Conversation and Realization

So we were sitting in the break room, and Geff (yeah, that's right) was telling us about how he planned a surprise anniversary party for his parents because it was their 25th and so many couples don't last that long, so many couples don't even last 5 years. Then Anson joked about how his last marriage was short-lived, and I said mine was too. Anson added that his husband was abusive (and he's making it all up). And I told them that my last boyfriend threatened to drug my food (and I wasn't making it up). And then I realized that I have my own horror story to tell.

This was towards the end of our relationship. Things were tense. He had come over and all we were doing was fighting. I got really tired of it, and I asked him to leave my place. We just kept fighting. I asked him to leave again. Finally I said that if he wasn't going to leave, I would, which brought the fight out into the middle of the street (me, leaving; him, following; argument continuing the whole way). (It wasn't the kind of fight that was exceptionally loud or would attract much attention from the neighbours, but it wasn't pleasant either.) So we were standing in the street, tree-lined and green and sunny and blue sky, and I think he was telling me that I need to take responsibility for my life and my happiness, and I couldn't just see myself as a victim of my circumstances, and how he was so frustrated that my problems weren't getting solved and that I didn't seem to be doing anything about it, and how he felt like the only thing he could do is slip antidepressants into my food or something. At that I turned and walked away, incredulous, and that made him mad and he followed me for some more arguing. But soon after I drove away (from my own house), and so did he, because there was just no other end to the fighting.

There are a lot of explanations and excusings. It was the end of the relationship, and it was just an ugly time when we (he?) did unbecoming things that we wouldn't otherwise do. It was because of my persistent depression that I wouldn't marry him, so he felt personally offended when it wasn't improving and he acted out of that frustration. We'd had so many hopes and dreams for this relationship that their loss was hard to simply accept. And, he was kinda joking?

But jokes like that aren't funny. And the state of our character shines through in its truth in trying situations. And even if there are excuses, that doesn't erase the fact that this happened. I have my own horror story. Not just in that day, but in that time. Although it's not nearly as bad as the stories some other people carry, it still is what it is.

I'm almost embarrassed to tell the story. Actually, we had several stories that I hesitate to recount (especially to anyone who might know him) because they put him in an exceptionally bad light. He's not a bad guy, and there are many other stories that show him in a great light (unfortunately those are harder to remember and harder to tell). I am just so glad to be free.

I wonder what his stories about our relationship say about me. Did I cause him any horror stories?