#spilled ink
“I want to pretend it was never good and we were just young and I was blind. But the truth is I’ve never seen another pair of eyes like yours and my mom still loves you.”—
It’s not about him, I genuinely don’t even want him anymore. It’s about me- like why I wasn’t good enough and what I did wrong. Why is she worth showing off and posting pictures of and changing for but I wasn’t? Why was I hidden and why does she get to meet his mom? Why wouldn’t he do the things I begged him for but now he does them for her voluntarily?
I’ve thought about it for months and the best I can come up with besides the fact that I simply wasn’t worth it is that he knew he would be wasting his efforts on someone he couldn’t keep forever. Because we’re often better than the men who leave us, and maybe we don’t give them enough credit for being able to see that.
I wish there was a different ending because this isn’t one I’ve ever wanted to read. And it’s both our faults and I’m partly sorry. But I don’t want you to miss me and I don’t want you to have regrets and I don’t want you to get your heart broken the way I did. I just hope she teaches you to love yourself more. And I hope she makes you realize how much potential you have to change the world.
True happiness is when you can’t think of anything else you want in life and you’re scared to death of losing something you already have
This isn’t easy but it’s something you need to hear. He’s not the only one for you, and he’s not even the best one for you. And it doesn’t matter that you share an apartment or that you have a child together because no inconvenience is worth staying unhappy. And no environment where you’re unhappy is going to be good for that child. I know it’s scary and it seems impossible but you’re going to meet someone else who will give you a life you’re never bored of and a future you can’t wait for and some of the best fathers aren’t biological and some of the greatest loves aren’t the first.
If I stayed with my ex, I would be married with kids right now and honestly I would be really happy, I know that. But I wouldn’t have met you or your sister or my neighbors or any of the guys I’ve dated in the past 5 years or any of the people I consider my best friends right now. And there are thousands of pictures I wouldn’t have taken and memories I wouldn’t have made and trips I wouldn’t have gone on and favorite outfits I wouldn’t have bought. And I wouldn’t live in this apartment and I wouldn’t have taken this job. I was so close to my entire life being completely different. My life that I’m in love with almost didn’t exist. That’s why I’m thankful for that breakup and all the worst moments of my life. Because I wouldn’t have what I have right now without every decision I’ve made leading up to today, even the bad ones.
Some people take up a lot of our pages but aren’t in the last chapter. Some people make an appearance for two weeks in our lives and fuck everything up. It’s not about them, it’s about the ones walking off the screen holding your hand in the series finale.
There’s “obvious, meant to be love” and then there’s “holy shit how did I not see this” love. And I’m not going to say that one’s better than the other but one is built on years of all different kinds of feelings and it’s not the obvious one.
For anyone trying to get over someone right now:
- It’s possible for you to be happy without him because you were happy before him
- Think about all the people you’ve felt this way about in the past and how little you care about them now
- People make time for what they want to make time for and you don’t deserve anything less than first place
- Remember when you had to convince yourself he was good enough for you?
- Think about all the things you loved doing with him and ask yourself if you could be just as happy doing those same things with someone else (someone better)
- Shift your energy to something else- everytime you start thinking about him open a book or start a yoga class or cook
- Just because it was comfortable doesn’t mean it was meant to be
- Write down all the things you hated about him- literally every little thing that annoyed you. Then burn it along with any pictures of him you have
- Write down all the things you think he’s going to miss about you. Keep that list somewhere you’ll see it everyday
- Finally- If he wanted to, he would have. And there’s someone out there who will.
i wish i wasn’t so easily ran aground by you. i was getting better. my therapist purses her lips when i say so i heard from her. i had a nightmare last night; you showed up and we fought. maybe you felt the way i woke up and needed to remind me: you just snap your fingers and unwind me.
it isn’t that i’m godless or supremely powerful. but there’s a black dog in my heart. i picked him up from the library and stashed him under my childhood bed. he grew strong in the shadows, living off of my dread. in the bitter hours when it is only the moon and i, the black dog goes walking; his eyes all blue flash in the starlight. stalking at my heels. quiet, patient, reserved. the black dog is not a warrior, not a great wheel of fire - but he is not small, either. and he is good at waiting.
i have spent a life in a flinch. i am tender and i am trying constantly to be perfect. i am an error of a person. i am scattered over my floor. i stumble away; i have no home. i would rip my seams for a single note of love; i set no boundaries and claim no needs. i let others take whatever they want from me.
the black dog puts his head under my hand. he noses my little carcass over every morning. he pushes his body against the back of my legs, gets me to stand and start walking. the black dog makes sure i eat. he stands at the corner of the room, watching.
i spend months locked in a shiver. i expect no one to see me as dangerous. even i don’t take myself seriously. there is nothing particularly special about my existence.
