published in the zine “Iceland in other words”

You are not my first, you know. But maybe my last.

I thought I was smart enough not to fall for that kind of relationship. I thought I’d be able to see the red hiding in your flag. That I’d stand up for myself and call out your toxic, narcissist behaviour. I’ve done it for my friends. Damn, I’ve done it for strangers. So why can’t I do it for myself?

I can’t be myself with you, I can’t think straight with you. I always say the wrong things, the wrong way. And the way you speak to me, the way you speak about me… I didn’t realise it at first.

You were so dreamy, so mysterious, almost mystical. But aren’t they all at the beginning? You made me feel like a child, as if I was discovering the world for the first time. Telling each other silly stories, laughing away our misunderstandings… We were so new to each other. I guess you wanted to keep me that way. Small. Impressionable. Vulnerable.

But you’ve lost your mystery, and I’ve lost mine. I see your self-proclaimed complexity, your artificial rigidity, your mystical aura for what they are now. A smokescreen, a facade behind which you hide how ordinary you really are. But some see right through you. Remember when you introduced me to your family? You were so full of yourself, so proud of who you were, so proud to always be right, to never change, to be so unique… and your cousins just laughed at you and ignored you. That’s when I started to suspect something was wrong.

I could spend days, weeks even, not hearing a word from you. How much of the little money I had I spent trying to make it work? Trying to get closer to you, trying to understand you. But it was never enough. I always ended up being a tourist in your life, an affair. After all these years together, all my sacrifices, you wouldn’t even let me in.

Sometimes I feel that you don’t even like me. I think you tolerate me because I’m practical. I do all the chores for you, the ones you do not want to do, the ones no one wants to do. I make you food, I take care of the children, of the house, of your parents even. That’s what being with you means.

Oh, and I know I’m not the only one. I know about the others. You’d do anything for someone who praises you, who says the exact things you want to hear, the way you want to hear. You’d open every door for them, and then compare me to them to measure my current value to you. What do they call it nowadays? Psychological abuse? Gaslighting? Economic violence? I think you qualify for all that.

The worst is that I still need you. I don’t want you, but I need you. I have nowhere else to go. What, starting over with someone else, somewhere else? Relearning what makes them happy, what makes them angry, their favourite colour, food? No, I’m too tired for this. I’ve lost enough of myself to you. Sometimes I wonder, would I ever break from bending so much to you? Even the way I speak right now doesn’t feel like myself. You’ve changed me. I gave up everything for you, my family, my friends, my career… Yes, I thought about leaving you, many times. And I did. But I always came back to you. I needed to stay. I needed to make it work. For the children. For all this suffering to mean something, somehow, someday.

(Door opening)

Oh no, there you are. I have this piercing sensation in my gut each time you are around. I never know which version of you I’m gonna get. Are you going to be kind and patient, making me feel like the luckiest dugleg girl in the world? Or are you going to yell at me to go back to Poland? You’re always changing your mind; it’s driving me crazy. But I have my survival strategy. I put on my apologetic face, my shy smile. I need to seem below you. I prefer you to pity me rather than fight me, I…

–          Godan dayin’. Ma yegg asstoza tig?

Please please, understand me, be the best version of yourself today. Even if please is not part of your vocabulary.

–          HA?

And you ignored me. It’s not the worst that could have happened. It’s not the worst that has happened.

Toxic men, I’ve had a few. But I never thought I’d get in bed with a toxic language.