The end. - I broke up with Sean

I, Kirsten Danielle, was emotionally abusing my boyfriend.

He said I made him happy. He said he'd stay with me as long as I allowed. On our 3rd date, August 2019, he went shopping with me to get the rope I wanted to hang myself with and to the library to print out my pre-written suicide note.

That was the first day he told me he loved me.

I scoffed because his love was naive. He didn't know what he was saying. He couldn't love me this soon.

I told him this as he was picking me up ice cream..

But he did. 🤷‍♀️

We worked on personal goals. Money and finances. When he lied and fell short of his goals, I told him "this isn't working, you need to try harder". I genuinely didn't want to date someone who couldn't be better at saving for his/our potential future. I broke up with an ex for this reason. Not making progress, being stagnant and careless with money. Whether I was in his future or not, I wish he was more mindful with his money.

And with the threat of loosing me. He got better.... but only for me, not for him.

He told me about his ex's how uncleanly, intentionally hurtful and manipulating they were. The women nearly two weeks before meeting me chased him out of her apartment with a fucking knife. The only women he choose willingly not to go back to. Every other relationship, the woman broke up with him. Even though he acknowledges how unhealthy it was, he still hurts and misses his ex.

I am not physically abusive, but I am emotionally and mentally abusive. I have told Sean that I think he should be dating someone else, multiple times. Even on the happiest of days. I have told him he is weak for staying with me. I have told him when he cries it makes me happy. Because it has sometimes. To know someone else can hurt like I do. Or at least it looks similar. I meant all of the things I've said, even today.

So I broke up with him. Or, I tried.

He came to my house, knocked on my door with handwritten love notes, puffy stained tear filled eyes hopping I'd open the door. He knows that I plan suicide regularly and without someone to care for me, be around me, it's that much easier. I answered and let him in. Cried. And we talked for hours and hours about what I disliked. What made me upset - What I could be doing better. (He couldn't think of anything) And even though I didn't want to get back together, essentially we pretended like nothing happen.

Weeks go by, during this quarantine, me without a therapist because my private psychologists office is a piece of shit and 100% closed. (I do not recommend! Read about him here: Reviews) Not even phone calls or video chats. My mental health plummets. Zero coping skills are being used. I am isolated and I can't see the few friends I do have. Sean takes the full burden of all my emotional nonsense on. And his knees buckles and he breaks up with me. (never thought it would happen to be honest.)

"You are the simultaneously the best and worst relationship I've ever had. It's so hard." he said. (Read I Write)

A glimmer of hope that he finally see's what a terrible human I am, and he will kick me out. He grew some courage to leave me alone. Let me to my own inevitable demise.

All while police are looking for me because useless Facebook friends think they are helping by sending the police to my house, looking for me. Infuriating my dad. I told Sean, I have no where to go. I didn't have anywhere that made me safe to go. I suggested a hotel or sleeping in my car. Hotels are expensive, and he scoffed at the idea of me sleeping in my car. I knew he'd let me stay.

He apologizes for breaking up with me and telling his mom about it the next day. He shouldn't have apologized. He did nothing wrong. I tell him again "you shouldn't want me. You deserve someone to love you better. It's not me. I'm a piece of shit."

And he asks me what we are. . . I have no answers. More tears. He's angry.

He locks me out of his room and I use a debit card to get in. He got angry and I felt guilty for invading his privacy...I didn't want him upset. I don't want him debilitating depressed. I want him to get away from me and move on. I guess he can't do that if I keep showing up. I can't comfort him without making things worse. I am shit. And no matter how confident or happy I look. No matter how amazing Sean is and was to me. He lets women abuse him. And I'm aware of it. I can't stay. I can't do that to him. He deserves better. Even if that is suppose to be his choice, it's mine too. And he knows deep down this decision is right, even if he doesn't want it to be.

I shouldn't be dating while my mental health is so poor. While it continues to spiral out of control. I'll bring everyone down with me who refuses to step away.

A handful of idiots were brave enough to reach out and tell me that talking shit on other people, while I remain blameless is cowardly. They were referencing my many blogs and exposing my life from flash back memories of the abuse I was raised in, written in almost every published post. But I do not sit blameless. I sit here mindful, aware of my illnesses. Aware of the results of my behaviors. And yeah, because of many factors, including illness, I do them anyways, even though I know they aren't right. I'm aware of my symptoms that piss everyone off. I'm aware of the privilege I have to be able to see that I should be making a change, and then, sometimes do, but it not make any difference. I back slide and it was as if I didn't make any progress at all.

Soon I won't have too, Kyle. Soon, I won't have to.

