Do you ever get a feeling that there’s so much you want to say, but don’t know how to say it? As the months go by, I’ve started to feel very stunted in my emotions. It’s not that I’ve said everything I needed to say and I’m done. It’s more like, there’s something on the tip of my tongue and I just can’t seem to put my finger on its exactness. It’s hard. It makes you feel like screaming some days, shouting and throwing as many punches as you can. When I wasn’t as busy a few months ago, kickboxing was especially helpful. I felt a little more in control of my being and mostly my heart. I was distracted and it helped to be that way.
But because work and school has been super crazy, I’m starting to feel a tad suffocated when it comes to really sharing how I feel. Some days, I feel so vulnerable and fragile that if you touch me or look at me a certain way, I could burst in tears. As usual, I know these emotions and pain stem from a dark place. A place I no longer care much for because it’s been broken by someone I loved very much.
As I was emptying out my inbox earlier today, all the emails I received from B left a smile on my face. After reading them, seeing the sweet rapport we shared, the photos he sent, I hit delete because in many ways, B has died. I have to treat him like he’s dead. I think he would want it that way. He is no longer the strong, beautiful man I fell in love with. Instead, he is a hypocritical coward who bears no spine. And when it comes to her, he is as pusillanimous as can be out of abandonment issues. But most of all, as heartbreaking and crushing as it is, he is a liar. Conversely, as one of my favorite authors Fyodor Dostoyovsky says, “Lying to ourselves is more deeply ingrained than lying to others.”
B has always lied to himself and others, denying his deepest thoughts and wants because of trepidation for wanting something he can’t have–or seems too perfect to have. It’s a frightening personality trait to maintain because it hinders your growth. It’s stagnant. But even with the thought of treating him like he’s dead, I worry about him every day and his well-being. It makes me wonder though, if I love someone who is like that and treated me that way, what does that make me?
Though the two of us parted ways, we didn’t go without throwing a few jabs at each other. Each jab feeling as if it were a cold, sharp knife, digging into every moment we both mutually cherished. And when the digging into wounds and sentiments we valued didn’t seem to take effect, we began throwing punches. Because of what he said to me, it throws everything that was “real” away. Despite spending six years with him, having him call me and I call him as we’d listen to each other intently, and knowing he revered every email of mine, even while bored on trips to Colorado and Alabama, it was all just building up to a sentiment that turned into fear. Fear for what he wanted most but couldn’t admit it because life was what it was.
Since nothing was real to him and had no meaning, neither was the following conversation…