On a high level, now out of the cut, it doesn’t make a lot of sense.
It was like anything else, and any other relationship. At first, she loved all the quirks, all the stupid shit, all the times that I’d get higher than the moon, all the times I’d watch Bob’s Burgers or eat some shitty cheap food. Then she started digging at me for doing those things, little teasing here and there, the woman’s way of making a point that she wants you to stop doing what you’re doing. Whatever that is.
About two months in I started getting cold with her when I spoke, the same problem that’s made my mother and sister cry numerous times. My way of telling you to shut the fuck up.
Hey, I don’t like it either. I’ve been trying to change it. Some of you, acquaintances and friends, have probably heard me say something in a way that, to be frank, cuts way too fucking deep than it needs to.
But, of course, this became a problem for her. My parents, loving seeing me want to change so that I could be better for my woman, piggy backed on this movement and co-opted it like Donald Trump would co-opt a movement to put a fence on the Mexican border that would straight vaporize anyone from the Mexican side trying to climb it. Soon, incredibly, your boy was in therapy. One, two times a week. The therapist was nice enough, trying to sort out “why I was angry.” It all came back to high school, eventually, which we knew by the second session. It was slowly working. I noticed my cold tone, at least. The next step was actually implementing a plan to repair my broken communication.
One session after I realized it was from insecurities from high school, which didn’t surprise me all that much, I was greeted with the news that she wanted out. Out of it all. She told me I’d changed, and that I wasn’t who she wanted to be with, or who she’d fallen in love with.
Yeah, I’m still an addict to her and that feeling, but how can someone be so stupid? She put me in therapy, she initiated it all, she watched me struggle with my own issues, and she gave me, what, three weeks?
Now? Now, it’s just funny. Now I see it for what it was. I see it for what it always had been. The girl wanted me to change, but only the parts she wanted to change. Like a game of Operation! Special edition: Costa. Sometimes, though, in case you don’t know, you hit the side of the little hole, you know the thing you’re pulling the bone out of.
Yeah, we’re still doing this Operation analogy.
And when you hit the side, shit buzzes and you lose. In this, to be frank, dumb, dumb case, she and I both lost, because she was busy trying to pull out some things, move other things into places they didn’t belong, all while expecting not to hit any of the sides.
My dear, what hell of a surgeon you’d be if you could do that.
But now, there ain’t any of that. And, girl, I haven't been to that therapist in months. I change the way I want to change, not because I need to, but because there’s room for it, and it’s necessary.
And that’s just the thing: it’s all about change.
Hell, since then, man how much have I changed? I’d probably whoop the guy you dated if I saw him on the street because I know he’d have backed down.
And, see, it doesn’t hurt me to call who I’ve been until lately a pussy. That’s the damn point: I’m at peace with where I’m going, even if I have no idea where that is.
A year from now I’ll probably look back on all this, shake my head, and feel disappointed in myself but only because I let it affect me so much. Only because it’s been so long and I’m still reluctantly vibing to this beat. I should have moved onto another one, but every time I do, things get stale and I bust out of there.
Fuck, I’ve learnt so much.
And really, I can’t thank you enough.
