Drowning.

I want to tell you that this is going to be a quick and lighthearted look back. I want to tell you that you will admire me that I “made it through”. You won’t. I was pathetic. I abandoned friends and family. I abandoned myself. I was very lost and rather than taking the time to find myself, I closed my eyes and prayed for time to stand still. I thought that I needed time to figure it all out. With time would come better decision making and all the clarity in the world. I would be wiser and braver and things would be calmer. I wasn’t and they weren’t. I was a mess. Everything was a mess. 

I’ve told the story of our relationship before. I’ve told you the story how I fell for my ex and I’ve explained the mistakes that I made in the beginning and throughout our relationship. I spent some time explaining how I blamed myself for the dismantling of our relationship. If only I had abandoned my close male friendship when he had asked, we wouldn’t have gotten to where we did. I’m barely close friends with that person today. Was it really worth it? Why? Because I was too afraid to hurt people’s feelings? Because I was clinging to the notion that I was a strong and independent woman and had the right to my own life and feelings?

It never occurred to me that was a sign. It never occurred to me that was a line in the sand. Surrender. Give me what I am asking for and nothing less or suffer the consequences. I didn’t know that the perpetuation of a platonic male friendship would lead to the spectacular undoing of a perfect love story. I didn’t know that lying about the continuation of my entirely platonic friendship would be tantamount to cheating. I didn’t know. 

I fucked up. I did. I lied. I had lied before and I was lying then. My lies came from a place of fear. Fear to not measure up, fear to disappoint, fear of being different, fear of everything. I was afraid and so I protected myself by telling people what they wanted to hear, and that worked, until it didn’t. What a massively poor choice. 

I wasn’t a baby, but I also hadn’t learned that lesson yet. I had lied before and it had only really hurt me. No harm, no foul. Of course, I don’t mind not defining our relationship. Of course, it’s not a big deal that we don’t tell people we are dating. Of course, I can forgive you for cheating. Of course, it doesn’t matter that you have a drug addiction. Of course. I’m fine. It’s all good. 

You see, I was so used to convincing people of all the things that it never occurred to me that I would cause significant harm to another human. I only hurt myself. Right? Nope. Definitely not. 

So, if I’m being tragically honest, I will tell you that my lies could have and must have unsettled the foundation on which our relationship was built. I will also tell you that the foundation was a crack filled, weak, pile of shitty sheetrock to start. I didn’t damage something of substance. Not even close. I damaged something that was begging for harm. It was begging for a reason. Hurt people, hurt people. There needed to be hurt. 

I had to be an asshole or else how could things turn into what they did? We might be happy and that was never in the cards for us. Not even a little. I could tell you that the day I got caught and he left (for the first time) was the day this shit first started, but that would be a lie. Do you know when it began? I do. When I felt like I needed to lie to retain his affection. 

Do THIS thing for me and your love will then be a proven entity. Until you do that thing, we are nothing and no one. We are just a promise whispered into the wind. Once you do that thing? Done. We are linked together, forever. We are attached. Bound by mutual commitment and adoration and the willingness to sacrifice. He had already sacrificed so much. He had ended a relationship, called off a wedding, to be with me. He rejected the possibility of one future with the understanding that whatever was between us was bigger. Better. He had done the biggest thing of all and thus, who was I to shrink from one, silly little request?

I was drowning in anxiety and fear. I didn’t want to do what he was asking, but also, I didn’t want to lose him before I had really had him. And so, I did what I thought I had to do. Then, my lie was brought to light and the threats rolled like caramel off his poisonous tongue. Sweet and smooth and silky. He may never be able to forgive. He is questioning why he ever thought me and our love worthy. He is trying to find a way to forget what a garbage pail I turned out to be. 

I didn’t think ‘he can go fuck himself’, not even close. I wrung my hands. I was deeply regretful of the decisions I had made. I cried. A lot. I wrote long letters and emails and sent longer texts. I begged. I begged to be forgiven and understood. I begged to be granted another chance. I promised that I would be perfect forevermore. I promised that I would do better, be better. 

I contemplated a future where I lost him because of the bad decisions that I had made, and I threw myself into an exercise of self-loathing that was quite unmatched by anything to date. I told my story to those closest to me, but I led with what a piece of garbage I am. I explained that I was lucky he even considered giving me another chance. I professed that I would do everything in my power to not fuck up again. 

When people questioned our interaction, I explained. When people questioned my desire to stay, I defended. When people questioned my heart, I relented. What I didn’t realize at the time is that point is where my isolation began. It was at that very moment where I started to create space between myself and everyone who had ever really loved me.

x

L.