#honest reflection

I’ve always been overwhelmed with and sensitive to sensory input, but (growing up in the ‘80s with an extreme religious family) I forced myself for over 40 years to ignore my own body’s reactions and needs.

I forced myself to carry the heavy, heavy load of pretending I was ok all through the entire day, every day, even though I was screaming on the inside. This is why I have always been loathe to start each day, wanting to just disappear into a dark hole—I have been just utterly exhausted with it all.

So what I’m trying now is to really listen to my body and care for myself. If I’m feeling overwhelmed with my surroundings at any point, I’m not going to just force myself through the experience—I know this will be challenging at first, since I’ve trained myself to ignore the feelings for 40 years… But instead I’ll try to care for myself and soothe myself with the sensations I know I enjoy.

Dear You,

I’ve dedicated several posts to you. You’ve been the running theme, joke and comparison since I’ve started this blog. You have been the source of my many emotions ranging from astonished to admonished. I have experienced my highs and lows with you, even in the midst of our current physical distance. It has always been you. It has always come back to you.

So it saddens me that I haven’t let it go, yet. Of course by “it,” I mean you and us. At this precise moment you’re thinking about not reading the rest of this post. Whenever I say this, you think I’m either trying to make a push for you or I’m trying to excommunicate you from my life. I promise you, neither of those are true. So you can relax. Just continue reading.

Letting you go was never really apart of the plan. Sure, I’ve said it millions of times and probably meant it each time, but the execution was never truly there. There was only one time I felt it really necessary to move on and that was our big blow out around Christmas 2012. I changed my number and almost freed myself from us. But you know how that story ended.

Here we are after several skirmishes on the battlefield; egos bruised from the constant tug of war and hearts forever damaged from our battling pride. We have built this torrid history, earmarked by key developments that have brought us together and torn us apart. I often refer to myself as a hoarder because of you; I have catalogued every argument, every feeling, every vibe, every intuition in my memory bank.

That’s possibly why I treat guys after you as reprieves instead of relationships. And as reprieves, they served their purpose. They kept me from buying plane tickets to be with you. They quelled the need to call you everyday. They soothed my searing feminine aches for you. They helped me live a somewhat content existence without you by my side.

But true to their limited nature, they couldn’t stop me from reaching out. No one could for that matter. How I fought to be “normal” should be noted here. Society dictates that as exes, we are sworn enemies never to speak again. That’s how I’d want you to be with any ex—besides me of course. And there’s the first bit of irony I face when I ponder the gravitational pull between us. We made a consorted effort to be in each other’s lives, and as a result distinguished ourselves as a unit that was supreme to others. It was our unequivocal and well-documented truth. Thus, we began instituting our electric dynamic as the blanket excuse for how we interact with one another—casual conversations that lead to sneaky rendezvous whenever we could. And I used it as my get out of jail free card whenever a reprieve was nearing his expiration date.

You never cared, though. As long as I was where you needed me to be. I didn’t mind as long as I was still #1. And even though we fought like enemies—well, mostly I did all the fighting—you kept apologizing for how shit inevitably fell apart. You’ve let me blame you for everything because for a while, you felt you deserved it (and rightfully so). But I don’t blame you anymore for doing what I’ve been unsuccessfully attempting to do for the last four years. You moved on. As I type that, I must confess I am more than a little broken. I almost feel resentful, but we don’t have to get into that right now.

Why am I writing you? Today, I saw her Facebook page—I honestly should stop doing that—and that despicable yet familiar feeling filled my body. You know which one. The one that consumes me wholly until I am no longer rational. Even after almost an hour, the ebbs of that physiological response still dominate my existence. I wish it wasn’t true but it is.

Not too long ago you told me to stop holding onto my antiquated hatred of her. You didn’t use those words but that’s what I think you meant. I told you I didn’t hate her, and I lied—only partially. Listen, I don’t hate her for what she did to me. I realize that her character doesn’t line up with mine. I also recognize the value of karma; I did some awful things before you that I won’t get into right now.

The only “hate” I feel toward her stems from an overzealous form of envy. She enjoys the parts of your life that I’ve dreamt about since our humble beginnings. She sees you light up around your family, which is a sight I’m sure she under appreciates. She forges independent bonds with your kin, and that was always something I longed to do.

I know you’re reading this and thinking, “Man…” Your forehead is creasing. You already sighed that “Bean, please don’t do this” breath. I AM SORRY TO BE SO PETTY. You’re sitting there, head in hands, ready to curse me out. Go ahead. I deserve it. I don’t deny it.

