A month ago I got rid of the love of my life. I haven’t yet decided if this was good or bad. For ten years, I’ve been waking up to tell myself that it was bad with him, but it would be worst without him. For ten years, he have been proving me wrong. People kept asking me what have him done. It wasn’t about what he have done, it was about who he was: an insecure guy, that unscrupulously was using my own insecurities to make himself feel better. A guy that was more insecure than everyone but me, and was plainly aware of that. He exchanged, with no remorse at all, his sadness for mine. And made me applaud him for it. While I raised his ego, being the perfect girlfriend, being there for him whenever he needed it and saying he was much better than he imagined, I received the opposite: He was never there for me, and when he was, it was to tell me how much my negativity (feeded by himself) was consuming the better part of him. Oh, how I wish, he had granted me access to his best part. All the times I tried to break up and go away, that was what he promised me, this so called “best part”. I remember how many times he took our relationship to a ghost “next step”, just so I could fall from higher and hurt more than ever, a few weeks later. . Gas lightining, psychological abuse, violation of privacy. On extreme moments, physical violence. Everything wrong. For ten years, he was unable to see that I was responsible for the best part of his life. For ten years, I was unable to see that he was the worst part of mine. And for one month I was free from that piano I was carrying on my back or the black clouds that used to surrond me and rain on me. July had a brand new girlfriend. Cora was getting married. I kept listening to them babbling about their perfect relationships (yeah, not so much) to my face. Always with the excuse that they were proving that I didn’t need to submit myself to my horrendous abusive relationship. Fuck yeah, I didn’t. I knew that. But for now, being without him was still hurting. I wasn’t exactly FINE with the idea of him, going on with his life, without me. After all, wasn’t I responsible for him to have moved on and everything? Wasn’t that my merit? You know what…? Fuck it. I kept on repeting five hundred times a day the mantra in my head: