It was years. It was friendship. It was love. It was a future. It was homes, marriage, kids, retirement. For the record, it was all of those things. It was good, for the record.
It was also, as it turns out, lies. Unintentional, coming from a broken place, lies. Not my lies. Not my broken place.
It was the jaw drop of my therapist when I told her what happened. It was the declaration of my friends and family, every one of them, that this is The Worst of the Worst and stranger than fiction, more heartbreaking than fiction. They had never ever heard of something like this... Never expected... What the fuck.
It was an oncoming freight train, it was a Mac truck, it was a sniper shot.
It was my trust, love, kindness, strength, used against me.
It was six weeks of trying to sort out what happened, without him. It was him in crisis. It was suggestions of psychological diagnosis by those without a psychological background. It was a loosely identified and named issue from my therapist/psychologist.
It was my therapist saying "distance" repeatedly. It was my therapist worried I might be in physical danger (not from him).
It was disbelief that any of it could be happening. It was disbelief that it was happening. It was disbelief it could be happening to me.
It was them saying: NONE of this is your fault. ANYONE would have done/felt/experienced what you did.
It was another fucking email from him.
It is my strength now. It is my determination.
It is me saying this is now a pile of shit and I am pulling myself out of it. It is my friends and my family pulling me out of it.
It is a realization that lies are lies. Deception is deception. Betrayal is betrayal.
It is my cheerleader therapist and the kickboxing instructor who knows by looking at my face when I throw punches. It is how hard I punch.
It is my story now. It is my voice.
It is my recovery. It is my healing. It is for me. It is me.
It was him. It is now me.