I’m so angry.
I’m angry that your fear is stronger than your love for me. I’m angry that I can’t somehow make you love me the way that I want. I’m angry that this is happening again, that it seems I haven’t grown at all when I thought I made progress.
I adore you, you idiot. I adore you as you are, despite the fact that you are nowhere near where you want to be. I adore you in your darkest, lowest moments. I don’t care about that, because I love you for the person you are on the inside, the person that you let yourself be with me. And yet, you don’t feel the same, and there is not a thing I can do to change it.
Fuck you for letting me go and fuck me for letting myself fall for you.
Mostly, I’m angry because I’m so hurt. I’m hurt that you never took our relationship as seriously as I did, and I feel like a complete fool for loving you so hard anyway. I can’t force you to love me the way I deserve, and I absolutely hate that. I’m angry because the fact that we are ending only serves to validate once again my deeply ingrained belief that I’ll never have the love I want.
I’m also angry because every time I think I’ve chosen more wisely, I turn out to be wrong. Something wounded deep inside me recognizes emotional unavailability in others and is wildly attracted to it, even when I truly believe that I’ve finally found someone mature, open, and vulnerable. I’m always mistaken, and I still can’t recognize the warning signs. I was so sure this time that I’d met someone different, but yet again, I let my past trauma propel me into a hopeless future.
I abandoned myself to love you. It’s difficult to forgive myself for that, but forgive myself I will. It isn’t my fault that I was taught as a child that I must perform for love, shine in order to deserve attention. Maybe this time it’s finally clear to me that there is no shortcut to healing. If I don’t put in some major effort, if I don’t deal with the pain I’ve felt my entire life, I’ll continue to make these same desperate missteps. I will always grasp at hearts that have no room for me. I will hope that someone who holds me at arm’s length from the beginning will magically change. I’ll never understand that searching for attention from someone outside of myself in order to fill the void is a fruitless journey.
The truth is that if I were to look in from an outsider’s perspective, I would pity myself. To see someone abandon her own sense of worth to beg a man who supposedly loves her to treat her like a basic priority in his life. And yet, I am that person. I let myself betray my own heart in the hopes I’d gain the validation of someone else’s affection.
Letting go has never been my strong suit. Growing up in one unpredictable situation after another meant that I clung to any form of control that I could find, no matter how small. The fact that I can’t somehow make you care about me the way that I do you drives me insane.
Though I know that we could not continue on the way we were headed, I miss you horribly. That makes me angrier still. I feel ashamed that despite knowing I deserve better from a partner, I think about you and yearn for you constantly. My grief process is a long and painful one, and I often feel the urge to hide my truth from others, especially those who move on with ease. I’m just not that person.
I’m angry that I let myself love again, falling into the same old inevitable trap. Every time I meet someone with whom I actually connect, I get so excited that I allow myself to hope once more for the miracle of a happy future. I’m angry that I am trapped in yet another demoralizing dance with heartbreak.
I keep trying to feel grateful, or free, or relieved. But I’m not. I’m just fucking sad. And I’m angry.