Dear a husband that could've been,

We are trees. We grew tall. We grew towards the light for a reason, out of the roots laced in the dirt. Intricate in detail, hard to understand even through the text books I've handed you, that you, heart hard as a rock, refuse to read. "A real man never hits a woman". Well here's a list of things I think "a real man" does do:

1. Knows himself, beliefs, values, strengths, weaknesses, truths

2. Stands up for said beliefs, values, strength, weaknesses, truths

3. Stares fear in the face

4. Treats men how he would like to be treated

5. Treats women how he would like his daughter to be treated.

6. Does not USE anyone for self gratification.

7. Makes a mistake, and it's just that, a mistake, not a pattern.

That's what a man does, THE BASICS.

Today I read:

"What hurts more? A bruise or a broken heart? How about a broken tooth? Being choked? Dying?

He hit you, he will do so again and it will get worse.

So, you have to decide, at what point do you decide that a broken heart is the lesser of two evils?

Nobody ever died of a broken heart. Domestic abuse kills every single day."

The world should be more scared of you, than you are the world. You're either royalty, or an infested rodent. I've spent three years trying to build you up, believing in YOU, and not one god damn second dealing with the lows I've seen during. The concrete against bare skin, the veins I've cut into. And yet still you have the gut to question ME and my love for YOU? Perhaps if everything I said to you didn't come out your ass the next day you'd realize that the problem is you. YOU YOU YOU.

I'm glad YOU don't fuck girls anymore. I'm glad YOU have a job and home now. I'm glad YOU don't do drugs anymore. I'm glad YOU are so happy with your life. YOU'RE welcome. But those behaviors should've been in line in the first place. All of those things we've helped you get through in the past three years are right around the corner if you don't deal with your shit.

Look I dealt with my shit, the childhood, the teenage years up until I met you. I have three years of emotions I didn't deserve to feel that I need to sort through while you've got almost twenty five fucking years. I'm sorry you're such a coward, I'm sorry i couldnt help you, but you're going to come home to my dead body if I don't get the fuck out of here and find the self that I love, and maybe someday, someone who has heart enough to love it too.

Love,

Your battered housewife.

I feel sorry for the next one.