The bed isn’t paid off and is in my name. The couch is in my name and I put a down payment of $600 on it. My clothes, perfume, and toothbrush are mine. The bedroom end tables and dishes were given to me by my family. I paid for the dishes and lamps. I bought every decoration and curtain.
The groceries and TV were mutually bought, but he has them. My hope chest and bookshelf are mine, but he has them. The bathroom things and extra dishes were bought by myself, but he has them. I bought the dryer, but he has it. He also has his blankets, video games and systems, an additional TV, and gadgets that he’s purchased, vacuum cleaner, and a broom. He also took my cat, Smokey. No, there isn’t much left. The apartment does look bare but I did take the things that were mine and left his. Over the last 3 1/2 years, he chose not to purchase things and I did. I didn’t have to leave what was mine but I did in order to try be kind and respectful.
The funny thing about this is that everyone is so fucking concerned about what he didn’t get and what I “took” from him. No one gives a flying fuck on why the relationship ended. I haven’t went around telling everyone that I know what an asshole he was or wasn’t. I haven’t told people how it kills him to buy $20 worth of things we need when he has over $4000 in the bank. I haven’t repeated the God-awful and deeply hurtful things that were said to me over the years.
I am accepting that we are at two different spots in our lives. I know that he is a caring and wonderful man. I know that he does love me and that his family is hilarious and welcoming. I know that he has helped me though some thought spots in my life as I’ve helped him with. I know we went through hell and back together and made it out. I know that he has a kind heart. But I also know all of the things that aren’t good about him and I don’t think that it is necessary or respectful to tell the whole world. It’s rude and distasteful.
I only wish on a shooting star that being civil was a mutually accepted idea of thinking. It is beyond painful to get harassing phone calls, Facebook, and text messages about how terrible of a person I am and what kind of bitch do I think I am. It’s hurtful to hear that my brothers face is going to “be pounded to a pulp” if he drives by again. It kills me to know that false things were said about me. They say: “Sticks and stones may brake my bones but words will never hurt me.” They lied.