I am not crying wolf when I talk about my intentions of suicide so much. It is always in the forefront of my mind. The one and great solution.

If I were dead. Sean would move on. Tattoo me on a head stone on the back of his future body suit (that's what he told me) and let go.

If I were dead I wouldn't fight through endless paper work of new patient admissions only to last a few weeks/months before they kick me out, they don't like me, or I'm not progressing there.

If I were dead my toxic family wouldn't.. couldn't treat me like shit, even though I know they wouldn't have anything nice to say about my life anyways. They'd probably try to form a get together and do something stupid like....C-A-R-E.

If I were dead I wouldn't have the existential dread that I fail daily at taking care of myself and being independent.

If I were dead I couldn't feel pain. I couldn't cry everyday. I couldn't feel those pesky rare emotions of happiness, pleasure or joy that teases me that there is something better in life worth sticking around for. (They have only come through mania for me. Aka Fake Happiness. Haven't felt it in over 18 months.)

If I were dead there would be nothingness. Pure bliss. No one or nothing to tell me I am right or wrong. Or what to do or question why I'm doing it.

So why do I even write these blogs? It's a coping skill I picked up after I was raped last year. I used journaling as a child during traumatic and difficult times when no one else was there to listen. I am there for me. To write. To express and vent emotion. To get it out.

Everyone is always saying "you can change. You can get better. There is hope." Good for fucking you. You can't get better when you are dead. Aaaaaand that is kind of the point.

People like me would trade any good that COULD ever happen, with the security that nothing will ever get worse, and the pain could end. Now.

If I were dead, I couldn't hurt anymore anymore and no longer left with so much guilt. All. The. Time.

I will not let this blog shed light on the bad of Sean and I's relationship. Even my past blogs about him doesn't explicitly exhibit positivity. Sean is an amazing human. I know he will read this, eventually. He knows it's coming. Without him I haven't had much of anyone lately close and available for venting.

I won't forget his presence. Literally just being here for me when my fucked up brain tries and still wants to kill me. Most people walk away from people like me. And I can't blame them. I'm so hard to love. The only thing wrong for Sean, is hasn't found a good woman to love him right to ever know. He doesn't know what he is missing. It sucks being with such a great person, knowing you're the piece of shit in the relationship.

GOSH, I'm so tired of crying over problems I gave myself. Already down half a tissue box writing this.

I didn't always treat him like garbage. I was the only person who did his laundry the past 10 months... I did that to give us both more time together because his work schedule, working 12hr-swing shifts, wipes most of his off days energy from playing sleep catch up. I didn't want anymore time of his spent on necessary chores that I could do for him while he was at work. I wouldn't use that against him, I offered.

Sean also struggles with depression and self care is difficult for him. I wanted to help. Clean clothes, help. Cutting his hair 2X monthly is also something I committed to. He has only had to have his hair trimmed once since we got together last July. He bought an affordable electric shaver and I do it for him.

I also grocery shopped, meal prepped and packed his lunches to help him save the money he was throwing away on $7 vending machine sandwiches at work. I did this so he could learn to save. I did this so he could spend that money mindfully on the things he wanted instead of convenienced, unhealthy food; because, again, he works crazy long shifts. He deserves someone to support him, too.

I bought him flowers, I wrote love notes. In pen and in lip stick- kissed with love. I left the notes in his lunch and on his car windshield so he'd see them before work. (he didn't notice, I had to tell him it was there...lol) I gave him pedicures, complete with a epsom salt foot soak, promptly after he got off work, under the dinner table so he could FULLY relax as he ate my home cooked meal. (often steak and potatoes, his favorite) Followed with full body massages. I even grew my left hand finger nails out to give him goose bumps to fall asleep to, with back scratches. (I hate long nails)

I help plan fun activities, like Busch Gardens, Beach Trips, Live Music concerts/music festivals. etc..

I painted his miniature War-hammar army creatures as he put them together. I don't share the same love for his craft and nerdy interests but I found a way to make him happy doing it together.

I wanted this to work, but I am unwell. I can't stay with what little conscious I have left and my shattering mental health, knowingly keep hurting him. He just lets me. He takes the tongue lashes. The random anger bursts and the mean, even if they are truthful, texts.

He deserves so much better than what I can provide right now.

I knew it in November when I named the blog The UnBreakup. I feel the same way as I did in that post. Maybe this is all an elaborate, self-sabotaging plan. Getting rid of someone so good to me and for me. "We accept the love we think we deserve." And I'm extremely damaged goods. Here's hoping I get my shit together so I stop hurting so many people, and that Sean can truly forgive me. Not just submissively accept what I did to him, and would continue to do to him... if I stayed.

Do I love you, if I hurt you on purpose?