I do not even know where to begin so I’ll jump in where my fingers and mind lead me.
He locked me in a room.
Our entire relationship was between four walls; walls of despair and bereavement. He told me things I dare not (at the time) tell my family or friends. There were days he liked me and days he did not. Moments he loved my body and moments he loathed it. Nights our bodies laid next to each other like strangers at a bus stop – but still I cared. Why didn’t I leave, why did I stay? I felt horrid, ugly, and decrepit. I started to die, I compromised my very soul. And because of this neglect my body, spirit, and mind took a large blow that would change my life forever.
I kept the relationship private because that is what he wanted, I honored his request. I told no one the stories of our love… or lust. Now, I realize that he did not want privacy; he was trying to protect something he thought was integrity. He liked men but told himself he did not. He wanted men (and even me) but told himself that was impossible. I knew he was confused, I knew he was lost, but I thought he would grow to love me. That I would pull him out his pit of internal conflict and our love would be triumphant- such was not the case.
That is all I can muster to write, for now.