Red

For the past few weeks, my feelings have mostly been some variance of sadness. I’ve mourned the loss of him, worried about him, cried over the things we’ll never do again together, etc. etc. Just generally felt morose and down.

Those feelings started to change this week, as anger surfaced and slapped me in the face. Hard. Hot, seeping, seething anger. No sadness, no questioning, no longing. Just pure anger and all its friends: spite, irritation, fury, and outrage. I can feel it coursing through my veins – I feel physically charged by it. Unable to sit still, unable to find an outlet.

My anger falls in layers on my shoulders and circles around in my mind. He was not the person I thought he was. He lied to me, convinced me that he was someone else. He made me question my judgment, my ability to see things for what they were. He used me, manipulated me. He broke my heart like it was nothing. He took six years of my life, sucked the good things out of me and left me with this pile of uncertainty. He took the city that I was so excited to explore with him and made sure I would never want to be there again. He took something that I held so sacred and made it into a joke.

He was lazy. He didn’t put in any effort, any work to make sure I felt like a priority. He cheated, he lied, he was disloyal. He made me look like a fool in front of people I had to look in the eye. He didn’t care. He was selfish, always on his own side, always there for himself. I was secondary, an afterthought to the very end. He was exactly the type of guy he liked to bash. The bad boy, the careless heart breaker.

As much anger as I have piled up around me and directed towards him, I have an abundance that flies right back in my face. I let him do this. He showed me very early on how capable he was of hurting me, how dirty he could get. I believed that he wanted to change, despite all evidence of the contrary. I let his secret-keeping and manipulations get swept under the rug. I believed his tears, and his words. I ignored his actions when they didn’t align with what he was telling me. I believed him because I was scared that if I didn’t, he would leave.

I never told him what I needed, what I wanted until the very end. And he left. Because in the end he didn’t want to be the one for me. He made a choice, despite whatever he has told himself. He made a choice, and the choice was to chase something new and shiny that made him feel good. He took out his insecurities, his need for constant validation on me. When he had something better, he moved on. And I should have known better. I used to be his something better. Until I wasn’t.

Dealing with sadness is one thing; dealing with anger is another thing all together. What I’m not doing is trying to stuff the anger down inside me and pretending that it’s not there. I’m not masking the anger with hours of TV and plates of Chinese food. I’m letting myself feel it, even though it makes me want to jump out of my skin. I use it. I let it fuel my punches against the boxing bag. I run into it, let it carry me down the sidewalk. I write about it. I talk about it. I acknowledge it, and do my best not to feed it.

I know this is necessary. I know it’s part of the grieving process. I know I have to feel it if I ever expect to heal. I know I won’t always feel this way towards him, at least I hope I won’t. I know in the end this will just be one of those things that happened in my life.

Trying to apologize, you’re so ugly when you cry

Please, just cut it out

And don’t tell me you’re sorry cuz you’re not

Baby, when I know you’re only sorry you got caught

You put on quite a show, really had me going

Not it’s time to go, curtains finally closing

That was quite a show, very entertaining

But it’s over now

Go on a take a bow

But it’s over now…