On the 4th of July, my ex texted me. I replied, said thank you, and began to self-sabotage. I was at work overwhelmed with the holiday madness. I get a text from the man I love asking to call him. I happily obliged. He wanted something to do and of course the first thing that came out of my mouth was, let’s hang out. Because logically, that’s just what someone suggests when confronted with that statement. If only he would have said I just want an idea right now. I just don’t want to hang out with you; the rest of that phone call would have gone a lot smoother and the aftermath less destructive. It’s a holiday. I haven’t seen him in almost a week. I wanted to see him because I missed him, but I should know my place in this relationship. My feelings hurt, my mind starts to go on this roller coaster ride in which I reach the end try to unfasten the seatbelt. Still, before I can even press the button, it starts all over again. The automatic speaker is my voice saying, welcome back to self-sabotage. I hope you hated this ride; however, there’s no getting out so please don’t even try. So I’m at work going off on the man I love, crying in a cooler while my mind is trapped on that damn ride. I finish my work exhausted and overwhelmed.
I talk to my sister; it’s a ride in which I blame myself for everything. I get home, I text my ex. He asks if I want to go for a drive, and at that point, I say yes because I don’t want to be home. I catch him up to tell him everything that transpired. He apologizes for how he treated me and the role he continues to play in my explosive ways. We talked for a bit longer. He makes me feel so pretty and wanted. I look at him and wish I was with the man I’ve grown to love so much.
I call the man I love and, to no surprise, no response. I apologize for how I handled the situation but not for how I felt. Because my feelings were valid and taking them back is just telling myself that I’m not allowed to be hurt. The more I explode the more I realize that I just want to be wanted in the way that I constantly express my desires. I continue to expect myself from others in hopes that I can be wrong about the narrative I tell myself. But maybe that narrative isn’t false, and I am a terrible human being. Perhaps I’m not kind, attractive, or intelligent. I don’t have a cute smile or an outstanding physical appearance. Maybe right now, that’s valid, and I should live in that mindset just a little longer; to understand why I choose that to be my story.