I love him. Before I day anything else, I must say the one thing I am actually sure of. I love him. Through the fights, and the feelings of emptiness, I know there is someone else underneath. Someone who is sweet, and kind, and caring, and who loves me just as much as I love him.

That love is enough to allow me to last through the lies, the put-downs, and the pain. I know that no matter how bad it might be now, later he will apologize and tell me that it was just the stress talking, that he would never hurt me like that. I will tell him that I believe him, and that I love him. I will speak the truth.

I can’t leave him. I need him. How could I let go of my reason of existence? I don’t think I could live without the good times we have, when he puts his arm around me and his hand doesn’t fall too low on my back, and I am comfortable with him. At that time, it’s as easy as breathing.

He wasn’t always this way. He used to be good all the time. He used to tell me he loved me every day, a smile always plastered on his face. He used to never push me to do anything, stopping at the slightest sign of distress. He used to be happy.

Then, everything changed for him. His brother got caught in that car wreck. I had never seen someone so upset. I knew just how close they were. He didn’t talk for a week after he died. All he did was sit and stare into space, his hand gripping mine. I could feel the thoughts rushing through his head. The feelings of sadness, turning to anger. The need to release all that anger.

Nothing got better for him. Torn up by their son’s death, his parents split up, his father leaving to never return. He lost the two most important men in his life, the only two men in his life. That could never be fixed.
His mother became more strict. He never let him drive anywhere, even though he got his license two years ago. He couldn’t go out after dark, which meant I couldn’t see him much anymore. If we didn’t have a study together, I don’t think we would have lasted this long.
People notice the tolls the stress is taking on me. They see the bags under my eyes, and the sadness in my eyes. I can’t count how many times I’ve been told to leave him now, so I could actually get away with some bit of sanity.
The don’t know. They don’t know what happened to him, why I can never leave him, even if I wanted to. I am afraid to leave him. Not because of what he might do to me, but because of what he might do to himself.
I am not sure what would happen if I left him. I am not sure what would happen if I stayed with him. I am only sure of one thing. I love him. I love him, and I’m not letting him go.