Just being the real me was never the weakness he thought it was.

He believed that if he stripped everything away — home, finances, stability, even the dog and the car — I would collapse. That without those external anchors, I would fail, disappear, or somehow cease to exist. He mistook loss for erasure.

What he didn’t understand was this: none of those things were ever my foundation.

I still have my dignity. I still have empathy. I still have self-respect. And those are not things anyone else can confiscate. They don’t depreciate. They don’t vanish under pressure. They carry you quietly, steadily, for the rest of your life.

I have never hurt anyone — mentally or physically.
I have never stolen from anyone.
I have never cheated on anyone.
I have never lied to anyone.

I am not perfect — far from it — but I have core values that have remained unchanged since childhood. Values that don’t bend when things become difficult. Values that don’t disappear when there’s nothing to gain. They are not situational. They are who I am.

I don’t want anything from anyone. I never have. No validation, no advantage, no leverage. Just respect. Mutual, basic, human respect.

And perhaps the saddest truth of all is this:
the one thing I asked for was the one thing he could never give — because you cannot offer respect to another person when you have none for yourself.

If you’d like, I can tighten this, make it more lyrical, or add a single final line that lands like a quiet full stop rather than a period.