Welp, here we are.
Or, here I am.
Today marks one year since you decided to not want me anymore. One year since we got into a petty fight at the gym that led to sitting outside of my house in your stupid car where you sat there and told me, “I just know that if we stay together, I’m going to end up hating you and I don’t want to hate you because I love you.” Thinking about it like this, I can remember it like it was yesterday.
I dreaded coming home for months after that night because I still pictured your damn car beneath that streetlight.
That night, my world shattered. I was hurt and confused, and I was pissed off. I remember pathetically sitting in your car crying, bawling, begging for you to change your mind. I couldn’t believe it was real. I couldn’t believe that after everything we had been through, every promise we had made, you were just giving up.
That was just the beginning. This agony of not knowing whether we were actually broken up lasted for a month. One month of seeing each other every day, acting like nothing had happened, laughing together, crying together.
One month of you giving me hope, making me think that we could somehow work things out. One month of having sex every day as if you actually still loved me. As if I could physically convince you to take me back.
That was probably me at my lowest. Because one day, you stopped holding my hand in public. One day you stopped paying for my meals and my movie tickets. It’s like you gradually broke up with me. Day by day, little by little, you ripped my heart apart.
And then December 9 came around when you moved back to Indiana. That’s when you fell off the face of the earth. After you promised we’d keep in touch because, “Cait, I can’t see my life without you. We’re always going to be friends.” After you took my dog.
I never heard from you again.
From there, you blocked me on social media, texted me here and there with an occasional drunk call, you moved on pretty quickly and let the world know about it right away — which always baffled me because in the five years that you and I were together, you hated social media.
I wrote this to you after the last time I heard from you:
I don’t know who you think you are, coming in thinking that it’s OK to talk to me as if we’ve never skipped a beat; apologize for things you wish you had done differently while we were together, but then casually mention that you want nothing to do with me now.
It’s as if you have this weight on your shoulders and you are using me to lift it off for you. Just like when we were in college, I was your rock. Here’s a little advice: it’s time for you to lean on something else. Your new girlfriend, your awesome friends who you’ve chosen over me since day one, or here’s the real winner, God. Lean on him. Please. He is the only way you will be freed by all of this pain and guilt that you claim to carry around with you.
Yes, I wish you had done those things differently, too. There’s a lot I could have done differently, too. But we still would have ended up here. Broken up. Strangers. That hurts me to even think about but trust me, I thought up every single scenario of how things could have have turned out. And then I looked to my faith and realized that He has already seen every single day of our lives. This was going to happen, one way or another.
These little sweet text messages and drunk phone calls are things that I have been waiting for, almost living for at times.
But I can’t.
Your words mean nothing.
Your actions mean everything.
The things I see you posting on social media
And yes, getting these things off your chest will help, for now. You get your fill, and you leave me with the last say. You leave me wondering if you’re going to text back. (Hint: you never do).
But at the same time, it is nice to hear from you. Sadly, I still miss you. Pathetically, I still hope to be your friend someday.
Until next time,
But there was no next time and part of me is glad. One year later and although I see my friends and peers making huge strides in their lives — buying homes, getting promotions, getting married, etc. — I have grown so much emotionally and spiritually. Not that my progress is any of your business but I am finally in a place where I do things for me. I learn and learn and continue to learn. I am vulnerable. I love and I put my all into everything I do.
And after everything I’ve been through in the past year, one thing I know for sure is that I can handle anything. So thank you for breaking down that barrier. Thank you for kicking me while I was down so that the only thing I could do was beg God for comfort. Thank you for picking at each and every one of my flaws so that I could only grow and learn and be the best thing for myself and for the man I’m meant to be with.