Today was supposed to be a simple day. My partner was supposed to finish work at 2 PM, but as I write this, it’s 4:57 PM, and there’s no sign of him. On top of that, he blocked me as soon as he left the house and turned off his location. These actions, though familiar, still sting.
I often write about how I’m treated, and I’ll admit—I still stay. But today, I’m reflecting on what led to this moment and the ongoing cycle of hurt.
The Holiday Party Dilemma
We both used to work together, and tomorrow is the annual holiday party. Initially, he told me he didn’t want me to come because, in his words, I’m embarrassing. But the irony isn’t lost on me—he’s the one who drinks excessively and ends up looking foolish.
Last year’s party was a prime example. I was nine months pregnant, quietly enduring the night, while he got drunk to the point of embarrassment. And yet, somehow, I became the scapegoat for his feelings of shame.
When the topic of this year’s party came up, it led to a fight. As always, he didn’t want me there, didn’t want to include me, and made me feel unwanted. It hurts more than I can put into words. It feels intentional—like he does these things to wound me.
After days of back and forth, he finally said I could come. But by then, I’d made up my mind—I didn’t want to go. Why would I willingly go to a place where I’m not wanted, especially with someone who finds me “embarrassing”?
When I told him I wasn’t going, he turned it around, acting like I was unreasonable. He begged me to come, saying he wanted me there. It left me feeling confused and emotionally exhausted.
A Growing Resentment
This morning, everything came to a head when he told me outright that I wasn’t allowed to go to the party after all. His behavior felt suspicious, and I told him so. Words were exchanged—mean ones, from both sides. The truth is, most of the things I said, I meant.
I love him, but I also think I hate him. And with each passing day, that hate grows.
Why I Stay
Writing this feels like an admission of defeat, but it’s also a moment of clarity. Everyone tells me I’m the crazy one, and honestly, I’m starting to believe it. But deep down, I know that these patterns—blocking me, shutting me out, belittling me—aren’t normal.
I don’t know how to move forward right now. But what I do know is that this situation isn’t healthy, and the cracks in my relationship are becoming harder to ignore. Maybe one day I’ll find the strength to leave—or maybe I’ll continue to stay, hoping things will change.
For now, all I can do is write. Writing is my outlet, my way of processing the chaos. And maybe, someday, it’ll be my way out.
The Fourth Trimester 