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Confessions From the Past

The Chapter About the Break Up

FEBRUARY

I always thought that I would have so much to say when it happened. To him, to my friends, to my family, to anyone that knew us. To you, dear Future Self. But I’m having trouble finding words.

I don’t want to write about what happened. You’ll remember what happened, the details are not important. It’s been a long time coming, as we’ve both known for a while now.

Right now, in this moment in your quiet Music City bedroom, it is rainy and cold and dark outside your window. You’re fighting the urge to erupt with texts and calls to him of “I’m so sorry, I take it all back. I never meant to leave. I should’ve just forgiven you. I’ll try harder. Let’s just be together. I’m not sure if I can live without you. I miss you and us and everything so, so, so much. I’m afraid you’re going to find someone else soon, already. I feel like so much of your pain is from simply being alone and not from not being with me. I wish we would’ve worked it out. I wish you wouldn’t have done the things you did to me that have ruined me internally. I wish you hadn’t said the things you said. I wish you would’ve fought the urge to leave your tiny, dark apartment to go out and do things with me instead of fighting with me about wanting to do anything, ANYTHING, other than sit there naked all day stuffing down emotions. I’m sorry. I’m really, really, really sorry. Maybe I made you this way. You used to be so full of life, so out in the world. Maybe I’m the one who’s made you into this person who snaps in incredibly ugly ways, who refuses to let anyone in besides me. Maybe I made you too dependent on me. Maybe I wanted you to be. Maybe it’s all my fault. I brought out the ugly sides of you, maybe you would’ve never been that person if I hadn’t made you be him. Maybe I should call you and take it all back. Maybe I should thank you for all the things you did for me, not just dwell on the things you did that broke me. Maybe I’m being too dramatic. Maybe every relationship goes through things like this. Maybe we should’ve just gone to counseling together. I shouldn’t have left you in such darkness. I shouldn’t have created more. I just want to talk to you forever…”

In three days, we would’ve been together for four years. Part of me is wishing, wishing, wishing he’ll show up to my place with a rose in one hand, ready to take me off somewhere nice, as we’ve done every year. As we did the very first year, the very first day, the very best day we’ve probably ever had. I miss him back then so much, even though the ugliness started soon after. But maybe it wasn’t as ugly back then when we were 21. He can be so wonderful too.

I want to show up at his place in some grand, romantic gesture that means “I’m so sorry, I need you,” but I know that I can’t. Because the first night would be good, good, good just like the first. And then things would go back to the way they’ve been for far too long.

I don’t know where life will lead me after this, when the dust settles. I am trying so hard not to crack. Part of me feels like crying and screaming and yelling but I never do. It’s like it won’t come out.

I hope that, as you read this, Future Me, you’re feeling better. You’re feeling less lost and more sure of yourself that this was the right decision in the long run. I wanted to make this note to you more inspiring, like I knew I’d be okay. But, for right now, all I’m feeling is lost in a sea of grey days and numbing confusion.

I hope you’re doing well.