Classic Story Of Heartbroken Women
Classic Story Of Heartbroken Women
When I was younger, I was that tall, ginger fat girl that got bullied all the time but had popular friends. Every day, whether it be at school or in my social life, I saw relationships and thought to myself, ‘I don’t even want that, I’d rather be single my whole life.’
Of course, when you’re young, you say stupid things.
Fast forward roughly 4 years and I’m in a relationship. It was my first relationship ever. I was 19. We went through the honeymoon phase perfectly. We were together 24/7. We were having sex four to five times a day almost every day. We were fully and completely in love. It lasted all of about a year and then things just went downhill.
Going back to those younger days, when I was tall, ginger and fat, my family went through a lot. My mum and me in particular. Before I give you a slight glimpse into the past, I want to explain my philosophy. I went through some unimaginable stuff as a child. Often, when I went to therapy, they thought that I was lying. I wasn’t. However, I believe that no matter what someone goes through, whether your situation may be defined as worse than theirs, each human being has a capacity of pain they can withstand, emotionally, physically, mentally. We are all different.
The younger days, yes. Between the ages of six and eleven, I was subject to physical, sexual, and mental abuse by my mothers’ partner. Unfortunately, there are horrible people in the world who do these things. Even to this day, it’s still difficult to talk about with people face to face. I’ve been in therapy since the age of seven, but to those of you who have experienced such things too, this isn’t always the option. I was beaten at home a lot for telling my councilors things that happened behind closed doors. By both my mother and my mother's partner. I haven’t told many people that. Things eventually got better, but of course not before they got worse, but if I told you the whole story, you’d be here all day.
Fast forward to the age of 18 years old. A year before I met…Paul (we’ll go by his middle name). Things again got worse. I was raped by a man of my past. A ‘friend’ of my mother’s partner. I found out that my father isn’t my biological father. I was in a stressful job that paid peanuts for seven days of work, two shifts a day. I was about ready to give up.
Then came Paul. Ah, Paul was so perfect. It was the classic story of meeting someone at work, going on a few dates, and then falling in love. I truly did love him. I thought back to all the terrible things and then began to realize how lucky I was to find someone who treated me like I actually mattered. I have to admit, of course, things weren’t perfect at the beginning. I was nervous, the first time I liked someone that liked me back but I was also in a daze of punishment still. After the rape, I went into a downward spiral of making sure I got all the punishment I deserved. It was my fault after all, right?
Anyhow, the honeymoon phase was slowly approaching its end and things started to change. I started opening up for the first time in my life about all the details of what happened to me as a child. It brought back a lot of heavy emotion I hadn’t felt in years. Sex with Paul was amazing but it started becoming darker. I started seeing my rapist around after he came back to London for a funeral. It brought back images and scenes from that day. It started affecting the relationship. I started getting more and more depressed as I started feeling useless again. Like I wasn’t worth the skin and bones the earth had given me. Ultimately, he ended things.
Everyone has different truths about the same event. I remember hearing that from the show ’13 Reasons Why’ on Netflix. My truth from that particular event. In simple words. He broke up with me because he couldn’t love someone who was broken. I was abused, beaten, raped, torn. He couldn’t handle the aftermath of that. I don’t blame him. I just wished that he was a stronger person. He constantly told me to stay strong, stay strong. Stay strong Charlotte. I think maybe he was secretly telling himself to stay strong that whole time.
I still remember the day of course. 21st October 2017. The day my heart was ripped from my body and thrown to the ground and burned to ash with the fire that was supposedly lit within his heart. I cried for 2 weeks straight. I didn’t leave my bed, I didn’t shower. I didn’t eat. I lost 2 stone in about a month. I was so damaged. I still am. Three months later, and almost nothing has changed, except for him. We still talk, we still have sex, but he still manages to break my heart more and more every day. If you’re a woman and you’re reading this, know that I personally find words speak louder then actions, not visa versa. I can’t say its’ the same for any of you. The little words that he said to me, even if they were nothing negative, hurt so much. All of a sudden I was a stranger to him. I was worth nothing more to him than a girl he could have sex with still. I loved him so much, I trusted him so much. But he broke my heart. But I’m guessing to most of those that will read this, it’s just a classic story of a woman who over exaggerates on a break-up. It’s more than that though. As human beings, we must be so careful how we interact with others because the smallest of things can change someone’s life. We look at animals in the wild and, quite frankly we don’t value their lives nearly as much as we value the life of a person. This person changed my life. He was the best and worst of my life. Things that he said, things he did, it hurt. I was depressed, I had anxiety. These are real mental changes that happen in a person’s brain that cause them to experience emotion on a more intense level. He had little to no regard for this. He told me to just stay strong. That’s all you need to do.
Well, thank you, Paul. Thank you for ruining who I was.