from a 08/30 journal entry I wrote. anything in italics is something I edited for clarity.

“he wants nothing to do with me. Who knows which he I am referring to anymore. Is it Bond? Is it G?  G is gone. He was toxic. Garlic bulb to a dog. I don’t know why I am still grasping for you, G. I do not know why I am still grasping for you, G. I do not know why I am still grasping for you, G. Why am I still grasping for you, G? G, you will murder me. G, you will smother me. I will be better off dead than back with you. So, why am I still grasping for you? I remember the look in my rapist’s eyes, G. I was going to die. Would you tell me that you told me so? You would think I deserved this. Why am I still grasping for you? I am in the depths of a codependency with myself and my disease. Why am I diseased, G? Why do I jump to conclusions like exercise?”

I wrote this in the middle of a panic attack. i just got off the phone with the DA about my sexual assault case.

from a 09/01 journal entry:

“I thought about you today, G. I thought of you and it did not trigger a flood of emotions. It was a thought that was not full of hate, regret, disdain. It was self-reflective. I was critical of who I was when I was with you.

I thought of you when I was a part of a convo between my english professor and a nontraditional student about all the glorious shows in the 90’s that Fox cancelled. You had a lot to say about this, G. You were always so knowledgeable about pop culture. I couldn’t for the life of me remember anything you talked about. I could not input to this discussion… even though the words were on the tip of my tongue! You had so much to say. We talked for HOURS upon HOURS about this! You lecturing me. You showing me old clips. You lamenting about it. I guess that shows you how much I really was interested in it. A part of me cringes because it shows how much of a shitty girlfriend I was, but another part reaffirms that I can’t force interest in a subject I am not interested in. One cannot parrot another person’s opininons. I parroted you, G, the entire relationship. You wanted it no other way.

I almost wished we were friends still after holding those thoughts for mere seconds. That thought was a fleeting one. We cannot be friends. We are unable to ever associate with one another due to a various of reasons.

G, you showed me a lot to this world I did not know existed. You exposed me to art, music, food, and a whole lot of culture. You always knew what would make me laugh and you made me laugh all the time. I always appreciated that. However, to quote one of our mutual interests, you had “an index card of allowable opinion.” I could not stray from those, even though you claimed I could. There was a lot of shaming. Your abuse was complex and I am still not sure you are conscious of a lot of it. Your voice, or lack of one, was the biggest perpetrator. Deep down, I wish you actually physically abused me. It would make things so much more simple to explain to others. It would validate our experience together. This is so incredibility fucked up of me. Reflecting on my early childhood experience, my basic needs were not met. I fundamentally do not see the world as a good and nurturing place. You added to that with your gaslighting, crazy-making, and constant shame and invalidation. 

I am dedicating this chapter of my life to work through these issues.

I am doing it alone and I am doing it with the help of my remarkable therapist and my tribe of safe people.”

one day, G, you will have no influence on my life. i look forward to that.

xoxo,

jenna