Wounds of the past

 If You Loved Me, Why Did You Hurt Me?

Maybe the first time you hurt me should have been the moment I realized that something was wrong.

But I didn't leave.

I convinced myself that maybe you were just angry. Maybe you made a mistake. Maybe you regretted it. Maybe after you apologized, it would never happen again.

But it did.

And every time it happened, a little part of me disappeared.

Even now, I still ask myself:

“How could you hurt me like that?”

How could you hurt me while telling me that you loved me?

How could you scream at me, insult me, hurt me, and scare me, and then suddenly become a completely different person?

As if nothing happened.

As if you didn't hurt me.

As if you didn't make me cry.

As if you didn't make me afraid.

Then suddenly, you would become gentle again.

You would tell me that you loved me so much.

And because I loved you, I wanted to believe you.

That became my mistake over and over again.

I believed your apologies even when the same things kept happening.

I believed your “I love you” even when I could no longer feel love in the way you treated me.

As time passed, I didn't know what I was supposed to believe anymore—your words or your actions.

Because how can something be called love when it makes me afraid?

How could you hurt me and then expect everything to be okay just because you said sorry?

How could you hurt me one day and act the next day as if nothing ever happened?

Sometimes, after everything, I would see you acting completely normal.

Laughing.

Talking.

Living your life.

And I would be the one silently carrying everything that happened.

That's when I started asking myself:

“Was it really that easy for you to forget what you did to me?”

I never wanted you to suffer forever.

I never wanted you to hate yourself forever.

I just wanted you to understand how much your actions hurt me.

Because while you could return to your normal life, I was left trying to put myself back together after everything you had broken.

Eventually, I became tired.

Not because I stopped loving you.

But because I realized that love isn't enough reason to stay somewhere I was constantly being hurt.

So I left.

And after I left, it felt like I suddenly became nothing in your life.

As if we never had a story.

As if you never loved me.

As if I had never been someone important to you.

But even if you act like I never existed, I know the truth.

I was real.

My love was real.

The time I gave you was real.

And I will never be ashamed of loving you.

The only thing I regret is the amount of time I allowed my love for you to make me forget about myself.

Now, I don't need to keep asking whether you truly loved me.

I need to ask myself something more important:

“Do I love myself enough to never return to a place where I was repeatedly hurt?”

And now, I know the answer.

Yes.

Because this time, I'm choosing myself.

Not because I never loved you.

But because I finally understand that the person I needed to save was me.