I know you’re saying how it is so unfair of me to be upset, especially this far into your relationship. And you’re right. You are correct. But we’re older now. Things are seen differently. Her holding your nephew and him peacefully enjoying her embrace shook up the demon inside of me because of what it means. I wish it hadn’t. I am ashamed to admit that to you.

She’s content with the family now. She is no longer a girl who’s fucking my ex-boyfriend. Nope. She’s a woman becoming a part of my ex-boyfriend’s life.

Let me reiterate my previous point. I am JEALOUS. I wish it were me acquainting myself with this life sphere. My internal voice screams “It should be me!” But that’s as far as my envy goes.

Honestly, your relationship with her is not the basis of my covetous thoughts. I know how you treat her and that’s nothing I want. I think that’s a significant part of why I haven’t admitted my jealousy outright to you or to anybody else. You cheat on her. You lie to her. You embarrass her on levels that I’ve luckily avoided by not being your girlfriend.

At this point, I will acknowledge the irony of the presented dichotomy. At times, I want to be in her position so bad that I take it out on you in arguments under the guise of whatever I can get away with at the time. And at other times, I thank God you’re not being unfaithful to me. I am grateful that I don’t have to investigate each word in order to validate or invalidate what you say. But by admitting being jealous of her position, it implies that I want the bad parts too. And its not like she just gets one part of you; she takes both halves in strife and in stride.

Also, I must admit that I harbor the same icky feeling about that as well. She loves you enough to stick by your side, no matter what. I wish I had it in me to fight for you like that. I wish I had fought for you like that. I wish my pride wasn’t the monster that it we both know it is. I wish it could take a back seat and let me (the sane part of me) drive. But alas, that’s not how our story goes. Back then, even a little rockiness in the water was enough for me to jump overboard. Or so I’ve shown you in our past relationship. I’d like to think I’ve gotten better about that but I can’t be certain.

Anyway… I said ALL of that to say, I should let you go and yet I should stay with you. You just called me stupid for that sentence but hear me out please. I should’ve let you go years ago. I’ve told you that before. I should’ve kept my distance after the first lie, but nope. I teetered closer thus ensuring my chances of falling for you. Fast-forward to now, and you have me saying the same thing. I need to unclench my stronghold on the past us. I have to stop pretending that us being friends erases how I feel each time she interacts with your family.

Conversely, I’m so afraid of really letting go because who knows what will happen! Hell you’d probably grow up and love her the way you should. The faint memories of us will dissipate and I’d be the ex from high school and not the love that got away. And there’s no being both for me. It’s either one or the other. I know that’s cocky of me to even assume but hey, I am arrogantly aware of my stature. So that’s why I said I should stay. Although I miss the moments of your life you spend with whomever is near, I still lurk in the recesses of your mind because I am vocally here.

I hope that makes sense. I know you’re shaking your head saying “hell no.” But try to look at it from my perspective; you were supposed to be mine until one day, you were suddenly not. And regardless of my part in making sure you walked away, I never counted on you sharing aspects of your life with anyone but me. I’m a special, selfish and spoiled brat in the worst way when it comes to what I feel belongs to me. Foolishly, I am under the extreme delusion that I worked hard for those priceless moments.

Before you become more upset, I will say this: I don’t want anything to change between us because I respect that you’ve moved on. We work better as friends—or whatever we call this hybrid—and I’d be negligent to not emphasize my overall happiness with our progress. Against all odds, here we both stand, more cordial than we’ve been in years.

We have grown up! I have learned to like you for who you are and who you aren’t. I’ve developed this…thing we have unbeknownst to many and against substantiated protests from those closest to me. I value you being here more than you know. So don’t think I’ve said all that earlier shit to evoke change. I couldn’t handle a shake-up of that magnitude.

I feel comfortable with who I am to shed the unbothered, “what you do doesn’t affect me” charade. YES, SOMETIMES I FRONT ON YOUR ASS BECAUSE I’M A G! But today, for whatever reason, I am an open book—a very rambling book.

I’m calling it quits here honey. I’ve said everything…. Wait, no I haven’t. I love you. I love YOU. I had to say it twice so you could retain it in that thick skull. I do love you. Sometimes I think I make it painfully clear but you carry on like I don’t. I DO. And I need and want you too. It’s not like I could’ve said that to you before now because let’s face facts, you always think someone wants your ass. I don’t. I just respectfully love you from a very far distance.

Sincerely (thank God we both made it to this point),