J: “It’s Not Personal”

Breakups happen every day, you don’t have to lose it. – Right Where You Left Me, Taylor Swift

Netflix. Comedy Specials. Comfort Shows. Chocolate Ice Cream. Private Crying Sessions. Private Journals. Therapy. Medication. Lots of self-care for the pain I was going through immediately after our relationship officially ended. I feel okay and start moving forward, hopeful we can remain friends somehow, or friendly acquaintances at the very least.

Months later, after he squashed every opportunity to be friendly in our post-breakup encounters, his voice still lingers in my head.

"Stop lying. You're paranoid and delusional."
But I don't know what I've supposedly lied about.
Is it really that delusional to wonder about what could have been when a relationship ends?
Repeated messages that I'm worthless and should kill myself for...I don't know what.
Is it paranoia to fear those actively causing you undue emotional stress?
"Why are you so defensive?"
All I did was ask about what I possibly did that another found so unsettling.
No answer. Silence, weaponized. Anxious confusion for weeks on end.
Was it so wrong to care that I may have hurt another? To want to know how I could avoid causing that same hurt in the future?
"Stop crying. It's not personal."
But I am in emotional distress. And I'm allowed to cry when I am hurt.
The more I accept the loss and attempt to move forward, the more personal the attacks become.
Calling me crazy. Ungrateful. Bitch. Racist. Murderer.
Provoking my insecurities. My grief. My anxiety. Until I lash out and can be labeled as the aggressor.
But it's not personal?
Repeated refrains of how I should behave.
What feelings I'm allowed to have and show to the world.
Dismissiveness towards any negativity, so you feel justified in your emotional neglect and abandonment.
Insidious emotional abuse disguised as uncommunicated boundaries.
But it's not personal?
10 years, and not a single acknowledgement for the tiniest bit of pain you caused.
Always finding a way to twist my words, so the blame is never on you for anything.
Not a single apology. Not even one word of regret for the words said in anger, nor for the scornful looks given that still haunt my dreams and keep me up all night.
Not a single shred of accountability. And you wonder why I'm still so angry with you.

But it wasn't personal.

I disagree. It was personal.
It. Is. Personal.