Starting a relationship with a broken and beaten down individual is a difficult thing. M learned that. One minute I’d be trying to get closer to him by opening up, the next I was pushing him away and ending things. I was terrified that not only would he see me as I saw myself, dirty, used up, tainted, unlovable, undesirable, but I was also afraid he would die if we got too close. Afterall, my first husband died, so I figured I must be cursed. I spent a lot of time telling M all of the bad things about me. It would hurt less if he agreed that I wasn’t worth his time and energy before we got more involved.

While getting to know each other all over again, I was seeing my very last psychiatrist and psychologist. They put me on medication for depression, panic disorder, insomnia, and PTSD. I was trying to balance my fragile mental health, physical health, spiritual health, new romantic relationship, and my fear of E who lived not too far away. To say that I was a mess would be a grave understatement. What I was was determined not to let E, or any of my past abusers, ruin any potential happiness that I may have.

M and I were in the midst of planning our future. We knew we loved each other, and wanted to be together, but we had no clue as to what a realistic timeline looked like. He had a good, stable job in another state, so him moving to be with me wasn’t feasible. I had my doctors, and family, but no job, so me moving was perhaps easier on one level, but still not something I was wanting to consider for another year or so. I think our only plan was that one day we would be together. When I was healthier. We talked about me coming to visit him for an extended period of time, but moving plans were tabled for the time being. Until they weren’t.