I’ve door-slammed or cut-and-run two times in my life.
#1 - good friend, years-long, shared interests, many adventures...one day he revealed to me his interest in, and stash of, child pornography, and his progress in grooming a neighbor child.
This was totally out of the blue to me. I guess he trusted me that much. Well, anyway, fuck you, and I hope to never cross paths with you again. I’m not sure if it was extra-jarring to me because I was sexually-abused as a child, or not, but I knew no relationship of any kind was possible from that point forward. As soon as I got home, I called the police and told them what I had witnessed. Have fun, you sick fuck. May you be struck down with a fiery sword and cleft in twain. Over and over, for all eternity.
#2 - mom
Once I could get out, I got the fuck out, and had zero contact of any kind for over 10 years. I may as well have been dead. It was the only way to cut off her narcissistic supply, and to let her know that all the traumatic abuses were not OK. To be fair, I was also dealing with an undiagnosed and untreated disorder, and lost in my escalating oblivion of drug use, among other things. Plus, I had a shed-load of self-work to do that would not happen if I had any contact with her. Now all these years later I have a relationship with her, but I keep my distance physically, emotionally, and mentally as is needed for me to feel safe. I’ve changed, and so has she, but some things, once undone, can never be made whole again. Plus, I hear from my sister certain things that let me know that I would do well to never have an unguarded moment with my mother ever again, and that’s OK.
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I’ve been door-slammed by two beloveds who cheated, such that it just ended, and once I neglected a friendship due to depression and the earlier-mentioned disorder and drugs and that got me a door-slam.
That was nearly 20 years ago, and I regard it as one of the grand fuck-ups of my life, and so one of the grand lessons. It only hurts a little now to have been door-slammed, but it hurts more still that I did what I did, and someone I loved had to sit by helpless, in pain, and watch something die.
Maybe someday I will figure out a way to forgive myself.
Being Human Is Hard,
Ian