Why It Hurt(s)

This post was inspired by Kat George’s over at Thought Catalog. I was originally just going to reblog hers, but then there were things I wanted to cross out and brackets I wanted to add and then it seemed like writing my own was just a better idea. 

Because he said he loved me the night before, like he’d said nearly every night for about two months, and the next morning he said he’d never meant it. Because love should never be a lie. 
Because he was the first man of my “type” to ever have seemed to have wanted me in a substantive manner. Because his desire and “love” for me amplified that which I had for myself–knowing he wanted me around, wanted me to hold a special place in his life reserved for no one else, was such an ego boost. I certainly hadn’t held myself in overwhelming disregard before he came into my life, but belonging to him [or giving myself to him, if the ownership implied in “belonging” doesn’t sit well with you] made me feel better about myself. Because knowing he never wanted me like he made it seem like he wanted me unleashed every insecurity I’d previously successfully locked away and suddenly they were all feasting on me at once.  
Because I ignored the things I was uncomfortable with/unsure about and had convinced myself that we had found perfection. Because he totally blindsided me that morning; I didn’t see it coming at all. Because I had been thoroughly and completely fooled. Duped. Bamboozled. Toyed with. Conned. Because the realest thing I had ever known was never real at all. Because I thought I fell for him, but it turns out I had fallen for an act, and that was personally humiliating. I was so disgusted with myself for having been blind to the truth. I was angry at myself because I thought I should have known better, I should have seen the signs. Because once I wasn’t in it anymore, I could see that I had lost myself inside of this, and all along I’d been thinking I was winning. Because hindsight is a bitch with 20-20 vision. Because I’d had endings before, yes, and I’d been lied to before, but never this thoroughly.
Because I thought I was doing pretty well for my first time around the meaningful relationship thing. Because we had serious-relationship-conversations and met each other’s parents and celebrated month-aversaries and how could all of that be part of something that wasn’t real?
Because I’d gone and let my imagination run away with me. Once we both seemed sure about this, I lifted the restraining order between my head and my heart and let them start talking again, and when they do that I get to making silly plans. Plans like international mail and sexy lingerie and rearranging my clothes to have an extra drawer for him and leaving an extra toothbrush in his room and Thanksgiving with my family and visiting his over our extended Christmas vacation. Because it had felt so much like an idyllic movie romance and I wanted to do everything in my power to keep it that way. Because I was suddenly alone to wallow not only in losing what we had, but also in losing everything I’d imagined we were going to have.
Because if he’d spent so much time and energy projecting emotions he didn’t feel for so long, he could have at least had the decency to pretend to be upset as he was telling me all the ways I was wrong and he’d done wrong. Because he just got to walk away apparently unscathed, while I felt like I’d gotten run over by a tractor trailer. Because he’d gone from being the person who could make me feel invincible to the person who left me wide-open and vulnerable in the blink of an eye. Because I will never know what was and what was not a lie. Because he played love and I fell in, even though it was hard and I was scared, thinking it was an exercise in reciprocity, a leap of faith. 
Because I thought we were good for each other; I wanted us to be good for each other. Because he was the first time I had put my love life into my own hands and gone after something I wanted in six years, and look where it got me. Because even if I’m smart enough to not think I can’t trust men because of what he did,  I have learned that I perhaps should be less trusting of my damn self. Because this doubt is a stain I can’t get out no matter how many times I put myself through the wash.

Sorry if you’re sick of hearing about this. That was even more cathartic than I’d imagined it would be.    


About alaiyo0685

I'm a kind of quirky, pretty stubborn, way too opinionated, twenty-something, intellectual, introspective, queer, Black, female, in a polyamorous relationship, and this is where I try to figure out my life.

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