Losing an ex. Well, a specific ex.

This particular ex was so ruthless in his discard, I felt as though he was a completely different person than who I thought he’d been the entire time we were together. I felt so utterly deceived, as though I’d loved a mere fiction the entire time. We’d been together for four years, and it only took him 24 hours to decide that I was forgettable enough to fuck some other girl. He then moved in with this girl within a couple of months of having met her. I was devastated, because I’d tried so hard to make him feel loved, and he always seemed to be able to find something to criticize me for. I felt like I’d been consumed and tossed aside, like trash.

Then he ghosted me, knowing full well that doing so would hurt our kids and subject me to suspicion and rumor once our lack of communication was noticed. When I objected, he threatened the security of my family. I developed severe C-PTSD as a result of literally months of my system being relentlessly flooded with fight-or-flight chemicals — there was no one I could trust, no one in whom I could confide, and I never knew whether or when the ultimate retribution would come.

At some point, his girlfriend suffered a loss in her family, and while she was doubtless preoccupied with her grief and unable to attend to his every need, my ex took this opportunity to stalk me, supposedly to apologize. Given that he’d told me that he had no regrets about how he’d ended things between us, I naturally suspected nefarious intent. He became visibly upset when he realized he wasn’t going to get what he wanted.

When my loved ones died, most of the time it was expected — they were old, or there was an illness, or whatever. Sometimes it was wasn’t, and that really sucked, but I accepted it and moved on. But either way, when they left this earthly plane, I never had to wonder whether they’d ever loved me.

This was calculated, cruel, soul-shattering, and completely fucking unnecessary. He used to talk about how important it was that his kid be kind to others, and then he demonstrated the ability to cut me to the core. It nearly ended me. Every day I wished I was dead so that the agony would stop, but I was too much of a coward to take my own life.

I’ve been seeing a therapist and I’m doing much better than I was. It’s been a long, hard road back to some semblance of normalcy. But right now, I can’t imagine a time when I’m ever really going to be okay.

I loved you, you fucker. I didn’t deserve this, and you know it.