A Letter to Myself

Dear Defeated,

Third failed relationship down, who knows how much more to go. Maybe it’s the lack of effort you feel you deserve to have after it’s over, or the genuine desire to give up. Either way, you simply can't bring yourself to do it all over again.

It started back in high school when the dreaded parental block of dating at a certain age was finally lifted. Sixteen. Knowing my impulsiveness, I pretty much picked the first semi-attractive, relatively goofy, sane kid, I saw in my high school chorus department to flirt with where I spent the majority of my time. Quick disclaimer, he was a year younger. Call me a cougar, call me a coward, but I figured if he was a year younger he wouldn't have the gall to hurt me. Clearly, by the title of the story, I was wrong. The days turned into weeks, which eventually turned into months, but we never made it to a year due to his immaturity and lack of general common sense. It led to a "mutual split." Him constantly hanging around other girls and hanging me out to dry didn't really mix too well. So in the height of confrontation and the desire to spend his days doing reckless stunts to show off in front of his friends, I didn't exactly see myself standing next to him. Reaping the day I ever decided to branch out on my own and make this "huge" adult life choice, I grieved the loss of an immature, video game playing boy who broke my heart for the very first time.

Flash forward two and a half years, I graduated high school, started my first year of college, and even earned my first part-time job as a hostess at a high-end restaurant. Not exactly having my life go according to plan, I forgot all about the sad excuse of the watered-down relationship all those years ago that left me in "such despair." Maybe it was not being allowed to go to the top college of my choice, or the fact that reality hit and I had to find out what it was I wanted to do as a career; I had many other things on my mind. The last thing on it was boys.

Until he walked by...

Never had I ever seen such flawless olive skin draped across someone's face, slicked raven hair neatly pulled to the side and then angled back. Glasses that made him look like Clark Kent, and a plaid shirt that showed a softer side that clashed with all of his sharp angles. A simple hum from his lips made the tune so melodic it rang throughout my ears a couple times before it left. In my mind, he left an imaginary path everywhere he walked, there was that much confidence. Naturally, being the curious, young teen I was, I asked around about his name before actually speaking to him. Technically, he had approached me. Doing some of my hostess duties late one night before leaving, I was caught red-handed singing one of my favorite tunes, catching his attention and drawing him over to the very spot I was standing, daydreaming.

His simple inquiry about the song I was singing and the lyrics before even asking my name made me assume he wasn't interested, but a low dim of conversation that started with word-long responses turned into the slow burn of a candle as paragraphs started to flow from our lips. Day after day, we started to get more comfortable with each other, usually using music as the topic of conversation. That seemed to be our common niche.

Our only common niche.

We were just too nice of people to physically clash. The characteristics of our personalities that separated us from ever working out were little red flags I chose to overlook. Too large of an age gap for my parents to ever be comfortable with, the lack of a college degree causing him to be at a dead-end job for years on end, his failure to see that religion exists to other people, no form of reliable transportation, his incessant need for his skewed theories to be right over everyone else's, the lack of motivation to do anything else besides play video games and burn out, or, probably the worst one in my mind, his lack of desire to ever marry or have children, were all large problems I categorized as small. Two major components I know I wanted to have somewhere in the distant future that was my life. Was it my fault that I thought I could change him? Was it wrong to think that maybe someone as young and different could change his views on life? Was it my fault I fell head over heels with someone who only viewed as a temporary happiness? No, but it was wrong to let myself continue to love being hooked on the drug that was my second boyfriend.

One late-night work conversation about the future was the breeze that lightly pushed the sailboat our relationship sat on enough to go in a completely different direction, veering us off course. From then it wasn't the same. His texts would stop chiming my phone, and his calls became less frequent. The overused excuse of "been busy" was enough to wave those red flags again I chose to overlook this whole time. Unfortunately, they were blocking my view, with no other choice but to acknowledge them. A simple call from my phone to his, in hopes to spend some quality time together, led to those untimely words that I had hoped would never drop from his mouth, "maybe we should spend some time apart." I knew where this was going. God knows I've seen enough chick flicks and read enough sappy romance novels to already predict the ending.

