The most lovely thing about writing, especially on a grey morning like this, is the control. Maybe a defining point of my life is my lack of control; it’s something I don’t even notice anymore. My orchid found a way to grow again. William snapped the stem of the first bloom, and I spent all spring and early summer nursing them back to health. I saw the petals, and eventually each individual orchid, wither and fall of one by one. On day though, a stem grew just below the wound, and right now it is in full bloom. I am still taking care of the other stem. I would love it if next year the bloomed at the same time. See, there I am again. Control.
I can’t control what you said to me. I can’t control those last words. C-U-N-T. Part of me keeps thinking that if one of dies tomorrow, I couldn’t bear it if that was the way you forced me to remember you. I might change it though. That’s the best part of writing.
I find myself no longer angry about the cheating, the lying and just being treated like shit in general. We still had good times and happy memories and…real love. But I do get so angry about how you seem hell bent on making me hate you, on making me regret every single moment we spent together. I don’t regret loving you, and I Just have to remind myself of that every day. You make it hard. It isn’t fair. Stop fucking with my memory. I deserve to remember the good times. I deserve to look back on these past years with some fondness in my heart. I always felt that if I couldn’t make the bad times erase themselves, then the least I could do was give the great times their true value. My goal in moving on (genuinely) was to never let the bad times take away from the good times; they exist together. Nothing is erased. It happened. Everything happened. We can’t take it back.
The biggest step I ever made in getting over you with that I stopped allowing my thoughts and my heart to linger on everything you did wrong. I realized you did a lot of things right. This equality that I began to allow to exist in my memories of us was leading to acceptance.
Your biggest mistake was forcing me to run around to proving to people that you loved me. I was the only person who knew you loved me. And now even I am unsure…
I was running around looking for proof that not only you loved me (like you said you did), but also that I wasn’t crazy. Faith is believing something without proof. I lost faith in us a long time ago. I begged for something tangible. Evidence. A gesture—I wanted something to believe in.
And in every story, every poem, every sermon, we are punished for idolizing earthly love. It’s fleeting, untrustworthy and inconsistent. There are bad times and bad endings.
Breathe. Think back to falling in love. Think back to those times when no one could convince you that he was capable of hurting me. Early on in the relationship, out of the blew, some girl messaged me telling me all these terrible things about you. I was so angry. At her. The loyalty I had for you and the trust I had in you and in your intentions was so great that she sounded like something toxic and vengeful (maybe she was). I deleted the message and blocked her right away, and never told anyone about the message. I forgot about it in no time. Everything she said was so utterly contrary to the way you acted and the love you showed me.
I only ever thought about it again until everything she said to me became apparent, month by month, and then all at once, almost a year ago. The heartbreak will never come from anything you call me, or what you think of me, or from you obvious misogynist perspectives on women. My heart broke when I found out you weren’t who I thought you were. My heart didn’t even break when you said you didn’t want anything to do with William. I understood that part, as painful as it was. My heart broke when you weren’t there for me, when you betrayed me, when you humiliated me despite all of my good intentions. I look back in disbelief in how honest and genuine I was when I went to work on our relationship. I almost lost everything. I was so stupid. I was so so stupid.
Heartbreak is sometimes a quick stab to the heart. Sometimes it slowly just falls to pieces over the course of a year or more. Before you even realize it’s broken, it had begun to put itself back together. You chipped away at me. Every time, you took something away from my la vie en rose, my optimism in human capacity to change, my faith in inherent kindness, my idealist hopes for true love.
Those are gone. That is okay though. Honestly, it is. It is amazing that my divorce didn’t shatter all of that (it would have had it not been for you saving me).
And so, it turns out, that despite everything you broke inside me, that that brokenness was inevitable. The la vie en rose that is now gone should have been gone years ago, when my dreams of marriage and family abruptly came to an end. If anything, you gave me the gift of believing for just a little while longer, in love stories. Despite everything in my life, I got to be a girl again. I got to feel the butterflies and the excitement and the joy of falling in love. Who cares if the love was wrong? Who cares if it ended. All things end. That is what being human is about.
While there is sadness, and at times regret, there is also satisfaction. There is a contentment I find when I look back on how I courageously fell for you. You always look back before, when you could have stopped me from leaving and creating all of these complications. I always look back to that first week, when I ended things the moment I felt myself falling. I was terrified. I had never felt those feelings, and so fast. It was so unexpected and such bad timing. I ran out of your house and told you it was over and to stop contacting me. I cowardly made the decision to stop falling in love with you. Ten days later you called. We fell. We loved. Then a bunch of other shit happened that sometimes makes me cry. I could look back and wish that I hadn’t picked up that phone call, and that I had stuck to my guns and stayed away from you.