I told my therapist about your smile
How it used to light up my world. How I didn’t mind seeing you everyday just so I could steal glances at you smiling at the not-so-sweet things I usually said. How is that you could blush so much? I think love made you excited a lot. I think I made you excited. I was love and you were mine.
I miss your smile. That’s what I told my therapist.
I told my therapist about the nice things you did for me
How you made me feel very special. How you gave me the things I really couldn’t give myself. How you made me feel like royalty; you literally worshiped me.
I told him about the gifts, the money, the trips and the exquisite hotels. It was always amazing until you got jealous or mad at me for some or no reason at all. Right now, it feels like I was being heavily bribed with those nice things.
I don’t miss those fancy things. That’s what I told my therapist.
I told my therapist about your family
How they always yearned for my presence. I never really figured out why they called me so much and always wanted me to be at the house on special occasions or not.
Even when you attempted suicide, I was called first thing the following morning to show up at your place; whether or not I wanted to. I was literally asked to bring you back to life. I guess I didn’t want to bear the burden of being blamed for your death, so I made sure to bring you back to life.
I kind of miss your family. That’s what I told my therapist.
I told my therapist about our plans
They were mostly your plans, I was more or less just a collaborator. I didn’t exactly have my way with those plans, I just had to agree to whatever you said or thought.
Deep down, I did know I didn’t have a future with you, but you kept stringing me along like a puppet. Go here, go there, move there, take that job, do this, stop that, try this.
I had my own plans that I never bothered to shared with you for you were my very own dream killer.
I’d never miss out on those plans; they were never mine. That’s what I told my therapist.
I told my therapist about the sex
It was the only magical aspect of our existence together; how our bodies communicated and understood each other, I would never know. I wonder why we never got to understand ourselves individually, like our bodies did. Every time we got together, we made love. I knew it was love — because it was perfect.
Our bodies were in love, but I don’t think our hearts and minds were. Those two seemed to be on a course of their very own destruction.
People admired us so much and wanted to have what we had, they even tried to get with you; a few succeeded. The thought of it sickens me right now.
I miss the sex. That’s what I told my therapist
I told my therapist about the abuse
I hate to admit this, but ours was an abusive relationship; you were irrationally mean to me a lot of times. You spoke to me like I was an idiot sometimes; you lied to me a lot more than you said the truth.
You would put blames on me so often, I got so confused sometimes I’d totally take the fall for things I never did. I got scared of you. I got confused all the time; I got diagnosed of Anxiety disorder. It was depressing.
I don’t miss how you controlled my mind and emotions. That’s what I told my therapist.
I told my therapist about the break ups
They came every other month. I was tired, you were tired and everyone around us got fed up as well. Between fighting ourselves and fighting to keep our love, I’m not quite sure which came more often.
But we eventually stopped. I think the love may have stopped too. I stopped caring, you stopped crying.
I miss you a lot, but I don’t want you anymore. That’s what I told my therapist.
This article was written by Joyce Imiegha and first published here