'This couldn't be happening,' was my only thought as I hung up the phone responsively and drove to his house.

If he was going to hurt me, it was going to be in person, not over the phone like the coward he turned out to be. He was already there, waiting outside on his doorstep like this was a planned date. Between me slamming the car door and angrily stepping up to him with the words 'how dare you' dripping from my seething teeth, he stopped me immediately with a heavy hand on my shoulder. He had almost nine years on me. Of course, he looked at me as if I was a little child throwing a tantrum, but to me, he was casually ripping my heart from my chest with his bare hand and giving me a small smile as he did so. The lame defense of needing to "get his life together" and me being the "beautiful distraction" I was, he claimed he needed to be alone.

Bullshit.

We never even made it to a year. Suffering week after week, working at my same part-time job that he still resided at, I became miserable having to see him every day. I stopped eating, I had no desire to go out with friends, and more importantly, I started to lose interest in the hobbies I adored more than anything. Once again, I grieved the loss of an immature, video game playing boy who broke my heart for the very second time.

Friends and family urged me to get back up, engraining into my skull the fact that he wasn't my forever or my one and only. He wasn't the superhero I've needed for years. I was sick of dragging my feet around and I grew tired of feeling the way I felt when I walked through those glass doors at work. One promotion later and months of repeating the same 'you can do it' mantra over and over, I was rid of the repugnant taste of torment he left when he did, and eventually moved on. Realizing how childish a grown man could possibly be, I accepted the fact that he never really bettered my life, and as dysfunctional as I defensively never admitted, it would have never worked out between us.

Sucking it up that I now worked with my ex, I decided to make the choice to ignore his existence. If he wasn't going to treat me like an adult and be straightforward, then I was allowed to treat him like he was dead. After all, that's how I felt for months on end. Slowly entering my mind back into the world of being a hardcore extrovert, I make my way to parties and outings.

Many months had passed and I was sweetly invited to a party by a friend who knew every detail of what I was going through due to his recent split. He was turning 21, a big milestone for young adults, the least I could do was show up, even if it meant feeling a tad uncomfortable being in such a rowdy setting so quickly after the breakup. As I was introduced to his friends that arrived there before me, my eyes were just looking, taking in everyone and everything, but never really seeing. I started talking to one of his friends that I had met, trying to make some conversation that lightened up the dead-pan silence that floated between the strangers in the room, and it wasn't until that moment that I took in his appearance. The item of clothing I noticed the most was the cap on his head. Black, with some insignia I didn't recognize. It was turned forward, whereas most teenage boys have it turned around, like a snapback. To me, that little detail was very prominent.

He was unusually quiet, even for strangers who've already shared a couple of sentences between each other. My mind was subconsciously acknowledging positive little perks that outweighed the traits from my ex, and so far he was doing really well.

He worked with computers, he was smart.

He's 20, roughly my age.

He drove a Nissan Sentra that was parked next to mine; he had a car.

He was already so far ahead.

Slowly throughout the night, we exchanged sly glances, trying not to catch one another but purposely failed and by the end of the night, had completed four different duets, exchanged numbers, and made plans to see each other again.

"I am just that obsessed with you," were the words that came out of his mouth. Words that never graced anyone else's tongue. Words that made me feel truly special.

Before I realized, I was dropping shifts at work and flaking on friends just so I could spend time with him. So far, he had exceeded just about every expectation that I was setting him up to have. He had a car, he believed in religion, he had a full-time job. He was close to his parents, he wanted to start a family one day, and we were into more than just music. Most importantly, he seemed proud to have me. He was the perfect advocate for what I thought I really wanted in a life partner. I was slowly introduced to his world. Punk rock concerts that always made me slightly uneasy, bowling with his coworkers who all drank and smoked, and eating dinner at around 10 PM every night became my everyday routine. A way of life I certainly wasn't used to, but I made that effort for him. After all, isn't a relationship all about making compromises?