but once in a while, the black dog remembers the darkness; where i have fed him every memory and scrap of my innocence. the black dog remembers what it took to get out of the rabbit snare. the black dog remembers how long we have been trudging.
when it is too much. when she tells me what her boyfriend did. when my house is full of yelling. when the dark gets slippery and a man at a bus stop whistles and follows me. in that moment, the black dog curls into me. up my throat. out of my teeth. the partner to my won survival: the welcome warmth of a true and patient fury.
in that moment, love. the black dog howls through me. the word is not-quite feral. something raw, undulating, less pretty. something like - i have been stalked and hurting and hungry all these years of my life.
and now it’s time to go out hunting.
playact the right mindset. that’s what you need, the right mindset. buy the organizational notebook and the markers and the special labels. tell yourself it’s real this time, donate a bunch of clothes. buy paint, buy chapstick. overspend on bath-and-bodyworks vanilla rose.
every day is the same day. the largest number of suicides occurs in the springtime. it’s going up to 90 on Friday, and then it’ll come back down to 35. did you read the news today? did you get my email? did you see the big game? did you cry over that big ache, or just step over it with the same lope you’ve developed, flinching over your familiar wounds.
put the laundry away. leave the leftovers lounging in the container, unwilling to throw it away (food waste) but unwilling to eat it (food poisoning). schedule a blood donation. schedule a call with the doctor. schedule a therapy appointment.
leave all the knives untouched. eat directly out of the deli meat container. sit in the shower. ignore the bills. ignore texts from your bosses. drop everything into the sink and splatterpaint the walls with water. draw a smile in the condensation, give it cat ears. call your mom. hold a pencil sharpener and think - there are things i know about this device that others shouldn’t. go out and walk your dog.
up and down and up and down. they paint the recovery process as a big red banner. okay/not okay. it’s usually less i’m great and more a constant process of okay fine i’m getting better. little lighted pain points scattered in tacks all over the floor of your life.
this is the tradeoff: walk on the broken glass; get to the other side. get to see your dog run in tight rhapsodic circles; have to put all the razors into a box with a lock. get to laugh like your head will fall off; have panic attacks every morning like clockwork. race each other to the concert; stare down the diet pills and pass your hands over. hug your mom; hangover on a thursday. sit quietly at peace to friendship dinners; shift in place at the pharmacy waiting for your monthly concoction.
it isn’t always beautiful. it will not always feel worth it or lasting or eventual. it will just feel like a slog. uphill and through mud. something bad can always come.
but it will be yours. private, entire.
spring comes. your life in a winter depression at your feet; less joyful than the choirs of little flowers. and when you pick yourself up each time, youdo the picking-up. you do the walking. you do the self-care and the self-salvation. you do the keep-going.
“is this what you made with your life?”
it isn’t a grave. it isn’t a grave, yet. yet - it isn’t a grave!
turn around. face the sun. same day, different heart. get up and keep going.
I think of you at every sunset-
Watching the oranges, yellows,
Purples and pinks.
But that’s the problem-
I’m thinking
Of you.
And I’m thinking
Of you-
Until it’s sunrise.
-b.m.
I know I shouldn’t do it.
I should leave you alone.
But damn it’s so hard
Not to pick up the phone-
Tap on your contact,
Hit “new message”..
And ask how you’re doing.
But I shouldn’t.
I know I shouldn’t do it.
-b.m.
I see your profile pop up as “active”,
And I almost message you.
It takes everything in me
Not to check in,
Not to ask you how you’re doing..
Not to tell you how sorry I am.
I’m sorry I took us both through
Such an emotional turmoil,
And I’m sorry I hurt you
Just as badly-
If not more-
Than I hurt myself.
I’m sorry I still think of you,
Even though you’re not mine
To think about anymore.
I’m sorry I still crave our connection,
Our laughs,
Our all-night conversations.
I’m sorry-
I just miss you,
And it’s all my fault.
-b.m.
My favorite view is you,
From the passenger seat.
Your cheeks flushed
From the cold.
One hand on the wheel,
The other hand in mine.
Sometimes we laugh
Until tears stream down.
Other times we sit
In a comfortable silence,
The road leading the way.
-b.m.
Sweet love,
It had been two years-
Since I touched you, kissed you,
Since I felt at peace.
And now you’re here-
In my arms, holding my hands,
Kissing my lips, touching me.
And now I feel it-
Peace.
-b.m.
I saw this coming.
I knew it wouldn’t last-
It was too easy, too perfect, too raw and real.
I saw this coming,
But damn, it hurts like hell.
-b.m.
You’re back again,
Begging me to come back
To you-
For the third time.
They say the third time
Is the last time,
The charm, even.
But is that true
When it comes
To me and you?
-b.m.
And this is me-
Giving up on you.
-b.m.
