I don’t know.
I don’t know how to feel about this. My chest is sore, my throat hurts and is sore to the touch. But I don’t really remember the fight, just being choked in the closet and trying to choke him back. Wrestling around some. And then the cops were there and he wasn’t.
He had scratches on him that I can’t explain. I watched him walk out of the room and I don’t recall seeing them then. They struck me as strange when I saw them.
But I was drunk. We had sex, and then I was in the closet trying to get dressed. I didn’t get my shorts on before he came at me.
But I must have done something, right? I don’t think that I did. We were in the bed and he was kicking me out again, and I was still naked from fucking.
I’m sorry that he got arrested. Jail sucks. “These things only get worse,” they told me. Still, I wouldn’t wish jail on anyone. Repercussions, absolutely, but jail is cruel.
Still, I am glad that he will have consequences. Not even for the physical abuse, which I’m used to, but for the emotional abuse that drives me insane.
Going over it in my head, I realized that he really was the primary cause of my mental breakdown. Because like I said, I was carrying his weight and mine, and I could barely handle mine. So my mind, like a muscle, worked itself to failure, and broke down.
I’m sorry you went to jail, Brian. But like I said a thousand times, denying the abuse doesn’t make it go away. These things are objective, Brian, you can’t bury your head in the sand and create your own reality.
I hope you learn from this. Because you’re really such a great guy sometimes. I hope it makes you look at yourself and reflect and take steps to be better. But I’m sure you won’t. I can’t wait to hear how you spin this to make me the bad guy.