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Thousands of times might be hyperbolic. Tens of times, sure. Way less than a hundred, I’m certain.

But the excuses were never real reasons. They were justifications for bad behaviour. They were rationalizations for not healing his own trauma. They were his stated grounds for treating me like shit. Excuses I had excused dozens of times.

I forgot we teach people how to treat us. I forgot that my relationships are a reflection of what I thought of myself at the time.

I forgot, and maybe he didn’t know, who the fuck he fell in love with.

I never gave two shits about normal. I wanted extraordinary.

Katja Millay

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