Shredded

He nearly took it all.


Every ounce of my self-esteem.


Instead he shredded it slowly ~ day after day ~ week after week ~ month after month.


First came the corrections.


Apparently, I was unable to pronounce many words correctly and needed to be told over and over again how to pronounce them.


College educated in English ~ a writer for years ~ and yet I still needed to be told how to pronounce words correctly.


Then came the judgments.  My anxiety apparently ranked farther down than his depression, and I had to be reminded how unstable I was.  That he did not think he wanted to be with someone who was "unstable."  That he could easily find someone else to love.


Then came the body.  He kept trying to find new ways to call me fat.


"We are both getting fat."


"Is that a bun in your oven?" he asked while patting my middle-age belly.


"I can hear the swish-swish sound your jeans make when your thighs rub together."


I still hear his voice when I put on a pretty dress and look down and see my belly.


"We are both getting fat."


"Is that a bun in your oven?"


I need to get his voice out of my head.  His face out of my dreams.  The memories erased from my mind.


I need to get back to the woman I was before I met him.


Confident.  Worthy.  A woman who loves herself.


The echoes of my past haunt me.


His words were like claws, and they shredded my well-being.  Shredded the goodness I once felt inside.  Shredded the beauty I once saw when I looked in the mirror.