It could not have been going better. In my mind, I snagged the last good soul in a city where you find nothing but overrated personalities and dishonest voices. He was the most handsome man I've ever seen, he made me laugh, and we got along really well. No A-list actor could hold a flame to his looks. His parents loved me and treated me like a daughter. I would go out of my way for them, and they would do the same for me. I was planning our future. I felt like life had been stringing me along with washed-out candidates for years and he came and cut me loose. Third time's a charm; I felt like I had finally gotten it right.

We would spend our days sending pictures of cute, tiny animals to each other, watching movies, and talking endlessly about life. I made sure we did those stereotypical couple moments in life that I didn't want to miss out on. I never got those before him. We carved pumpkins, dressed up as an iconic duo for Halloween, took dorky photos, and kept up with anniversaries. I tried my best to show him that I was someone he should keep for the future. I would cook for him, take care of him when he was sick, and made sure to keep him happy with little gifts here and there. I wanted him to know how much of a woman I was despite my age. He had asked me to move in at the start of our relationship, and of course, I impulsively said yes because I wanted to keep up the image that I could take care of us like a housewife could. He brought me along to family dinners, and I brought him to mine. I bonded with his grandparents, a relationship formed with them that I would never have with my own.

Many times I told myself I would be stupid to leave him. I guess that no longer matters.

Slowly, this perfect image I had created under his picture started to falter. I realized that I was almost playing the role of the male in the relationship and that my efforts far exceeded his. I was receiving fewer messages every day and it would be hours before I got some sort of response. I felt like I was bothering him when I called to talk to him. I would tell myself it was because he was busy, that he didn't just forget about me. Going out, I would catch him looking at other women, but I never said anything because I didn't want to seem like the naggy girlfriend guys tend to complain about having. Of course, it hurt like hell, but it would hurt more knowing I caused a fight between us if I brought that up. Our conversations became dry and one-sided, he would stop coming over, and he would pick me up at a ridiculously late hour for dates the few times he did.

I actually started to convince myself with excuses that I fed him mentally. 'He's just tired from work,' 'he ate an hour before I called,' or 'he must've forgotten to charge his phone.' I would drive the distance to see him, I would pay for our meals, and it was me initiating conversations. There is nothing wrong with me doing those things as long as the other is also giving equal effort. He wasn't. But between the entirety of it all, he stopped going out of his way for me. He went from the caring boyfriend who brought me soup when I was sick to this almost transparent enigma that my family barely thought existed anymore.

I think it's safe to say that I peeked behind the curtain they always tell you never to look behind, because peeking is a simple euphemism for realization smacking you dead in the face. His honeymoon high started to wear off while I was still drowning in it. I looked at him as if he was my sun and moon, the reason I woke up every day, and the reason I breathed. I thought he kept me grounded, and I thought that this was the man I had been looking for. Unfortunately, like our more recent than not conversations, that feeling was completely one-sided.

I tried to look at the bigger picture, telling myself that this was only a temporary rough patch that he wasn't telling me he was going through, but as my lonely days became more apparent to people, so did the reality. I would leave my house at 8 PM to go visit my boyfriend who lives 4 minutes down the road and would make it to his doorstep at 9:45 PM. I would drive around aimlessly for hours in my car, waiting for him to respond that it was OK for me to come over. He would often forget about me, he'd fall asleep, or just watch YouTube videos.

Netflix episodes would pass, mental breakdowns would transpire and binge shopping for things I didn't need would take place as I tried to find things to do to pass the time until he would deem me worthy enough to see me. My self-esteem would crumble along with the sound of empty fast food bags. This was becoming unhealthy. This was becoming a habit and almost every day I would find myself upset because I started to feel like an option.

Second choice.

I would cry in my room alone at night, feeling like my everything was slowly slipping through my fingers because although having someone technically attached to my Instagram relationship bio didn't mean anything when he didn't deliver as a partner. Physically he was there, but emotionally he felt gone.

I never did have the heart to respond to his mother when she would ask why we would go out to eat so late. What was I supposed to say? Your son forgot about me again? Had he better things to do with his time? Instead, I just smiled and shrugged my shoulders.

