Some time ago I had a very hard end to a relationship I valued. There were communication stumbling blocks, and I was asked if I needed space. I thought, no, we can make it through this.
But it turned out I did need space. And because they had offered, I felt safe asking for it thinking, yes, a break will get us back on track.
I wasn't given space. It was a difficult and frightening period. What I wanted to rebuild through space was trust. What happened after my request of space was a hammer being taken to that trust until even the tiniest fragment of possibility was dust in the wind.
My requests were very specific: I need time. Please do not call or text or touch me online.
My requests were all denied. And it has almost been enough time that it might be funny. Except it's not. Because that relationship was born from the need to be heard, witnessed, validated and honored on both sides. It was built on the premise of upholding the laws of consent; we had both been touched in ways we did not agree to.
I can't think of any harder or more final end to a relationship than the continued (to this day, more than a year after the fact) refusal to honor my boundaries.
This poem arose from that breakdown. When I initially shared it, the person "liked" it. I shook for days from that small interaction. If they wanted me to feel raped, they were incredibly successful over several months.
The good news is it no longer hurts. I do not fall into trigger with each touch. I simply shake my head in sadness that the simplest, most basic request is ignored. I even feel compassion despite the compassion refused me. After all, love broke down. Even if it was murdered for me, what came before the crime held beauty.
Image credit: unsplash.com/photos/pNrMhpntZFM
► Listen on DSound
► Listen from source (IPFS)