I found myself going through my random laptop pictures this morning. This one stuck out to me in particular. I remember this moment like it was yesterday. Yuriy and I were at our beloved Colt State Park. We had walked around, had a picnic, played frisbee, did some more walking and then wound up together in this tree. He began taking pictures of me without warning, as he often did from the start of us dating. I’d have instantaneous panic attacks in my mind about how terrible I looked and how worse it would reveal itself on camera. Still, I found it so lovely that was something he desired to do in those moments so I always tried to settle myself down with some logical reasoning, assuring myself that he must have been thinking I looked beautiful. In this moment though, rather this whole day, though I had loved it with him, I was very mean to myself. I had just put on roughly 10 pounds after losing so much and working so hard for it. I felt like a pig. I remember thinking for most of that day how pathetic he probably thought I was for the little things I do and how embarrassed he probably is to be seen with me, etc etc. Man…has my thinking changed.
Today when I looked at this picture, I immediately saw innocence. I saw a young, 22 year old girl looking up lovingly at her then-boyfriend, whom of which she was falling so deeply in love with. Whom of which showed her and told her in so many ways every single day that he thought she was truly so wonderfully beautiful and stunning and intelligent, but the problem was, you see, it wasn’t enough. I didn’t feel that way myself so his words, though always welcome, appreciated, respected and loved, could not be retained or believed by me. I knew it then. I did. I truly fucking did. I knew it then, but didn’t do a thing. I didn’t try to work on myself. I didn’t try to talk to him about it until it was getting too late. Until after we already lived together and I gained even more weight and my depression was eating me faster than I consumed my sugary poison. All I paid attention to was him and the changes in his behavior and tried to study them to decipher between the subconscious and conscious – moreover, day in and day out I was analyzing his behavior (very tiny things) almost to try to find a reason to leave. No, not almost. That is what I was doing. Despite everything. Everything. Ha. We had built up a lot together, beejoo and I. It was just one of those things where it was too perfect. Like unrealistically perfect. Where if I had shut my mouth and just let the unhappiness simmer, I’d be something along the lines of married with kids on the way right about now and, while we were undoubtedly a wonderful fucking team, something was always missing.
Since our demise on the tenth of July 2017, it has been my mission to figure it the fuck out. What was missing? For so many, too many months, I was convinced I was wrong and I could have been happy if I just tried harder, etc. I had never before had such a significant, impactful relationship and I truly to my core thought we were each others’ ones. I have been thankful many times since for the circumstances we are in that prevent me from reaching out to him, for I believe surely at first I would have and we likely would have gotten back together. I have needed this time on my own more than I’ve ever needed anything else. Because you know what the fuck was missing???
I was fucking missing. Me. I was not in the relationship the way he was – my perception was too off. I was irrelevant. I didn’t care. He was my primary focus and I’d feel so confused when I’d go to do the things I used to love but didn’t find joy in them anymore so I’d just go back to doing things with him. That he liked. And that I liked, too, but not loved, ya know? I wasn’t focused on expanding myself as an individual because during that time I did not see myself as one. I was a we, not a me. What a beautiful experience with a beautifully dented soul just like my own, but it is not one meant for those who have not yet established themselves first. Foundation. The dreaded word still haunts me as I remember the evening of January 24th where you established that with me. We needed to build some to take the next steps we wanted to. But didn’t. I’m sorry for chickening out, love. But we know I needed to.
I suppose all I really meant by reflecting on this picture is that perception is key. What you refuse to post in March 2016 because you don’t believe you are attractive enough is what you reminisce on in January 2019 because you firmly believe you have always been beautiful and worthy. Additionally, while I have you in mind, thank you again, beej. For making me smile like that even when I was hurting so badly inside. Not a soul has ever witnessed me so low…over and over and over. Never judged me or held it against me or any of the sort and it’s all nothing worth even discussing right now, all I’m trying to say is that I know what you had to put up with, being with me then. You were essentially living for the both of us, you know. And for that I will always be sorry. Nevertheless, ha, I don’t know. I just feel humbly proud. Soft pride if you will. For leaving him alone and figuring out my own shit. If I can get through all of those terrible fucking days that transpired after our breakup, I can get through anything. For now, just going to keep constructing my own foundation…which is no longer just a blue print or even a sand castle rendition…I’ve got beams up, motherfucker. Solid fucking beams of I-am-magnificent and they’ve been holding me up real good. And you know what??? Even IF they broke, guess who’s gonna be here to help me pick it up??? Ma friends and fam hehe. But, all that’s a hard if. I trust myself. Which, anyone who grew up desperately trying to kill themselves would tell ya, is an inconceivable feat. Hmm. Ha. Proof in the pudding. I am a success in the making.