I never asked for flowers, or for him to buy me lavish things. I never asked for him to drive the fanciest car, or have the nicest job. I wanted his loyalty, his time, and for him to love me back.

It took me almost a year to figure out he couldn't offer me any of those...

I felt like I didn't deserve the poor treatment my significant other was giving me. Never stating how terrible I started to feel about being in this relationship wasn't something I had to do to get my parents attention to it. They noticed it themselves and had their own opinion on the guy.

At this point, my eyes became burdened with realization, because the only thing I could see was the same army of red flags waving in the distance that I'd been ignoring this whole time. The feeling those flags gave me was nothing short of despair. Instead of me being the exception I assumed I would be being his girlfriend, he would often wrap me in with everyone else out there and look at me as part of the majority. We were complete opposites. Is that why people say opposites attract? I loved talking to people, he hated it. He was so incredibly impatient, even with me, and I had all the patience in the world. We had different tastes in music, had different thoughts and expressions, and we viewed the world differently. He thought the world was out to get him, and he never listened to my explanation that it wasn't.

One of the lazy afternoons that I luckily managed to spend with him, I spent overthinking. Maybe I should do something really nice for him? Maybe he misses that constant affection I've recently pulled back on but doesn't want to mention it? I'll buy us tickets to go on that glass-bottom boat tour for our anniversary we wanted to go on. He was in the shower, so now was the time to surprise him.

I opened his computer to start browsing some websites, and there, plastered all over the screen when it was opened, were messages about a girl, a coworker, who most definitely was not me.

His intent to sleep with her, flirt with her, and engage with her had my heart dropping 18 stories below my feet.

This wasn't real.

This was fake.

A cruel joke he somehow managed to plan. I don't think I had ever felt worse than I had at that moment.

Tears brimmed my eyes as I tried to piece together how this has come about. I slammed the laptop shut and slid it back under the bed, and waited. I didn't need to see anymore. How could the love of my life do something so malicious and vindictive? Because he was mean.

Was I supposed to find that? How could he just leave that open?

Easy, he's an idiot.

I just chose not to see it. I carefully planned, in the few minutes I had, how I could bring this up to his attention without seeming like I was snooping. I thought about it and decided that I had one chance to make this work or else he was going to blame this whole thing on me. My plan was juvenile; almost juvenile enough to work.

Killing time until he was actually in the room, I acted happy, carefree, and completely smitten with him, but behind the convincing, Oscar-winning performance I gave, I was seething, confused, and very angry. I am not a confrontational person, and I like to avoid arguments, but this was not something I could let go and sweep under the rug. I had been sweeping too much under, and now the pile was becoming noticeable.

I did nothing to deserve this, but for some reason, I was on the receiving end of the pain. I took a deep breath before I started my plan, and had one very clear thought run through my mind.

'Be prepared for this to possibly end right here, right now.'

As scary as that was for my brain to admit, a very small part of me told me that it was OK if it ended.

You're going to be relieved after its all over.

A part of me I later found out to be much larger and stronger than the rest of me.

So, for the first time in my life, I acted without giving it a second thought. This was easily going to be the best or worst acting performance of my life.

Deep breaths.

Go.

"Babe, can I borrow your computer? Let's make plans for our one year anniversary," I asked in the most innocent voice I could muster up behind my shaking facade. It's not like he would notice my change in mood, he doesn't notice me anymore. He stopped noticing me a long time ago. We were only a week away from making one year, an anniversary I wanted so badly to hit, but never did.

Asking for his password, although I had memorized it months ago, he gave it to me without question, and I made sure he watched my every move. Every second of this situation was so crucial, so important. Sitting on the edge of the bed while he floundered around, I let out the tiniest yet audible gasp from my lips, trying to act surprised at what I had "just found". He immediately looked over at me and froze in his spot as he asked what was wrong. He seemed too concerned, almost as if he knew he had been caught doing something he shouldn't have. He oozed guilt.

I let my raw emotions come out as I said the next line. I held nothing back.

"I think I read something I wasn't supposed too."

