He dumped me.
After all that, he dumped me.
Somehow, that makes me feel so weak.
It was like he said, “I’m finished with you now. You’re destroyed, you’re worthless, and now I dump you.”
Forget the somehow. That makes me feel so weak.
I should have been the one to walk out. I should have packed up what was left of my worth and kissed the ugly goodbye.
But I stayed. I stayed through the lonely nights of wondering where he was. I stayed through the constant stream of lies. I stayed through the self-absorbed rejection. I stayed through the cherry smiles of public outings. I stayed through the hundreds of dollars wasted on dating sights. I stayed through the endless stream of fake apologies. I even stayed through the bruises.
Fuck me, I stayed.
Have you ever wondered if you can run out of tears?
Of late, I have, many times.
Usually, I’m not much of a crier, but over these past few weeks, I have become very familiar with the different ways of crying. I have cried silently, with just a tear or two escaping my eyes. I have cried loudly, where every sob rattled my very bones. I have cried privately, locked away in my room or parked on the side of the road. I have cried publicly, blubbering away in front of unsuspecting colleagues, friends or family. This is the kind of crying that I hate the most, because usually, I keep my pain and my secrets to myself.
But why am I crying?
Am I crying because my marriage of six years has finally come to an end?
Am I crying for those stolen years of youth drowned in all that sorrow?
Or am I crying because I finally realise that I am a victim? A victim of abuse, of broken trust, and of false hope. A victim who had been forced to protect those dark and painful secrets. A victim of silence.
But now, I am here to speak. I have lived my years of silence and I am ready to tell my story. It may just begin as a whisper, but slowly it will become a symphony of hope.
The pain, the tears, the ugliness. I will be silenced no more.
Welcome to my voice.
Welcome to my freedom.