I’ve been thinking about our last day together a lot recently. Not only if it will be a Sunday or Monday, but what we will talk about. How am I supposed to open my front door and let him in for possibly the last time? How can my parents hold their tongues back about how they feel about this situation? I bet it’s what they’ve always wanted. I know they’re watching over my shoulder as the ideal situations they’ve wished for me unfold and my universe shatters. Will I even see clearly enough to find the doorknob of our front door to let him in or will my tears become so overwhelming that my vision can’t get past them? Will my shaky voice give away my true feelings, leaving me the most vulnerable person in the room?
As the overflowing negative scenarios slip out of my head, I am trying to find the good. I’ll have more freedom, not that I’d take it. I won’t have to listen to the stupid anecdotes he comes up with, not that I mind.
Maybe we’ll eat food all night and just talk. As if we could aimlessly talk like we always do, knowing that the moment we step away, shut our eyes, and go to sleep, it’ll be over. How stupid am I? How could I possibly think that our last moments together would be happy? I can’t even let the thought blow across my mind without my tears blurring my vision.
I’m hoping to find happiness in being single. I’d kill to be at peace with my life not being perfect, as I define it. Not relying on someone to check on you and ask how your day is, is a quality I envy in others. I’m not as independent as I used to be… before I fell in love. The first sliver of attention I had ever received, allowed me to become so attached to the idea that I needed someone to make me happy.
I find myself being angry. As much as I’d love the anger to be fueled by his actions, the anger is at myself. I let him blow up in my face, I let him ridicule my behavior, and I let him disrespect me. To think I let myself forgive him so many times, it’s embarrassing on my part. I would never let someone I love be treated like that. I’d like to think I love myself, but clearly not enough.
On the other hand, it angers me that I let it get this far. I let him hurt me for all this time. I let him think he could get angry at me for his problems and I’d just forgive him. I’d just forgive him for some of the nastiest things a person has ever said to me. Those thoughts also make me glad that this is ending. I have always told myself that I deserve the best. From the outside, I would have never let myself be spoken to like the way he spoke to me.
My mother often complained that I walked away from heated situations and never spoke about them again. I can’t think of a good reason for why I do that. Maybe they are too overwhelmed with feelings to speak at once. Maybe it’s because I hate the feeling that anger burns into my stomach and zaps into my heart. I wish I could have told myself that being hurt is not an excuse to hurt others. Told him he couldn’t hurt me.
Yours truly,
Anna
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