You’re not who I thought you were.
These feelings have been bubbling up inside of me for so long. I haven’t been able to let them out because I’m afraid you’ll see.
I don’t want to give you the satisfaction that I wasted my mental energy and intellectual capacity on you.
I don’t want to validate that I thought so highly of you at one point in my life.
I don’t want to cause drama or relive the hurt, the tears, the pain.
But you betrayed me.
You filled my heart with beauty, joy, validation, encouragement, and laughter. And then you broke my heart into a million tiny pieces—no, into a million tiny stones that have weighed me down in every area of my life.
Last night, I laughed for the first time in a long time. A real, unabashed, loud laugh that turned heads in the library. It felt good. And then utterly disorienting as flashbacks all rushed into my head of us sitting in Perkins, making faces at each other, sharing about our lives, passing out donuts, and forgetting our worries.
You were my best friend. Maybe you didn’t know it at the time. No, I think you knew. But it was all part of your game. Your way of seeking validation and attention from me, the girl who loved you so fervently that I would always make myself available to give you that attention.
You were my other half, the compliment to my personality type and my sense of humor, the almonds to my chocolate, the one I could call when I had a funny story, or needed to cry, or just needed someone to sit beside me.
I feel the need to give you credit, for the letters you wrote me and the time you sacrificed to be there for me. But that is all I will give you credit for, because you made the choice to let me go. You made the choice to run from the connection, to be immature and prideful.
I guess this is how people feel when they are walked over, or when they’re broken up with. Because you and I, we had this intimacy. People could tell. It was always just… Us. No one else mattered when we were together. We were a unit, floating through the world with the support of the other, a simple touch and endearing smile. You could say anything, and I was captivated. I could say anything, and you’d find a way to laugh.
I knew we were best friends because I suddenly liked doing all the things I hated doing, just because you were there. Studying became fun. Walking around campus at 3am in the freezing cold became a good idea. Watching stars left me even more awestruck. The very idea of transferring from Duke now seemed irrational, even, because how could I leave you?
But I was blinded. I was blinded by love, by your smile, by your simple but eloquent words, by your passion, your intellect, your abilities. I was blinded by the way you could lift me out of despair into blissful oblivion.
To feel so understood, so deeply valued, so treasured by another person is a feeling words could never adequately describe. But realizing that you only thought you were understood, that it was all for show, that the love wasn’t mutual, that is a feeling I don’t want to adequately describe. To accept that ultimately I bare the burdens because I let go, because I loved, because I made myself vulnerable, is not only depressing but embarrassing.
The intricacies and the complexities behind the situation are too much to bear. You can run past me and pretend you don’t see me, you can carry on with your day and send me pointless texts, while I internalize, pretend I don’t see the messages, sob to my family and friends, and realize that what I once had I will never have again.
I resented you until today. I was bitter, angry, disappointed, and floored that someone like you could stray so far from who you say you are to become someone you were never meant to be.
But now, as much as it pains me, I am thankful for you. I don’t want you to have the satisfaction of reading this. But I must say it anyway. Because it has been 35 days since I have written a blog post, and 36 days since you betrayed me.
And it is time to move on. It is time to use my words to heal, to let the world know that I have thought critically about this, and that I will be okay.
I am thankful for you because you are living proof that I can love. You are living proof that I can connect, that I can sacrifice, that I can allow my heart to be opened, that I can make myself vulnerable to another person.
Words Of Hope Blog is about vulnerability, which I usually paint in a positive light. After all, it’s words of HOPE. But vulnerability is scary and can be very painful. When you show someone who you really are, when you allow yourself to feel alive, when you take risks, say what’s on your mind, laugh, and cry, that person will forever have those pieces of you. I can’t get back the connection, or the freedom or bliss I felt with you. I can’t get back the secrets I told you, the intimacy, the trust.
But I am thankful for you because before you I did not understand the degree to which I could feel pain behind vulnerability. Before you I could not understand why anyone would be closed, why anyone would not put their whole heart on the line. Before you, I didn’t have much sympathy for emotionally detached people. But now I understand. I understand the ploy of remaining callous, of straying from connection, from emotional intimacy. Because I understand the pain.
But I must tell you all, and urgently, that the pain is not reason enough to run from vulnerability. Because through the pain, I have learned about myself. I have learned that no one has the right to walk over me, that no one has the right to betray me, that if I am not fiercely and passionately loved for who I am right now, then I am not loved. I have learned that some people will never know your vulnerabilities, and that is okay. More than that, I have learned that some people never deserve to know your vulnerabilities, and that’s healthy. I have learned that life goes on, that there is an end to the heartbreak, that I am strong. I have learned that feeling alive, whole, loved, and enough is a beautiful feeling that I cannot wait to feel again. But one that I will be cautious to feel again. I have been hurt, betrayed, and violated. And that is baggage I carry. But it helps paint my story of brokenness. And through my broken words, I can see beauty. Because only through brokenness can the light shine through. Only through brokenness can I show my authentic, hopeful self.