"Whatever life takes away from you, let it go. When you surrender and let go of the past, you allow yourself to be fully alive in the moment. Letting go of the past means you can enjoy the dream that is happening right now."--dmr
Dear Boy A,
First and foremost, I'm pretty glad that you don't know I have this blog. I talk about you a lot. Most of it is good, but this letter might not be so much.
You broke my heart. Period, end of story. But you know that already.
We were good together, in every way. People say that no one falls in love in high school, but we did, and we knew it. Everyone around us knew it. Even our parents were preparing themselves for us to get married. I never told you this, but when we went prom dress shopping my parents joked that I should just buy a white dress so I could wear it again for our wedding everyone was sure we'd have in two years. Not only that, we took our relationship seriously and actually talked about getting married after a few years of college.
And then one day... we broke up. I don't know why, to be honest. When people ask me why, I say it was because we were going off to college, or we were bored, or we needed a break, or we got in a stupid fight and were too proud to apologize.
But, none of that's true. I think part of it was that we both got cold feet. I think we realized we were 17 years old and were already with the person we thought we were going to spend the rest of our lives with and it scared us. We didn't know how to handle what everyone around us already "knew." I think the pressure was too much.
However, why isn't really what broke my heart for so long. The point was that we were apart, and that sucked. But what was even worse was what happened after.
Not speaking to me for three months? That was lame.
Dropping out of school, starting to drink and do drugs, and basically become someone that most of the people I know from high school are disappointed in because you had so much potential? That is really lame.
Becoming a total jackass though? That was entirely uncalled for. You were always sarcastic and rough around the edges, but a nice guy I still can't believe half the shit you put my through. You gave my phone number out to people, even ones you barely knew like your managers, and encouraged them to call me when they were drunk for kicks and giggles. I got a phone call about how much you missed me from another unknown person every holiday for over a year, and I could hear you giggling in the background. Do you know how hard it was to sit there, Christmas Eve, and listen to someone I didn't even know tell me that you still loved me and were on your way to my grandmother's house, when I knew that was you in the background laughing? That was beyond jacked up. I got voice mail after voice mail like that, most from people I didn't even know. When I finally got up the guts to call you and tell you to knock it off or take me out of your phone since you clearly weren't taking the let's-still-be-friends part of our break up seriously, you apologized and acted like a nice guy again, but you were just playing me, which I found out pretty quickly.
I cannot believe you told a bunch of the people I went to high school with that you were just using me the whole time we'd been together; that you cheated on me and I really meant nothing to you; that you wanted to see how long you could play the smart girl for a fool and how bad you'd break her heart after. Sometimes, in my most self-doubting moments, I believe it. I really believe I was the stupid girl that fell in love with a boy that never cared. But I know, I know, that's not true. You don't take a girl you're using for sex ring shopping and apply to all the same colleges and spend every waking minute with her. You don't stay up late to watch her sleep or talk about your future together and let her hang out alone with your mom and sister and offer to dig her car out of freak snow storms in March. You don't look at her the way you looked at me and you don't defend her against your friends the way you did for me and you don't waste a year and a half on her. I know nothing you told them was true. So why the hell would you say it?
(This post has been brought to you in part by Mama Kat's writer's workshop. Mosey on over there and see what everyone else wrote about!)