RSD is a fuck.
Break out the iron. We've got some wrinkles to squash.
The goal is to get over you. To get over the power you've held over me. The upset stomachs brought on from texts or calls. The anxiety of living my own life in fear of how you may find out. You're sick. A disease. A festering wound I wish to flush away. I shouldn't feel discomfort ever. When it comes to you, I shouldn't feel at all.
When we were done, and you moved on, I didn't say a word. I only asked you abided by the one rule, and you couldn't honor it. No fooling around, no spending the night. That went for both parties. Keep it away from the kids. The 2nd night, you couldn't resist. You're damn right I was pissed. It sure as hell wasn't jealousy, you disrespected my boundaries.
So months go by, I live my life. I didn't say a word. More and more you took advantage of the inch I'd give. To keep peace. Then it was my time to get outside. My FIRST DATE. It was great, had a wonderful time. I thought we were mature enough, friends enough to share stories. How wrong I was. The VERY NEXT DAY, you're blowing up my phone, crying in my ear about how it was so unfair I gave someone the attention you craved before he was born. Attention? I suppose the countless acts of service didn't count? Upset because I wouldn't touch you? Despite the incessant berating from your face? You made it very clear. We. Were. Done. I sure as hell was - you disrespected my boundaries.
The following days, you'd go out of your way to terrorize my social life. Why the fuck would you spy on my friends' list, notice the count change, send her a friend request, then laugh at her posts? What the fuck is wrong with your head? Hell, your boyfriend was sitting next to you all night while I was out living for me! WE. WERE. DONE! It didn't stop there though did it? The seed was planted. You wouldn't let me move on. You wouldn't let me be happy. It worked. I was a nervous wreck, filled with fear you'd say something batshit to make her never talk to me again. You didn't have to. I opened my fat mouth, and told her what was happening and how it would be best to block you. But she didn't stop there. She unfriended me too, because I warned her about you. I should've moved on then, but no. I kept trying to right the wrongs. And trying. And trying. Until nothing.
Operation Damage Control: lockdown my online presence. You won't know a thing. You won't see my life. I won't allow it.
So I thought I learned my lesson. I thought the trauma was ironed out. It wasn't. The worry, the anxiety of not knowing how the other side feels, is leaving me open now to repeat the same mistakes. I'm trying painstakingly to resist. I need to pay more attention, regard others' space, remain hyperaware. I need to steel myself. I need to lay off the investment. I need to breathe. And prepare for what's to come. Could be something, could be nothing. But I must prepare for both. And that means resistance of vulnerability. Trust no one. We are all inherently capable of malice, and trust isn't expected no matter how much I want to. I've been wandering for TOO many years naked, unarmored, naive. No more. I know my own boundaries, and I will not yield. Let alone to you.