so casually cruel in the name of being honest
A month or so ago, I wrote a sweeping manifest on how happy I was and how I was finally getting what I always wanted. As usual, my little fairy tale didn’t go as planned, but among the ruins, something deeper lurks.
Maybe it’s just my Zoloft prescription, but I’ve experienced personal growth in the sense that I’ve stopped blaming myself for the actions of others. Sometimes, people are going to do what they’re going to do, and it has a lot less to do with you and more to do with them. You can be the perfect girlfriend, friend, supporter, whatever- if someone decides to leave, they’re going to leave, and you can’t stop them. No matter how pretty or thin or good in bed or whatever, if they decide they can’t be in a relationship while figuring out their life plans, that’s what they’re going to do. It doesn’t matter how in love you are or how perfect your relationship is – all it takes is one person deciding their priorities lie elsewhere. To quote Taylor Swift: so casually cruel in the name of being honest.
As I said over the phone to my mother: “Ain’t my fault someone else decided to be a shithead.”
A year ago, I would have fallen to pieces, chugged an entire bottle of wine, and sought refuge at the bottom of an abyss. This time, though, I’m… not doing that? I’m sad, sure, but I’m not letting this pain define me the way I used to.
Hell, that’s what half this blog is about- letting my pain define me.
A breakup doesn’t mean your whole life is going to shit, it means priorities were reevaluated, and for better or for worse, that priority wasn’t you. I wish I could say the priority was my bank account, retail therapy is getting out of control.
Don’t get me wrong: I’m still the undisputed queen of grudges. I was never the type to “forgive and forget.” I admire people who remain close friends with their exes. Truly, I do. I’m more of the “you hurt me, time to bury myself underground and burn everything that reminds me of your existence” type. I’ve also never been the type to “enjoy the good memories.” I see everything in black and white, and heartbreak pretty much ruins all the memories. One act of bad destroys all the good in my eyes.
If there’s a lesson to learn, other than the whole not blaming myself thing, it’s that maybe the proverbial “what if” person is better left as a “what if.” I wouldn’t say I regret what happened, but picking up the pieces makes me wonder if it was really worth finding out what could have been. If I had known this was going to end, I absolutely never would have done it.
The situation at work is also tenuous. I’m teetering on the edge again, but for once, I’m not completely terrified. The fun thing about mental illness is I can never tell if I’m actually ok, or just disassociating. Let’s call this one the luck of the draw.
Hell, maybe I haven’t grown at all. Maybe I’m still a spiteful, childish girl hiding behind her blog, tossing barbed remarks at a former lover under the guise of self-reflection.