Soul crushed

Tears flowing down my face I’m in disbelief, how could such happen. You are on a process of changing your ways, you identified your problems and chose to be a better person.

One afternoon coming back from a friend, just wished her a happy birthday. “When will our generation reach the stage of posting and tagging our partners unapologetically?” Well, trust.

The beginning

We got to his place, loadshedding everyone knows Eskom forces you to be romantic. It was less than 5 minutes she comes in, takes a seat and asks, what’s happening here. That moment I should have taken my things and walked out, but I’ve become so addicted to his drama that I sat and observed. I’ve never met girl nor have we spoken face-to-face. We have exchanged texts a few times, worst mistake of my life but what can I do? I couldn’t believe this was happening. I’ve entertained the clowns far too long now I’m addicted to this unsettlement. Okay they exchange words till she stands up and leaves. I felt disrespected; I knew he has someone new, his actions said it all. I did mention I’ve become so addicted to drama I demanded answers he plays dumb. Now I’ve got files, I know 2 other people have been popping on his screen, wife and bae. Anyway he still plays dumb. This is infuriating, I flip. Right there when I flipped I should have called an Uber and went home. I couldn’t bring myself to holding my phone, eyes boiling, I can’t believe he’d do this again. I bled that day, I’ve got scars. That evening I should have left and called it quits. My fragile heart couldn’t take it anymore. I was the clown, actually the master of clowns.

“Today, I’ve got scars that I cannot explain. “

I met up with a friend, and he asked about the scar I lied and said it’s nothing. Deep inside, I wanted to tell him everything. I needed a shoulder to cry on.

I know the girl and her tactics; she followed us all the way from her neighbourhood to his. When the circus is in town, the clowns come out to play. Look, she knows my closest friends; basically, she’s done research about my life, so her following us wasn’t a big deal. He’s the ringmaster, and we’re his idiots.

These scars I bare today hurt a lot, how did I resort to this. I’ve got permanent marks on my body that will be hard to explain to my future husband. These marks are too deep to explain, and every time I look at them, it’s hard not to cry. The scene keeps replaying itself. How could I do this to myself? Lord, I’m not ready to meet you. How did I lose control? How did I end up being the “psycho” in all this?

Today I bare the title of a clown because of him. I’ve got scars that I cannot talk about openly. And every day his people continue to laugh at me. I’m a fool in all this.

Bags packed, I’m at the door, one last move; checkmate. ♟

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