, in a logical place, that only a broken person would be in this situation. I don't think that's emotion telling me this is crazy. Am I weak or strong, to keep fighting through for happiness here? I am happy so often with this man.

I'm happy.
I'm broken.

Now what?

 anjelle let you know at 08:01 pm


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