The Break-Up Retreat(31)

Anyway, my mom was always the person who helped me make sense of the world. Even after I moved out, I would go visit her a couple of times a week, and she would help me feel better. Once she died, I felt completely lost. I had friends, and hobbies, and a good job that made me a lot of money, but it felt like I was constantly playing a part. My mom was the only person who accepted me the way I was. At least I felt that way, until I met my partner.

It was so good in the beginning. She made me feel so safe and seen. It was almost like having a little part of my mom back in my life, in a way. (Not like I wanted my partner to be my mom. I’m not very good at phrasing myself. I’m sorry. I hope it makes sense.)

But in the last few months, everything I do seems like it’s the wrong thing. I can’t stop making mistakes. I can’t stop upsetting her. This is the person I love most in the world, the person I want to spend the rest of my life with, and I’m hurting her, all the time, without meaning to. Sometimes I think about leaving, just so that she won’t have to put up with me anymore, but I’m so scared to be alone again. I don’t think I will ever find anyone else who will love me. And I know that it’s selfish, but it hurts.

Can someone please tell me what to do? Can someone tell me how to stop? I just need my mom. I need a mom to tell me how to fix this. Or how to fix myself.

16 upvotes

6 comments

u/MrsButterworthsBaby—05:11 05/12/2023

Oh, honey. Reading this hurt my heart. You are so very hard on yourself. I wish I could give you a big hug. I hope you can feel that.

u/TeaWithIceIsNotIceTea—05:46 05/12/2023

Sweetheart, I’m not so sure you’re doing anything wrong at all. You keep writing that you are stupid, and apologizing, but you have clearly managed to get good grades, and a very good job. You are self-sustaining and successful. Your mother would be very, very proud of you, and so am I.

I’m worried that your partner is abusing you, or grooming you for abuse. Does your partner tell you that you are stupid a lot? When you say that you upset them, do you mean that they scream at you and lose their temper? Have they told you that no one else would ever love you if you left?

u/throwawayduckling123—05:48 05/12/2023

Would it be okay if I dm’ed you? I would like to keep talking about this, if that is okay and if you have the time. If not, I apologize.

u/TeaWithIceIsNotIceTea—06:21 05/12/2023

Of course you can!





Chapter 17


Dinner seems to take forever. Throughout the meal, I find that I can barely choke down a bite, or focus much on what’s going on around the table. At one point, my ears prick up as I hear Clara complaining:

“I hope that other physical therapist is better. What was her name? Sanna?”

“Sandra,” Leyla corrects her, mouth half full of food.

“Whatever.” Clara sighs and massages her neck. “I didn’t like those exercises she had us do. I feel like they left me all unbalanced. I think they released some toxins or something.”

There is a churning nausea in the pit of my stomach, and a faint buzzing sound in my ears. It feels like I’ve slipped away from myself, half exited my body; as though I’m watching my hands pick up the fork and spear a piece of chicken, just to put it back down, my own disconnected voice narrating the actions dispassionately.

I can’t believe I fell for her act. Can’t believe I let her in like that.

When I would ask my father about being undercover, when I was little and still thought of him as some untouchable, golden ideal I could never live up to, he always told me that the most important thing was to never lose sight of yourself .

You have to always hold onto that little core of belief, princess. That belief that what you are doing is right, and important, and that the truth matters above all.

What a joke. What a fucking joke. At the end of the day, that was a lie, just like everything else he said; just like the lies he printed, the lies he told us, and his colleagues, and the court, until it all came crashing down in the biggest libel case of the century. Until our family name was a smear in the same papers he’d used to smear others.

Poetic justice, I guess.

And still. After all that. Still I wonder what strength he might have had that I apparently lack.

I failed. I let go of myself, for a moment, and now everything feels raw and wrong.

It’s only when I’m back in the cabin, night having fallen outside, the last dying embers of the sunset flickering through the looming trees on the other side of the pond, that I manage to exhale.

I sit down on the floor by the bed, not wanting to be seen through the window, and bury my head in my hands.

“Fuck ,” I whisper, to the ears of no one.

I need a familiar face. I need to talk to someone who knows me.

Reaching in under the bed, I pull out my phone and go to the wifi settings. I don’t care about getting caught having a device on me; not right now.

Three networks show up; HimlafallStaff, HimlafallOffice, and HimlafallGuest.

The last one isn’t password protected.

I click it, sweat beading on my temples despite the chilly air as I see the shitty, used-up phone working overtime to try to connect.

And then, like a miracle from the heavens, it connects.

With shaking hands, I select Armin’s name and click on the FaceTime icon.

He answers within a few seconds.