Essay Submitted Anonymously
1/13/20: 26 days after our first breakup, 445 days before our second breakup, 447 days before today: 4/5/21.
Since you broke up with me, we’ve been speaking almost every day. Some days it’s only small exchanges, others span hours – late into the night and early morning when the harsh light of my phone starts to burn my tired eyes and the gentle light of the sunrise simultaneously begins to peak through the skylight of the top floor of my parents’ home.
I keep asking myself if I’m being too forgiving. In the letter I wrote to her, I asked: “do you love me, or are you scared to lose me?”
I’ve started to ask myself that question.
When she’s sweet to me, when she apologizes, I can strangely see life without her. It isn’t until the evening that I miss her, when I’m lying on my back in bed, when I find my eyes remain open in a pitch black room. It’s then that there is nothing to distract me from my guts contorting, from my stomach churning. No one told me it would feel like this.
I know she’s surprised by my kindness; she’s told me so. But isn’t that they very abolitionist framework us lefties seeks to affect upon the world? Or does the believe that punishment is harmful not pertain to romantic love? Maybe there’s no abolition in heartbreak, in love. That can’t be. Love is abolition.
I’m, telling myself there’s no right way to do this. I’m telling her that too. But we both know this is just an excuse for violating the norms of breaking up… at least we’re both embarrassed.
I told my hairdresser today that I was going through a breakup, partly to wade in the cliché of it all, partly because I’m starting to be able to say it without feeling sad.
I keep having to ask myself if I’m feeling sad. I think I’m just numb.
Maybe I’m okay because she’s still with me (virtually). This was a long-distance relationship after all. Can rejection feel worse than actually losing someone? Is that totally pathetic?
Maybe, right now, I’m okay with that. Because that wincing feeling of rejection sounds far better than grief the comes from real loss, true loss.
I read this today for the first time since I wrote it 447 days ago. This time we’re not talking. This time, the songs do heartbreak justice because this time I know what it feels like. This time, I’m living in New York City, a city that’s never felt like mine, a city that’s always felt like hers. This time, I’m not a woman because she helped me accept that my gender is up to me. This time, I struggle to remember who I was before her because it feels like everything about me has either changed for her or because of her.
But this time, I am choosing to heal. Because this time, my abolition starts with loving me.
Love, joy, freedom, are all things we can only give ourselves.
Comments