Now after all that has happened...I am in Texas. Texas is a long way from home. Leaving home, hurts. A lot. It's one of those things in life you go through that hurt no matter what, like someone dying. It's disconnection of what foundation you did have, of anything that you knew; you choose to leave it behind for one reason or another.
I left mine because it got really scary. I know most people don't talk about the details of these kinds of situations, but I've never been anyone else. Some secrets were meant to be told.
I was involved with a man I decided wasn't the best fit for my son and I. I was afraid to leave. He wasn't the outspoken controlling type. It was subtle...so very subtle...that it was hard to catch anything specific...and so I had to eventually trust my instincts. I went to see my therapist, whom I originally went to see over a suspicion of Attention Deficit Disorder more than a year ago. I'm glad I made that decision.
She asked me why I kept changing my mind about leaving him. I had broken it off twice in a month, she explained, and she asked me directly (and I so appreciate it when people are direct with me!) if I was afraid of leaving. Yeah, I was afraid. I was terrified in a way I had never been in my life. I didn't want to admit it to myself. I knew there was something different, something off or odd about him that was just under the surface. We'd only been involved for a few months, but I knew it didn't matter. He was dangerous if what was under his facade ever broke loose, and I was pretty sure leaving would break it.
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