I did it.

A big fuck you to my now NVx and every ounce of love and gratitude to FDS.

Seven fucking years of my life I did it all. He is an addict/alcoholic and checks all the boxes of someone with NPD. I paid for a roof over his head, food, all of his drugs and all of the alcohol. I had to borrow money this winter to just make sure he had what he wanted. He works THREE months a year and says that's enough but every year he works he spends all his money on drugs and incredibly expensive random shit that he thinks is "cool". I ask him to save up money for when he's not working - it never happened.

I'M ON DISABILITY. I've paid for EVERYTHING for him... with my fucking disability. He told me that since it's "government money" it doesn't really count as mine so he's entitled to it. He is addicted to my nerve pain medication which left me taking less than half of my daily dose. All winter he was making friends with prostitutes and bringing them back here to smoke crack with. Every time I spoke up I was shut down and told I was crazy and didn't know what I was talking about. He never let me talk. Ever. Any time I opened my mouth he would immediately steamroll me. If I did manage to get something out he ignored it, laughed because he thought it was stupid, or did what he could to "correct" my thoughts and opinions.

We met when I was 19 and he was 25. We lasted three years until I told him I was done because I couldn't take it anymore. Trying to make a meth lab in my house? Finding him on Christmas covered in his own vomit crying to me that I needed to give him money and get him a ride to go score. I had enough. Well seven years later we meet again. He was sober, on probation, I thought things could work. HAHAHAHA!!! NOPE!!! It was a gradual descent back into the life that I had with him when I was barely an adult.

I've hit rock bottom emotionally, spiritually, mentally fucking absolutely everything. I've been consuming media that benefits my well-being. Lurking on FDS for months. Reading shit about codependence. He took every little last drop of anything I had in me. For over 8 months I laid in bed. Wanting to die. Every day. I kept getting sick over and over. I had a cancer scare at the beginning of the year and he was shitfaced and barely registered what was going on. That was a push towards the cliff. The in April, two days before my birthday he tells me that he spent my birthday gift money on drugs. He has NEVER gotten me anything for any holiday or birthday but he had stimulus money this year and all I asked was... can you get dinner for me. The day before my birthday I tell him I'm going out on my birthday with a friend. The day of my birthday? I tell him I'm going out and he FREAKED THE FUCK OUT on me that I wasn't bringing him. How he would never do that to me and he could see how much I cared blah blah blah then the silent treatment. Well not even an hour after I left I had an accident. I tore my fucking ACL on my birthday and spent over six hours in the ER. When I got back he wasn't answering the door or my messages. My friend and neighbor were trying to help me up the stairs and he finally comes out. Completely disinterested, said he was tired and had a long day. Didn't ask how I was, didn't give a fuck, nothing. One more push.

He left for his summer job three weeks ago. Last Monday he says he's showing up, using my PayPal and using my debit card to get the money out. For drugs. Well I finally stood up for myself. I spoke calmly and rationally about how I'm done supporting his habits, he's on his own, he needs to take care of myself and I need to take care of me. He then proceeded to call me a "fucking bitch" at least twenty times in the next half hour. "Are you off your fucking meds?" "You sound just like your fucking mother." "I leave for a week and you're acting like this?!" Then he went to his favorite tactic - gaslighting. Deflecting. Everything is my fault. He's done literally everything for me and I've laid around for months and I'm fucking fat and lazy. I held it together until I walked him to the door. Something in me fucking downright snapped.

"Call me a bitch one more fucking time." Then I let loose, screaming at the tops of my lungs, "I'M DONE BEING YOUR MOTHER. I'M NOT YOUR FUCKING CASH COW. I'M NOT YOUR FUCKING MAID. I'M DONE LETTING YOU ABUSE ME YOU FUCKING ASSHOLE." He had absolutely nothing to say to me and left. We then have no contact for five days until he messages me that it's "fucked that I'm behaving this way" then... going on about how expensive it is out there and how his vape broke. Translated to he needs me to go out there to pay for shit. I said nothing. I said nothing until Sunday when I had to tell myself that I was doing the right thing by telling him it's over via messenger. Monday my friends brought him the rest of his shit.

He emails me telling me how much of a coward I am. That I'm a fat smelly fucking cunt. He wants me dead. He said have fun being alone in a wheelchair with my MS. Just absolutely destroying me. I deleted, blocked, and didn't respond. So now it's been less than 72 hours and I can't help but live in fear. I know him. He's been beyond violent in his past, never to me, but now I'm at the top of his kill list. And he will. He is absolutely capable of murder. My landlord changed my locks and has a no trespassing order on him. He hasn't done anything enough for me to file a restraining order. So now I just wait, and am full of fear. I cannot move. I cannot get a dog. I do not have the funds for a firearm. I have my pepper spray, a knife, and 911 on speed dial.

The absolute worst thing of it all? He abused "our" cat. The cat has severe anxiety that I think was spawned by a very brutal move last summer and my ex hitting him every time he reacted. Every time I saved enough to take him to the vet, he'd need it for drugs or to get something out of pawn. He'd tell me that the cat doesn't need to go to the vet and that I'm over reacting and he'll be fine. The cat started peeing in the tub a while ago. I tried to tell my ex that he needed to go the vet - again, shut down. Well it's been 22 days since he hasn't been here and the cat hasn't peed in the tub once. I can finally have the funds to take care of my fucking cat. And now I have to live with the fact that I let this motherfucker hurt the one thing I actually give a shit about. That's fucking on me. Now all I can do is give the cat the life he deserved from the beginning.

I'm severely mentally ill, physically disabled as fuck, live in an absolute horrible part of the city, don't have a car and I'm alone. I've never been alone. I've never lived alone. Every man I have ever been with has fucked me up or fucked me over in some capacity. I'm a survivor of every fucking type of abuse, assault, head fuckery. I've been torn the fuck down to absolutely nothing and motherfuck... I am fucking ready to live. I tried ending my life as a teenager and I've been thinking about doing it every single day since. In the past 72 hours I haven't thought about it ONCE. I'm fucking TERRRRIFIED of what he'll do - not to me but trying to take the cat but I'm going to live. I finally had money to buy myself a new pair of glasses because mine have been broken forever but I was never able to. I can bring the cat to the vet, get him a diffuser, work with him on his anxiety and behavioral issues.

I don't know what I'm doing or where I'm going or what happens next. Right now it's minute by minute, sometimes second by second. Learning to be me. Whoever the fuck she is. Learning that I am absolutely worth SO FUCKING MUCH MORE than everything I've ever received and let myself receive. We're going to be okay, I know it's going to take time but I'm ready to heal. I'm ready to use my fucking voice. I'm ready to love myself and treat myself better and live FOR ME.

Ugh. I'm sorry if this was all over the place but I needed to just get it the fuck out. I cannot stress this enough when I say FDS was an absolutely HUGE part of finding value in myself enough to get the fuck out of the situation I was in. I owe all of you women so fucking much. My cat does too. So thank you. For everything. I'm starting over at 33 and I'm okay with that. Better late than never.

All my love and fucking then some.