He wasted no time in coming over to the side of the bed where I was sitting and grabbed the laptop away to read what was on the screen. He slowly sunk down to a sitting position, understanding what was happening at this moment. His memory never benefitted him; it was always terrible and probably forgot he even wrote that about her.

I looked over at him with such a defeated face, one he couldn't fix no matter how hard he tried. I didn't see the man I once looked at with such adoration. Instead, I was staring at a sad excuse for a boy who needed to learn how to grow up. This guy wasn't all rainbows and sunshine. In fact, he had a lot of baggage he currently carries with him. It's why he acts the way he does.

The only thing he was able to say was, "I'm so sorry." He could barely look back at me.

I was sorry, too. I wasn't sure what for yet.

He sat me down and told me he was going to tell me everything.

He told me he loved me, but he wasn't in love.

This sent a cold surge down my entire spine. I wasn't ready for that. It caught me off guard so much that my mouth dropped open a little bit. He started from the beginning, saying that he wasn't ready when I wanted to be his girlfriend, or that when I said 'I love you' he said it back just to be nice.

He loved me, but he wasn't in love?

He felt rushed and didn't want to speak his mind in fearing he'd lose me or scare me away.

That alone lost me.

The way he was speaking made it seem like he wasn't defending himself against what I was accusing him of doing, it was him explaining why he was ok with this ending. I wasn't OK with it! I made sure I asked why he'd done this, over and over. He said he was just being selfish, and that I didn't deserve this treatment at all, that I deserved better. He didn't mean it when he said I was the most beautiful girl in the world, or that I was his everything.

"The best thing for us would be for me to be in love... but I'm not."

That was a slap in the face if I've ever felt one.

He loved me, but he wasn't in love....

Despite what I tell friends and family, those words still haunt me every night before I drift to sleep. It's a splinter in my hand that I can't seem to get out. The itch I've yet to scratch because I can't reach it. The book on the top shelf I can't grab because I'm too short.

I wanted to know if he meant these things. His head shaking from side to side is still clear as day, replaying itself on repeat in my mind.

This conversation lasted hours, but to me, it felt like seconds. We moved from the bedroom to the bathroom and back again. Between tears, tissues, and defeated shoulders all on my part, somewhere in the middle of it all I prepared myself to hear those dreaded words from his mouth. I wanted to sit next to him, to feel that warmth that I once yearned for, but now he felt cold and detached, a feeling I knew all too well. I tried to tell him that I would forgive him, for this unforgivable act, but he didn't even want to try to repair things, claiming it happened before and he didn't want to be bothered with the trouble. He didn't want to go through that again. Stupid of me for thinking I would be the one exception for him he never made me.

He didn't love me, and he wasn't in love.

This feeling that I was feeling had been here for weeks already, and yet somehow I was relieved because the worst was here. I was in the midst of the battle, and I was just awaiting the outcome now.

He had already been long gone before he left.

My heart was more than ripped out. It took a beating everytime he opened his mouth.

He claimed it wasn't my fault at all and not to blame myself, but even though that's what he said, it's not what I understood. Everything he said made it sound like an accusation, laced with an extra dose of guilt, and I immediately blamed myself. I told him that I loved him for his flaws, his imperfections, and the pieces of himself he would never grow to love. Over the course of a year, I managed to learn almost everything I possibly could about him in that period of time. The one thing I didn't learn was his apparent inability to love.

I wish I could tell you that night was a blur, but unfortunately, it's still as fresh as it was all those months ago...

It's still so vivid.

Vivid, like the red underlining of a misspelled word on a computer.

Vivid, like the red exit signs in a dark theater.

So vivid that I probably won't forget it for a while. I was caught off guard and tripped over the rug that was ripped out from underneath me.

He was the wolf in sheep's clothing they warn you about in nursery rhymes. The boy that mothers warn their kids about to stay far, far away from because boys like him bring nothing but heartache.

Eventually, his parents came home, and he advised that I should leave. He was kicking me out. Although I never got all my answers, it dawned on me that I wasn't going to get any no matter how long I stubbornly fought. I asked if I could at least say goodbye to the family that did nothing but welcome me with open arms.

