I want you to know that you hurt me.
That you have forced me - out of sheer abandonment - to let you go a total of four times now.
It hasn't been easy.
For whatever reason - chalk it up to what your dad did to your mom, what that Don guy did to you, how cold Rit was to you, that Tucker Max book you read, to maybe even how Nick never "chased you" afterwards to your satisfaction - you see cutting line and running away as a sign of strength. To you, the ability to jump ship and destroy every rear-view mirror is always an option. As if ignoring and abandoning require some sort of courage. Perhaps your life experiences have constantly reinforced the idea that running away is always the best choice.
To me, the opposite has always been true. Never giving up. Never letting cynicism getting the best of you. Always seeing the best possible in people, and putting all the chips on the table, hoping for that one chance at happiness. I see disappearing without a word as the ultimate act of cowardice. That's not how adults treat each other.
Unfortunately, we're both stubborn. Did you know you're actually more emotional than I am? You are. The only difference is that your emotions are so powerful that they paralyze you, while my logic lets mine roam free. Both occur in extremes in the two of us.
I have a bad habit of wanting closure, and, if things must end, have them end civilly. I know how time tends to flatten once vibrant colors and how life tempts you to spin a story in your favor just a little more each time you tell it. And then to do so until it's distilled into a sentence or two followed by a shrug. Context and nuances are lost in exchange for apathy.
I've spent so much goddamn energy trying not to hate you. Trying not to listen to what everyone advises and says about you. Trying to explain to everyone that, despite what your behavior and calls and words and actions may seem like to the casual observer, I know you better than anyone, and that, hey, trust me, I understand her.
But with every day that passes, I grow weary. With every new picture you post, with every new bit of news I hear about you from friends, I know you get further and further away from me and closer to forgetting everything. Every day that passes without a call from you, I know another sunrise and sunset has passed with you having a moment where you get the urge to share something funny with me, think about your phone, sigh, and push it out of your mind. I know because I do the same.
Occasionally I'll feel the pressure to succumb and just... paint you black. Cast you as a terrible villain that did nothing but drag me across a grater for seven months after breaking my heart on my birthday. To flip through my mental flashcards of notes about you that I ended up being completely correct about, much to my chagrin. To see every day that passes in silence from you as affirmation that you really are just a cold-hearted, selfish bitch.
That would be the easy "story" to tell myself.
But I refuse to let that be the story. I refuse that to be true. Even if it might be. It can't just be that simple.
It's exhausting keeping it all in perspective alone. It's exhausting just being alone.
Deep inside of me, I hope. I hope that this is not all that simple for you. A part of me tells myself that there's another layer to you in this; that you haven't intentionally forgotten. That maybe a part of you - between all the guys you're juggling - does still care. Maybe, somewhere out there, you wonder if I'm okay. Or how I'm doing. Maybe that part of me is just as wrong and foolish as the rest of me has been. Maybe it's just a placebo effect for my heart.
I want you to know that you hurt me.
And I'm sorry.
And I'm angry.
And also sad.
And resentful.
But I am appreciative.
"I just wanted you to know."
That you have forced me - out of sheer abandonment - to let you go a total of four times now.
It hasn't been easy.
For whatever reason - chalk it up to what your dad did to your mom, what that Don guy did to you, how cold Rit was to you, that Tucker Max book you read, to maybe even how Nick never "chased you" afterwards to your satisfaction - you see cutting line and running away as a sign of strength. To you, the ability to jump ship and destroy every rear-view mirror is always an option. As if ignoring and abandoning require some sort of courage. Perhaps your life experiences have constantly reinforced the idea that running away is always the best choice.
To me, the opposite has always been true. Never giving up. Never letting cynicism getting the best of you. Always seeing the best possible in people, and putting all the chips on the table, hoping for that one chance at happiness. I see disappearing without a word as the ultimate act of cowardice. That's not how adults treat each other.
Unfortunately, we're both stubborn. Did you know you're actually more emotional than I am? You are. The only difference is that your emotions are so powerful that they paralyze you, while my logic lets mine roam free. Both occur in extremes in the two of us.
I have a bad habit of wanting closure, and, if things must end, have them end civilly. I know how time tends to flatten once vibrant colors and how life tempts you to spin a story in your favor just a little more each time you tell it. And then to do so until it's distilled into a sentence or two followed by a shrug. Context and nuances are lost in exchange for apathy.
I've spent so much goddamn energy trying not to hate you. Trying not to listen to what everyone advises and says about you. Trying to explain to everyone that, despite what your behavior and calls and words and actions may seem like to the casual observer, I know you better than anyone, and that, hey, trust me, I understand her.
But with every day that passes, I grow weary. With every new picture you post, with every new bit of news I hear about you from friends, I know you get further and further away from me and closer to forgetting everything. Every day that passes without a call from you, I know another sunrise and sunset has passed with you having a moment where you get the urge to share something funny with me, think about your phone, sigh, and push it out of your mind. I know because I do the same.
Occasionally I'll feel the pressure to succumb and just... paint you black. Cast you as a terrible villain that did nothing but drag me across a grater for seven months after breaking my heart on my birthday. To flip through my mental flashcards of notes about you that I ended up being completely correct about, much to my chagrin. To see every day that passes in silence from you as affirmation that you really are just a cold-hearted, selfish bitch.
That would be the easy "story" to tell myself.
But I refuse to let that be the story. I refuse that to be true. Even if it might be. It can't just be that simple.
It's exhausting keeping it all in perspective alone. It's exhausting just being alone.
Deep inside of me, I hope. I hope that this is not all that simple for you. A part of me tells myself that there's another layer to you in this; that you haven't intentionally forgotten. That maybe a part of you - between all the guys you're juggling - does still care. Maybe, somewhere out there, you wonder if I'm okay. Or how I'm doing. Maybe that part of me is just as wrong and foolish as the rest of me has been. Maybe it's just a placebo effect for my heart.
I want you to know that you hurt me.
And I'm sorry.
And I'm angry.
And also sad.
And resentful.
But I am appreciative.
"I just wanted you to know."
2 comments:
Eloquent.
Very honest and raw. Enjoyed the read!
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