People call me strong. I think what they mean is: I am composed. I’m capable, measured, and I’m self-regulating. They mean I have a structure, one that isn’t compromised. It sounds like admiration. And sometimes it often is. But what I feel is, is a comfort. Comfort that I am not collapsing or spilling on them. Comfort that they are not required to stretch inside themselves. Comfort that my pain is self-managed, and not engulfing. And comfort that I speak with a

There is a particular grief in recognizing that accountability is not available in a relationship. Not because the harm was unspeakable. But because forgiveness was impossible. Because once the other person escapes into their own ego, they disconnect—integration isn’t available. Regardless of how softly spoken, and that will be a lack of integrity and one that I feel going forward to be a non-negotiable.

I was asking him to be there, incase I needed 911. I begged in a way that felt like begging for my life. He said no. And at 11:43pm he said he was going to bed. To do that, he had to step over my body. I remember his voice saying no. That’s what I remember most. I remember thinking, this is how people die.