The first man I loved,
was intelligent...
he read, cooked, and cleaned.
But as a severe alcoholic -
he was 2 people -
also cold, ruthless, and mean.
My father was an abuser with a heart...
it was so hard to hate him
when he always had so much love to give.
All that love,
and he gave his daughter hate.
I'm a daddy's girl
who's 'daddy'
taught his girl to love abuse.
At 12 years old,
my first of many things,
was a 16 year old skater.
He was artistic, charming, and ambitious:
My first was also my dad's dealer.
Despite knowing this,
I still believed that he was my Prince charming.
There is no fairy tale
that mentions the Prince
being schizophrenic, volitile, controlling, or manipulative…
but I was young
and my heart was naive enough
to fall for his games.
My first molded an addiction into me
by teaching me,
in my 12th year,
to love manipulation.
I almost gave away my last name
to a man I fell for at 18 years old.
He loved history,
was a hard worker,
and he always knew what to say and do
when it mattered most.
Happily-ever-after doesn't always look like perfection,
but I almost married a perfect fabrication
of "true love".
Once the facade became too much -
I met PTSD, displeasure, neglect, and misery.
In chasing after the lies he painted,
I sacrificed all of myself
by keeping his truth
as permanent company.
I had wanted to save him so badly,
that I was willing to lose my identity
if it meant he found his.
After almost 2 years
of mental and emotional abuse,
the last man I loved sober,
taught me to love self sacrifice.
The men in my life
showed me what it means
to be the woman
who can never truly let go.
I have always retained the lessons
I learned from life,
and applied them.
After 21 years,
what I learned to love was
abuse,
manipulation,
and self sacrifice.
What I Learned To Love...
Was Destroying Myself.
I wrote the rough draft of this around 9-10 months ago, and was only recently able to bring myself to make the needed retouches.
