It's okay.

I'm done.

   I was 13 years old when I was sitting in my room after working a long day at my family's bakery. Coming back home with $50 in my pocket. My mother walked into my room trying to make me let her use the money for pills. At this point I knew she was in an addiction, she'd been through two doctors who suddenly dropped her because she would beg and beg for more pills. It hurt me seeing her this way. Never home and when she was it was for money. I denied the money to her and I seen her other side. She walked up to me and yelled at me for being such a "heartless child" and she tried getting my money, I tried pushing her off of me as she decided to hit me in the face as a way to take the money. I always knew addiction was never an easy fight.
   It's already been 3 years into this toxic relationship with Ron and I had found out he was still doing drugs behind my back. He'd still try and tell me that he would stop and I believed him because I loved this man. I loved this man because he was very good at making me see his version of love. All the fights, he'd tell me we're just men. We're not like other gays, we don't paint our nails or curl our lashes. We fight like men when we're mad because that's who we are and men fight all the time! I would take that as the truth and it took us far, only to the wrong directions. It finally took a point where I arrived a few minutes late to his house and he grabbed a long metal pole and swung it on my back to express his anger and frustrations. I tried to take it away and I eventually managed to pin him down, I told him to please stop. It's like he was possessed by something when he'd get this way and I knew my best bet now was to get my bag and leave. I went upstairs to get my things and this man locked me in his room. I apparently fucked up his day coming late so he wanted to get even. He grabbed all his things in his room, anything he could grab and would slam it on me. From picture frames to his flat screen. It was about an hour of just him throwing things at me and I sat there and cried. He was crying too and eventually he stopped throwing things at me. I just stood up and grabbed my things and left.
    I soon figured out he was diagnosed with Borderline Personality Disorder (BPD) which for his case it was do to heavy drug use. He told me everything to get me to come back and I left him getting the help he needed, I felt the story of us was already over. It still shocked me that the our whole story was basically his diagnosis. I went online and I would see that basically people with this disorder tend to be happy and then the next moment see you as their worst enemy. I remember the looks he would give me in the middle of his rage, that right there justified it all. He would see me as his worst enemy. This man just didn't have a choice and I was sitting at the other end of the gun without a clue. I would have stayed with him but it was never meant to be my battle to fight.