A week passed already, a week of contemplation. A week of telling people what happened. Realising that my grief has turned to anger has startled me. But it’s the healing process after all. I was kidding myself thinking I was happy, after going through numerous photos going back to 2007 that I’d taken after a verbal argument. I don’t remember the argument, I just remember how I was hurting in those photographs.

You can’t change people into who you want them to be. Also, people should love you for who you are and respect that you are not perfect, that you come with baggage, although I’m generally laid back, I will not stand to verbal attacks off anyone. Not anymore.

Continual verbal attacks wore me down into the pitiful thing that cries like a banshee, inconsolable, having to put up with bullies in my own household. Trying to stay out a disagreement between a child and an adult, stepping in when the verbal abuse is too much to bear, or the punishment way too harsh for the crime, which normally would be speaking out of turn. Then getting told I’m an apathetic parent… no I was a useless parent. Then the child blames herself for causing the adults to argue and she also becomes depressed and stressed out.

Having to explain to someone that you’re depressed, and the mounting issues in your household causing stress, only to be asked by that party if it’s their fault, and lying to them that it’s not so not to hurt anyones feelings, hurts me the most when that party knows deep down inside exactly the reason why the relationship was failing. Rage, from nowhere. being spat in the face. Every door punched or kicked through may release the anger, but it makes a bad impression, so you don’t invite mates around out of embarrassment.

I have always had bouts of depression. This is a time I want to be let to my own devices. I don’t want to be asked if I want a cuddle, I want to be given a cuddle. I don’t want to be coaxed to come here or go there, because I’m busy battling demons internally and am quite satisfied in the spot I am at. Make an effort, come to me and I will accept that. accusing me of stuff because I don’t want to move, and I turn into a stubborn mule.

It’s hard to see someone dragged out of your life, it’s beyond your control, thus you lose control and shriek “it’s not fair!” “I wasn’t finished!” But if you had to be broken up by a third-party, there was obviously something wrong.

Being patient isn’t enough when someones continually telling you they can’t do this anymore, telling you to fuck off, assuming you’re seeing someone else because you don’t want to spend the entire day with them, them seeing you’re not happy and blaming themselves, but instead of accepting that, they don’t want the blame. Telling you the relationship isn’t working one minute then wanting reassurance off you the next. It was all too much to bear and the depression settled inside me, like I was a nest and it was a cuckoo, pretending to be something it’s not.

Time is the only healer. Time with friends, who can reintroduce you to who you once were before all the bad shit occurred. Who will listen to your words, and try to give the best advice they can. Old friends, who knew you before, coaxing the you that retreated oh so long ago, back out into the light. Reminding you that you’re a wonderfully fun person to be with, and won’t pressurise you into doing anything you don’t want to do. Or buy. Or say. Or act.

I’m going to be me now. As Miss Monroe once quoted,

if you can’t handle me at my worst, you certainly don’t deserve me at my best.