All I did was thank them for everything. For welcoming me with open arms and accepting me for who I was. For inviting me to family dinners and tagging me in social media pictures with them. For giving me a year of grandparents I'll never have for my own. Most of all, thank you for giving me an ex who taught me to have standards next time I date, to stick up for myself, and speak up when I'm not happy.

I turned towards the door and opened it to leave. Before it closed, I felt him watching me, and I leaned in for one last kiss that I had grown to love over the year. I just wanted one more taste of the sensation I became hooked on.

It was short, empty, and completely meaningless. That sensation was gone.

I dragged my way to the car and sat inside for a minute or two, trying to process the whirlpool of crap that just rained down on my world, before turning it on and leaving without looking back. Again, I grieved the loss of an immature, video game playing boy who broke my heart for the very third time.

He must've forgotten what he told me a year ago. His promise to keep me safe, to keep me entertained and happy. His promise to be my rock and carry me when my legs gave out. He promised to be the one to give me all those wild moments young couples should have.

I had been dancing on my own by myself for months when it takes two to tango. I had been shoveling coal into a dying fire when all he did was stand there with a shovel. Maybe this is why he didn't want to change his status on Facebook to 'in a relationship,' because he knew it wouldn't last.

I felt like my guardian angel put in his two weeks and forgot to tell me. Was this just a sick joke that life is allowed to play? Was I the one person who lost the game of roulette that I was playing with the devil, and now I'm doomed to endless torment? I feel alone, in a gross, deflated bubble that was slowly sucking the oxygen out of my lungs.

In the coming months, all I did was overthink about everything and I was prepared for all the things that would remind me of him. I had to keep myself busy. I didn't have a choice.

I took shelter in many hobbies. Writing, playing the piano, and charcoal sketching.

I was tired of being tired and tired of being sad. I never thought a human soul could be built for this, but it is. It's meant for a lot worse than just a simple heartbreak.

Many times in romance I've been a victim of my own optimism, and every time it's bitten me in the ass.

I started to evaluate the common theme in the guys I've dated and been burned by. They have many, many things in common and aside from them coming from the same background, they were all musicians.

Musicians have the tendency to be egotistical and I think I'm going to stay away from what I know best...

After it was all over, the dust settled and I was left with the remnant of a night I still can't believe happened. For a very long time, I let him decide if I was allowed to breathe, let alone make it through the day without breaking down.

If I could say one thing to him now, it would be thank you. Hell, I might even hug him.

I no longer picture your face when a sad song comes on. I no longer hang my head in a pitiful manner when a shirt passes by with your favorite band on it. I no longer cringe when I hear your name in public.

My love to bear isn't the burden that ruined us, it was you.

Where there was once a chaotic battlefield entranced in flames is now in ashes and billows of smoke, and the fiery funnels that once consumed my thoughts were put out by the love and support of my friends and family. I realized that I was searching for something I was never going to find because what I wanted didn't exist in him. It took a while to see it. The term grasping at straws never became so relevant in my life than it did that night. I took that leap of faith that people tell you to take when you're in love, because your soul mate will be there to catch you at the bottom, except I took that leap of faith and landed on my hands and knees, and looking up was just the outline what I thought he was that stood there.

Although love has the power to destroy every part of you, it has the ability to create a stronger, thicker skin to help you repair yourself.

The reality is, true love never expires and although relationships do, we often think that the one we're in is invincible. Imagine a timer, covered by a blanket sitting dormant in the back of your mind. Happy moments with our significant other make us think that the timer has stopped, that it no longer ticks. It's always ticking, and you never know when the second hand hits 0 until its over. I thought my timer stopped the moment I met him, but while he was watching the days tick away, I was happily ignoring it.

When in a relationship, you either win or you learn. You never come out as a loser, just someone who carries life lessons on their back now.

I carry mine everywhere I go. Preaching to myself and others at times.

I'll keep my head high, my chin strong, and my fists up because it's time to fight for what I want.

Don't give up. Your person is out there. You'll find him, I promise.

Love,

Optimism