Why did you leave?
Playing in the intersection of prose, poetry and lyrics again. Themes I have explored before, I know. It seems as I write the more I release, the more I realise.
We all make decisions,
we all have reasons -
that justify our actions.
But even when the dust
has been washed away
we still have questions -
and people still ask
Why did you leave?
In my mental rolodex,
I scan the half century I have lived.
I wasn’t with him
for all this time of course.
Our upbringings colour everything.
I say this a lot,
because it is what I believe.
Unconscious programming
takes over.
One day a contorted version
of ourselves appears
Like the reflections in circus mirrors.
You look closer, nothing’s clearer
You don’t recognise yourself.
I could say
he was emotionally neglectful.
Removing all trace
of affection and love,
surreptitiously over the years.
I could have lived
with the bare minimum,
but he took it all,
with intention.
Clinical precision.
He knew I needed it to survive,
he told me so.
I could say he was abusive,
not physically of course.
He only struck me once
But it was an accident, so
it doesn’t count.
He was wasted,
didn’t know what he was doing
and apologised the next day,
he didn’t mean it.
A bruised eye
heals quite quickly anyway.
I could say he slowly
distanced me from my friends.
Maybe we would
have grown apart.
I could say I was
frightened to leave.
I was.
Scared witless.
I feared the consequences.
We are all living them now.
I could say I held on
till I couldn’t anymore
I lost my grip,
that’s nearly the truth.
A kind of mental truth.
But, one day a doctor told me
I was dying.
Years before I summoned up
any kind of courage.
I was rushed to hospital,
With inexplicable, horrendous pain.
Tests for everything.
All clear.
And yet,
my body was shutting down
from the inside out.
I couldn’t eat, sleep or walk.
Too weak.
“You will end up in the ground,”
the doctor said.
“I’ll be cremated,” I told him.
You need to make different choices.
You are losing your will to live.
I thought about it, a lot, after that.
More seriously.
I felt trapped.
What a cliché.
I am cliché.
Maybe death
was an honourable way out.
I still ask myself quite often
if that would have been
a better choice?
Six weeks
before I was strong enough
to walk around the block.
This was no way to live.
Feeling devoid of worth.
Like shit on a shoe.
Unclean and disgusting.
Undesirable,
unlovable,
less than.
Familiar feelings,
patterns I knew.
Is that why I allowed it?
Because I was culpable too.
Had he seen hidden signs
and amplified them on purpose?
Dismantling me
into disparate pieces.
I feel I have lost a lot,
and lived a consistent,
subtle isolation
in many ways.
But now,
I am free.
It’s funny how it goes –
abusers become victims.
Everyone rallies,
blinkered to their behaviour.
Or it could be
they don’t want to see
their indecency?
I count my blessings,
there are many to count.
But still I have questions.
At times I feel doubt.
I wish I had asked
what was it
in me, that prevented him
from loving me
unconditionally?
Was I that hard to love?
Was it insurmountable
To meet me part way,
To save our family?
I did ask why?
Close to the end.
He had no answer.
Nothing to say.
So why did I leave?
Because I decided
the tiniest scrap of worth,
I found one day
was maybe of value.
Because I decided
the way you feel
far outweighs
how things look.
Because I decided
it didn’t matter
how long it took
for me to see.
We all,
deserve to live,
and we includes me.
I think this will resonate with a lot of hearts.... 🙏 ❤️