I'm here and I'm whole, and I'm glad, and that's good
I heard a song on the radio today. It really brought me back.
It must be five years now… maybe more? But I’d told the one I thought -- in my seventeen year old naiveté -- that I would love forever that I couldn’t be with him any more. I’m not even sure why I did it, except that in my gut I knew I had to.
The song brought me back to the first months after the breakup, when I noticed something off with him. And about six months after, I told him to get out of my life, because I couldn’t spend it watching him ruin his.
And six months after that, when he called me in tears and I told him that I would be there for him forever, not romantically ever again, but as someone to help him through whatever it was he was going through. He‘s still going through it today.
And a few short months after that I realized how much it was tearing me apart to watch him, little by little, become a man so different from the one that I had loved. I couldn’t stand to look at him without hatred spewing forth in a manner that hurt him so much. And the things that I once said to him, that hurt him so deeply, hurt me so deeply to recall.
We didn’t talk for two years.
They were a painful two years, for a variety of reasons.
But for some reason I called him after those two years, and we met for coffee and one thing led to another and there we were, only two and a half years ago, caught up in the same pattern again.
He looks different to this day. He is no longer the flamboyant, happy go lucky boy I used to sit around and giggle over. His eyes are forever bloodshot. His speech is slow and those bloodshot eyes are encircled with darkness. He is thin. So thin. My mother saw him eight months ago and can’t get over how awful he looks. He used to be so handsome.
I was hurt for a long, long time after we broke up. About two years after the breakup, I thought I was over it for good. But it still hurt on occasion.
I don’t know why I’m dwelling on this now. We haven’t talked in a few months. We occasionally have this friendly banter going on between us, half friendship and half for the sake of reminiscing over the old days, when he wasn’t possessed by this demon addiction of his. Because that’s what it is, a demon.
It’s hard to come to terms with the fact that another person has power over you. It’s hard to let that power go. I learned the long and hard way that the best thing to do is let it take you where it will, and drop you off where it feels is best.
I’ve been dropped off. It’s nice. It took me a long time to feel whole again after everything that transpired between him and I.
I’m here and I’m whole, and I'm glad, and that's good.
It must be five years now… maybe more? But I’d told the one I thought -- in my seventeen year old naiveté -- that I would love forever that I couldn’t be with him any more. I’m not even sure why I did it, except that in my gut I knew I had to.
The song brought me back to the first months after the breakup, when I noticed something off with him. And about six months after, I told him to get out of my life, because I couldn’t spend it watching him ruin his.
And six months after that, when he called me in tears and I told him that I would be there for him forever, not romantically ever again, but as someone to help him through whatever it was he was going through. He‘s still going through it today.
And a few short months after that I realized how much it was tearing me apart to watch him, little by little, become a man so different from the one that I had loved. I couldn’t stand to look at him without hatred spewing forth in a manner that hurt him so much. And the things that I once said to him, that hurt him so deeply, hurt me so deeply to recall.
We didn’t talk for two years.
They were a painful two years, for a variety of reasons.
But for some reason I called him after those two years, and we met for coffee and one thing led to another and there we were, only two and a half years ago, caught up in the same pattern again.
He looks different to this day. He is no longer the flamboyant, happy go lucky boy I used to sit around and giggle over. His eyes are forever bloodshot. His speech is slow and those bloodshot eyes are encircled with darkness. He is thin. So thin. My mother saw him eight months ago and can’t get over how awful he looks. He used to be so handsome.
I was hurt for a long, long time after we broke up. About two years after the breakup, I thought I was over it for good. But it still hurt on occasion.
I don’t know why I’m dwelling on this now. We haven’t talked in a few months. We occasionally have this friendly banter going on between us, half friendship and half for the sake of reminiscing over the old days, when he wasn’t possessed by this demon addiction of his. Because that’s what it is, a demon.
It’s hard to come to terms with the fact that another person has power over you. It’s hard to let that power go. I learned the long and hard way that the best thing to do is let it take you where it will, and drop you off where it feels is best.
I’ve been dropped off. It’s nice. It took me a long time to feel whole again after everything that transpired between him and I.
I’m here and I’m whole, and I'm glad, and that's good.
posted by Amanda at 19:17
0 Comments:
Post a Comment
<< Home