The trauma of betrayal can drive a person to places they never imagined they would go.
To sedatives, just to surrender to sleep.
To alcohol or drugs, just to numb the ache, even for a while.
To self-harm, to trade emotional pain for something visible, something the mind can momentarily understand.
To relentless exercise, constant movement, endless work, anything to keep the thoughts from catching up.
I never truly understood why people did these things until now.
Did any of it cross my mind? Yes.
But I did not give in. I understood those things were only band-aids. What I needed was to suture the wounds.
And so I turned inward.
I tried to understand the why beneath the pain. I journaled aggressively. I read, I learned, I searched for every possible way to quiet the mind, rewire the system and reprogramme the brain. I taught myself how to empty my head, delete and reject downloads. I sought counselling. I wanted to understand why I was feeling this so deeply when I knew, without question, that I did not want him back or anywhere near me. My body knew he longer belonged, but my mind was still living in the habit of us.
None of it has been easy. Six months in as I write this and I am still struggling, but every day, I am winning in some way. Some days the victory is clear, almost sweet in its certainty. Other days, it is harder to recognise. Some days, simply getting through the day without caving in is the win.
What I know now is that I understand more than I did before. I empathise more deeply. I see people, and pain, differently. I see myself differently.
I recognise now the extraordinary willpower it takes not to reach for help in a bottle, a pill or something sharp. The strength it takes to sit with the chaos rather than silence it.
And maybe, when I finally make it out, I can be there for others still trapped in this terrible gorge of confusion, anger, fear, loneliness and hurt.
Maybe I can reach back.
Maybe I can help pull them over too.
