I thought I was over being angry, and bitter, and vengeful. But something happened on a Monday night recently, painfully reminding me of a slight against my person. It brought me back to that dangerous thought loop of cognitive incongruence—the agonising uncertainty of whether the betrayals I encountered were real or imagined. I thought I was crazy for far too long. And I hated being transported back there.
So, what triggered the recap episode in my head? Funnily enough, it came from a source of validation and acknowledgement on the frisbee field. I play ultimate frisbee on Monday nights, and my team made it to the semi-finals this season. It’s been tough on the girls. More often than not, we had to play with no subs and very few breaks because we just didn’t have the players. After our soul-crushing loss, we received heartwarming recognition for working hard.
It’s a little funny, right? One sentence of praise meant so much to me that I held back tears as everyone stood in the spirit circle. There was disappointment in that bittersweet moment, but also a new hope for the next season. It wasn’t until a few days later, after some joyful distractions, that the melancholy moments of the past slowly crept back in. And I can only describe the sensations as abhorrent.
All this rage, resentment, and contempt eats me alive. I am not proud of how I feel, and I hate having to examine this heart of mine when it’s at its ugliest. In fact, I wish I could let go of this hostility because I know it obstructs my duty to love others as God loved us. But at the very least, I am honest about my flaws and feelings, and I am far from the delusion that I am free from blame. I don’t act on these destructive feelings, but they still pose a problem to my heart. Pray for me.
On that Monday, having to hold back tears was the beginning of the end—the reminder of another time I wasn’t as successful in keeping it in. After the umpteenth instance of arguing about the other woman, it was clear my feelings didn’t matter to him. And I broke down on the side of the frisbee field the day following our anniversary. I have never forgotten. I can’t believe it took something so drastic for me to see change.
Like the first ten times I directly told him my issues with their relationship weren’t enough. I am disgusted with every fibre of my being, and I am so angry that I fought for a relationship that clearly wasn’t mutual. How little did I have to mean—how insignificant did I seem in his eyes—for him to repeatedly dismiss me, disrespect me, and hurt me like that? As much as he denied it, it was unmistakable that he developed an attachment to that other girl. It was my mistake to choose to be in a relationship with someone who thought love was a feeling… and not a choice.
So isn’t it really only a logical conclusion to say he didn’t love me? Because even when I said what he was doing hurt me, he kept going. Over and over and over. For months. Rather than seeing my pain, he saw accusations—assassinations of his character having been compared to a certain someone—and vehemently denied all wrongdoing. Now, isn’t that delusional? But I guess it’s expected from someone who can’t even keep those he is close to accountable.
And he thought he was better than that man. How pathetic. No… I’m the pathetic one. I was the one who stayed with the person who kept saying, “I don’t know if I love you or not“. I was played, seduced by empty promises and sweet–sounding lies, and I ignored the pain inflicted and the absence of genuine love. I was but a used rag. Nobody’s favourite. And always tossed into a corner and abandoned.
My outburst on the field really set the mood for the week. After the promise we would spend every day of that week together to celebrate our third anniversary, the time he sparingly gave to me was disappointing. He kept the promise, but he did so in such an underwhelming way and with such little thought behind it. It made me really sad. To be excited to spend more time with him and then be robbed of the time I expected was… devastating.
And months later, I found out he had seen her again in that very same week. To end things. Before you say, “But he did the honourable thing!” Fuck you. That relationship should never have progressed that far. He may have done the right thing, but it wasn’t respectable. It’s absurd how I stayed with someone as deceitful and untrustworthy as that.
I wish you knew how much it hurts me to relive the memories of betrayal, dismissal, and neglect. Though, I would never wish this kind of hell on anyone. Except… perhaps, on the one who harmed me in the first place. Because I am the one paying the price, not him. I am the one bleeding from the wounds inflicted from a boy’s emotional immaturity. And men don’t seem to understand how fucked up it is. After all, it’s obvious they seldom keep their friends accountable for this kind of thing.
To even admit that I’m still suffering from C-PTSD fills me with shame. I hate being so weak… and sinful. I honestly thought I was over it. But even something as unrelated as frisbee brought me back to that same lived nightmare. The lies, the betrayal, the neglect. Remembering how easy it was for him to do the things I loved with everyone other than me. I mean, my throat still tightens while my stomach urges itself to expel its contents any time I see or hear that woman’s name. It physically hurts.
And it’s just not fair. How I am the one who was wronged and has to suffer from the aftereffects of poor decision-making and negligence. All the while, the one who held the knife is never held accountable by the people around him and gets to go home unremorseful and wrongly justified. That is more than just a one-person failure. And I just happened to be the one caught in the crossfire… right?
This unrelenting illness occupying my heart has hindered my ability to love—and to be the child God always wanted me to be. I wholeheartedly and bitterly hope he suffers for what he did to me. It’s what that purposeless deceiver deserves. But even more than that, I just want him to fully comprehend the gravity and consequences of his own sin. That would be justice. I know my words are harsh. In my sin, I still desire to be more like Jesus. Pray for me.
I recognise my feelings are just that… feelings. I won’t act on them but will instead rely on my God, who claims vengeance as His to take; a just God who understands our despair and knows how we have been wronged; and a loving God who cares for His children and only wants the best for us. Because only fools would let their hearts guide them into ruin. Feelings change day by day. However, in my case, I should have listened to my heart a little more and realised that it was torn in two long ago.
Through every trial, I felt so isolated and lonely. I had panic attacks all the time. I told no one what I was going through and kept protecting him. I let him have his way with me, and I was a fool. But I should have known, in that dynamic, there was no longer any accountability… only more ways for me to be hurt by him. And I am to blame for trusting someone who adores his reputation more than anything else in the world. I will no longer protect someone so dishonourable.
Thank you, friends, for giving me the love and courage to do so.
Even a lifetime may not erase these wounds. Regrettably, I just cannot envision forgiveness right now. And as I conflictingly ponder the words God directly spoke to me—at this moment, I can say with certainty that I reject it all if it means having to suffer the same fate. As I am now, I don’t ever want to see him again. Even in eternity.
But perhaps, one day, my heart will return to the soft state it once was. Maybe I will even be free from this affliction as soon as next month! Hah, bad joke. It is doubtful. And this, too, is my sin. Pray for me.
Unfortunately, my story is not an uncommon one. More and more, I am hearing stories of women being mistreated and neglected to the point of trauma. And it makes me so angry to watch men not take their relational roles seriously. Real people get hurt. Women are the ones who are having to bear the weight of your sins. It’s not a game. So please stop treating us like we are one.
If you think you’re above that kind of behaviour, watch out. Because this isn’t a narrative of intended hurt, it’s one of negligence. It’s what happens when you’re selfish—when you choose to avoid conflict and choose false comfort over integrity and accountability—or when you refuse to prioritise properly. Anyone can be careless. And I hope you know that.
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