My therapy has turned into trying to make sense of the fact that our relationship was an abusive one. Abuse is black or white, yes or no, binary. You do not feel binary to me. I see nuance in the shape of us, in the color changes of our shadows. I held on so tightly to the idea that things were not as bad as they were because I loved you and our version of the future. We drew a life for us that was so magical and alluring and clung to it. We hid in the fantasy because the world of us was too toxic to confront. The image of us burrowing into a mud hole keeps coming up for me. We might be buried and unable to move, but we can still see the sun, right? You drank to not feel the cold, damp, discomfort of the mud. I did what I have always done since childhood. I overanalyzed and stayed in my brain so I did not have to feel what was in my body. When I do this severance, Depression enters my soul. You could see Depression in how messy the house was, in how behind I was on laundry, in my use of weed to avoid the body even more. I was embarrassed to have my parents see it, to see how poorly I was doing. But I needed them when you died. They had to come in. I finally could let someone else in to see I was that broken. I was embarrassed and also relieved. I needed someone else to know.

I recently had a client-related reason to review the criteria for Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder, and as I read the criteria aloud, I realized you checked every single box. I feel stupid for not seeing it until after you died. I feel stupid for ignoring the signs of the abuse. I feel stupid for wanting the story to be different, for not wanting to be the person who was stuck in a cycle with you. I feel stupid. Admitting our relationship was abusive means admitting that I am the fool who was educated enough to know she was being abused as it was happening, but stayed anyway. Hoped for better despite all the logic. I stayed and would have continued to stay because I loved you and wanted to believe in the version of reality where things were not what they were, but you died. That reality never happened and now it never will. One thing that is the same now as it was before you died: I will never know if you would have gotten better, if the therapy would have worked, if you would have healed and stopped drinking. I wanted that for you. For us. You deserved it. You deserved to live a life out of the mud. But I was the only one who believed that and it takes two people to know things can be different for change to occur.

I am trying to find support groups for people like me, people who realized they were in an abusive relationship and need other people like them to talk to about it, but it’s been difficult. Small towns have smaller resources. Part of me regrets moving because the things I need for healing absolutely are in Seattle. There was recently a support group that met in person in Seattle for Young Widows. Hi! I know of several grief support groups and retreats in Seattle and I even know the people who run them. Yes, please! I know in Seattle I could find the domestic violence support groups for women like me. I am lonely in this. I am lonely trying to make sense of what my life is now, in my despair that I have to be here trying to heal from not only your loss, but your rapture.

Because I am lonely, I thought about volunteering with kids, with the humans who can still be saved from the harm adults cause. On a preliminary search, several organizations came up who help children with disabilities get outside. I thought of you. I thought of your work with Richie, of the amazing heart you have for kids who, like you, needed someone to see them. We could have had an amazing life here in Chico if you had healed. If you could come out of the mud with me. You had so much to give and gave whatever you could. The worst of you made the best lessons for all of us. The best of you made the most beautiful and long-lasting impressions. I still see you everywhere and feel warmth. Even in the mud we were warm and there was love. Nothing and everything is black or white about that. It’s both.