Fine

I’m fine.

Except when he calls. Because I won’t answer, I let it ring, silently, while I attempt to get ready for my day; putting on the mask I have to wear for the next 8-9 hours, so no one knows there’s anything wrong. But I know it’s ringing, even when it’s laid, facedown, on my sink. I know it’s ringing, 3 or 4 separate times, because he simply – Won’t. Stop. Calling.

I’m fine.

Except when he texts, because I refuse to answer during the day, trying to remain focused on what I have to get through at work, knowing that he’s furious & accusatory; pleading one minute and threatening the next…I can’t even look to see what he’s sent most of the time, but then…have to look when I take a break, because, like a train wreck…you just- have to look. And then the shakes start. And I have to remember how to breathe, and when to smile, so no one knows there’s anything wrong. Doubling the anxiety meds some days just to take the edge off to appear “normal”.

I’m fine.

Except late at night, when I have to put my phone on vibrate, so it doesn’t ring in the middle of the night, when he’s frantically trying to get me to answer him – due to the time difference between here and there.

I’m fine.

Except that I can’t block the communication completely, my lovely phone plan not allowing me to block, but only to “auto-refuse”, which means I don’t see the calls coming anymore, but it doesn’t stop the texting, or the emailing.

I’m fine.

Because I refuse to tell people around me that he – Will. Not. Listen. To what I told him. That I’m done, I can’t take the broken promises anymore, and I need to focus on the life I have going on around me, instead of some long-drawn-out and never-manifesting wish I had that I could be happy with someone, that I could be loved by someone responsible & honest & someone with integrity & commitment to me in his heart.

I’m fine. 

Don’t worry.

I’m fine.

Because I will get this behind me, somehow, some way. I will do this on my own, because I refuse to be a burden or an obligation to anyone, and this is my responsibility to handle this fucking mess. I don’t want pity – I hate seeing it on anyone’s face.

So I don’t tell.  I don’t talk.

I’m fine.