A Letter To The Man Who Broke My Heart: I Came Out On Top
I've had two magnificent loves in my life.
I felt as if love was the very liquid flowing through my veins: heart-racing, endless-butterflies, flushed-face, cheeks-hurt-from-smiling-so-much, couldn't-wait-to-spend-every-waking-moment-with-him type sh*t.
You can probably guess where this is going. Neither one worked out, but the second one left me guessing whether I could ever recover from all the hurt and anguish he put me through. Most importantly, could I ever trust another man with my heart, body, mind and soul?
Even I felt as though I had to tiptoe around the shambles of my own heart; I was left to put everything back together. Before I could move forward with my life, I knew the first steps to moving on would be to forgive.
I've never said this openly to you, but now it's time. To the man I thought you were:
You met me at such a vulnerable and fragile stage of my life, and you took full advantage of that. Just shy of 21, I thought I had found the love of my life.
You were everything I had always dreamed of and everything I thought I wanted. You were five years older than me, established, smart, handsome, funny, witty, skilled, so talented at your job and you could make me weak at the knees.
I'll hand it to you; your facade was that of one who had clearly done this before. You had me in your hands like putty. Little did I know you would try to mold me into everything you needed me to be.
How naive I was to believe that someone like you could actually love me, wholeheartedly. It's my own fault, and now on the verge of 26, I can take responsibility for what I failed to notice.
I guess you could say I did notice, just didn't care to pay attention to all the red flags. You always wanted me to be something more, something your parents would approve of. Someone who resembled more of what your stature represented, almost like a social class.
I guess I should have listened to you when you said your mom wouldn't approve of my tattoos, the very art I had engraved into my skin before I ever knew that you existed. Or maybe the times you told me to not do my hair a certain way because you didn't like it.
How about the times you always gave me sh*t for dressing up nice, always assuming I was trying to impress someone? Did you ever think I was trying to look nice for you?
With all the guilt you carried around, I MUST be up to no good. All the simple things I enjoyed, you hated. I always wondered why I stayed with someone who so clearly didn't like anything about me.
Then it clicked: I was convenient. I was an easy back up. Just tell her what she wants to hear, give her a little bit of hope, give her a little bit of rope and just real her back in when you need her.
Goddamn you, asshole, for making me feel so inadequate. I always made an excuse for your behavior. That is nobody's fault but my own, but it is time you take responsibility for YOUR actions.
After all, if you had been the good boyfriend you claimed to be, I wouldn't have had to make an excuses for your twisted, sick, and f*cked up choices.
Of course, you were always so talented at turning everything around and making me the bad guy. "I told you I didn't want to be in a relationship ... it's not my fault if you get hurt. We aren't together." Oh we aren't? I'm sorry, I must have you confused with the guy who has me over every night and day.
I come home, cook, clean, take care of the house and dog, do your laundry, fall asleep and wake up next to you every day. I'd catch you in a lie, or online dating sites, or going on dates on Valentine's Day, or how about that late dinner on NYE that wasn't with me?
Yet, if I dare talked to anyone, showed interest in anyone, I was the piece of sh*t. Wait a second ... didn't you say we weren't together? I should be free to talk to whomever I want, right?
Do you even have any idea what I told these people who tried to date me? That I was still in love with someone, and I wanted to see it through the end until he clearly looked me in the eye and I knew it was over for good.
What hurt the most is when I would build up all this courage to finally say that I was done with feeling this way. That you no longer were going to have so much control over me, and that I no longer wanted to be with someone who couldn't treat me the way I deserved.
Here you come with a sad face, making your eyes well up, telling me you don't know why you continue to hurt the one person who has loved you for the last three years. You got me ... back to square one. He'll change, things will be different, I know he loves me. He almost cried...
So here we are. I have forgiven you, and have forgiven myself, but that doesn't mean I still don't get angry for all the times you made me feel so worthless.
While you never directly said it, I always knew it was implied. It's my fault for sticking around, and it's my fault for not listening to everything you were saying. Nobody ever said I was perfect, and lord knows I am flawed to the bone. My weakness isn't really a weakness, it's more of a strength. I love with all my heart, through thick and thin.
I give it all I got, and I was not the one who quit. No matter what you did, I still loved with you. It's just a crying shame that you gave up on me. You doubted my abilities and you were ashamed. Yet, I never once said I was ashamed of you and all your flaws.
I learned to love my solitude, and I learned to love every single part of me. I enjoy not being a perfect specimen of a human being. I embody true beauty. I may be an emotionally f*cked up individual, but damn, am I strong. Anyone who has had to endure three years of your bullsh*t deserves an award.
So thank you, thanks for helping me realize just how badass I am. I'm living a fabulous life.
By the way, I heard you got married, cheers to that! I wish you nothing but happiness. I can genuinely say that because when you really love someone or in my case (loved) someone, regardless of what they've done to you, you do want the best for him.
My heart doesn't have room for hate, it's too full of love for the ones who care about me.
Photo Courtesy: We Heart It