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I’m not attracted to you, so…?

That moment when you’re looking at a recent picture of an ex you miss deeply but realize… you’re not attracted to them anymore. But wait, if I’m not attracted to you… then why do I miss you? If it’s not attraction, then what am I holding on to? A friendship so far gone that neither of us remember it anymore? Do I even know what I’m still desperately grasping on to? If I’m being honest with myself, if I dig deep, I don’t. I honestly don’t know what I’m grasping on to. But it’s something and even though you’ve made it pretty clear you don’t want me in your life anymore, I’m still holding on.

And I need to let go.

I need to let go of you smile that made me know everything was okay, would be okay, eventually. I need to let go of your laugh that convinced me that things weren’t that bad. I need to let go of your pleading eyes when you would say, “then help me understand” when I would tell you that you didn’t understand. I need to let go of your eyes, how they looked at me, how concerned they always were with sincerity. I need to let go of the soul that cared for me and would do anything to make sure I was okay. I need to let go of the arms that would hug me tightly, not caring who saw. I need to let go of the boy who didn’t care what others said about me, all he cared about was if I was okay. I need to let go of the friend that never judged. And I need to let go of the hope that you would someday love me too. Because you never did and you won’t. And now, eight years later it doesn’t matter anymore.

o104o3.

I still think that’s a pimpin anniversary date. Sad that’s not how the story ended. Here’s to what could had been our ten years but was never meant for us.

Here’s to a new year, and to letting you go.

Daily Prompt: Dear Mom

Dear Mama,

Growing up we hardly saw eye to eye. We hardly got along, period and there were times with C would hit me in front of you or slam me against the wall making me cry and you would stand there and watch. Telling me I shouldn’t cry, I deserve it. When I hardly did anything wrong. Growing up, you thought the worst of me in every aspect of my life. You constantly told me I would never graduate high school or college. I would never be anything. All because of one C in one class, in the 7th grade. You never encouraged me to try harder, you never helped me be better. You just reminded me of all the ways I wouldn’t succeed. The older I got, the worse we didn’t get along. Even when I took 8 classes in high school and had 2 jobs, you still lectured me about how I’ll be nothing, how I am nothing, reminding me that no matter how hard I try or how much I do, in your eyes I will still be a failure.

Now that I’m an adult, you still treat me like a child. You still blame me for your money problems even though they have nothing to do with me (considering you’ve racked up over $100,000 in credit card debit in just YOUR name). Because I’m paying for college without your help you feel the need to tell me how I’ll fail anyway and though I work for the biggest company in the entire effen world you’re still not the slightest bit proud of me. Of course not. OF COURSE NOT. I don’t know why I still expect anything else from you.

Because of you mother, I suffered from depression growing up. I know you saw it, my depression spells, my suicidal moments. Would it had killed you to just give me a hug once in awhile? To comfort me when I was sad? To stop C from punching me in the stomach because he was angry at dad? Would it had been so hard for you to be there for me? I never understood it growing up and I don’t understand it now.

Now that I’m older, I realize I don’t know what it’s like to be part of a family. You’re so fixated on how people view you, view us and yet you do nothing to make it better. You just expect us to pretend to the public and I’m left feeling confused. Confused and robbed. Robbed of what could had been a healthy childhood. I have both my parents, but only to a public view. In reality, I have nothing. I never had anything.

Want to know why I don’t want children mom? I don’t want children because I don’t know how to be a mom. I see some of you, in me, after all it’s what I grew up around. It’s almost like I’m wired this way. I don’t want to be to children what you were to me. I want to be a mother, a real mother to them and I can’t figure out what or who that is. I want my children to grow up and remember the moments when I would sing to them, read to them, teach them how to be better people who make better choices and I want them to remember their mother as someone who was loving, caring and happy and as of right now, I can’t be any of those things. And I have you to thank for that.

I also have you to thank that I quit the things I’m excited to do before I start them because I hear you telling me I’m worthless and I wish there was a way to make it stop. To erase the things that my subconscious is aware of.

I love you mom. But I don’t know if I love you because I do, or I love you because I feel like I have to. Or if I love you because a little part of me makes believe that you were the mother I needed growing up. Even if you hardly were.

Written in response to Daily Prompt: Dear Mom

Confessions of a broke college student

The holidays are coming up, and they’re coming up quick.

This is the first year that I didn’t get the tree up before December/within the first week. I’m just not… in the holiday mood. I’ve been really down the last few months and with the holidays rolling quickly by it’s just getting worse. This is the first year I haven’t gotten M anything in advanced. I literally have $11 in my bank account right now and no money. I did manage to get mom and dad a little (literally little) something. Both of which I know they’ll just discard later — like they always do. Sometimes I wonder why I even bother any more especially after mom had given away the Christmas gift I spent weeks trying to decide between. I gave her two things actually, she gave both things away without a single thought or care that it would hurt my feelings. I tried not to let it show, but it still honestly sucks when I think about it. I spent so much time trying to pick out the perfect thing. I coulda used the money I spent on my parents gifts for M’s gift, at least I know he’d like my gifts.

M got a seasonal job this season which is surprising. He got a good amount of hours the last two weeks because of Thanksgiving but now that it’s that in between holidays window… well you know how seasonal jobs go… they basically just give you one day a week. And between the holidays and moving, it just sucks. We don’t have money for much. We might not even get each other anything this year and just wait until after we move. Not that we even really want anything this year but it still sucks being broke during the holidays.

I dunno. This turned out a lot more depressing than I expected. I just needed to talk I think.

After all is said and done…

I guess in reality, ten years isn’t long enough to know someone. I guess dating for a brief time and being best friends for ten years after that isn’t enough.

I can’t help but think back to a time when you were who I thought you were. When I thought you would never lie or hurt me because I was convinced that you cared. Because you convinced me that you did care. You’ve called me your best friend, the only person you could tell things to, the only person who knows you. But let’s be honest, how well do I even know you? Not well enough, I’d say. Sure I was there for you growing up when life got hard. When you lost two women important in your life. I was there for your when you decided to join the military and I was the one you called and talked to on a daily basis when you were deployed into war. I was there when you decided to come back and now we’re here. You haven’t talked to me since July and now I learn you’re in jail for the fourth time this year.

I don’t know what’s going on, I don’t know what hardships you’re facing these days alone. I never left your side, but you’ve left mine on multiple occasions and this time apart has made me realize that I don’t know you. It’s a strange feeling, one I think I’ve always known but chose to ignore because you convinced me you cared about me.

But if I don’t know this much about you, how much else don’t I know? What else are you hiding?

You’re not obligated to be honest with me about your life. You’re not obligated to share the parts of your life you want to hide from me. But just know, that it makes me wonder. It makes me wonder if you really consider me your best friend or if like everything else, you’re coping-out to guard yourself.

I’ve never hurt you. And I’ve forgiven you every time you’ve hurt me. But I think, this time, I can’t.