He got away.

I had been holding on for dear life, hoping that the urge to leave me would have subsided after I decided to let go. However long that was. I was wrong. He got away.

Sanity got away.

I think he felt used. Underappreciated. Taken for granted. All these things, if not much more.
He went and left room for mental illnesses I never thought I would have. That’s what happens when you take for granted the little big things that keep you going.

That’s what happens when you binge-think destruction and revenge for all that started the battle between you and your sanity instead of fixing your relationship with him. I did this. I did it.

Our relationship was a little rocky. Maybe the “little” is a lie but allow me to make myself feel a little better, even if it’s for a split second. I don’t deserve it. I need it.

I dug the skin on his loosely hung arms with my nails. A part of him had to stay with me. That’s the part responsible for piecing together these words. The same words I can’t sprinkle on this lonely road so he could find his way back to me. If he ever wanted to. Not that he would.

That’s how selfish I am. Maybe that’s why he left too.

Sweet consolation is stuck neatly under my nails though. A part of him, small as is, does lift my heart to heavenly places. That’s all I ever wanted.

I want to pray that he comes back, but one third of me prays God keeps him away from me. I am poison. I am death. By leaving, he chose life.

He got away.

Sanity got away.

Because who stays awake and pieces together a post personalizing the word “Sanity”? Only Sanity’s divorcees.

Thank you for reading.


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