Wednesday, 6 July 2016

It's the Little Moments That Count Too Much

There was a moment a few weeks ago. A passing glance without a hint of acknowledgment that managed to send a lovely day careening into the depths of my emotional bullshit. I was in line at Starbucks, in the midst of enjoying my day. A day designed to make me nothing but happy. I walked through a light mist of rain into downtown Saskatoon, had acupuncture, bought a hydrangea plant, and stopped for a coffee on my way home. I've spent a lot of time over the past six months this way, scrambling to find some semblance of myself in the wreckage he left as he walked out of my apartment in December. I’ve been trying to spite him somehow. To arrive in the future ahead of him in some way - maybe with some arbitrary accomplishment like a relationship, or perhaps just to arrive at that moment in such a state of ambivalence toward him that his lack of acknowledgment would mean nothing. Six months of simultaneously dreading that moment, and doing everything I can to be ready for it.

We all know that moment. The one where your heart plummets to the floor because you’ve spotted that person you care(d) about for the first time since whatever it was they did to you; and despite already feeling the hole in your heart from their casual stab into it, they manage to twist the knife ever so slightly deeper by completely ignoring you.

Yeah. That fucking moment.

I stood there bewildered as he walked past me, glanced my way, and ushered his…friend (read: chick I'm pretty sure he's now with, not just fucking around with)…to the end of the line. I began to vibrate. I do this, in these moments. When I see someone who had a profound effect on me, yet I yearn for them to have no effect at all. I vibrate, as though the emotions raging in my mind have organized themselves into a hum reverberating throughout my body. I can only hope the vibrations are not actually palpable - it would negate the enormous effort I make to maintain my cool-as-a-fucking-cucumber exterior. My heart (after returning to its rightful home in my chest and not hanging around in my shoes) pounds so loudly I’m convinced everyone can hear its violent beating. At times, I feel almost near implosion - which would be helpful, as then I wouldn’t have to endure the awkwardness of trying to maintain my shit whilst strategically holding my hydrangea plant to obscure me from view.

Every ounce of hurt I had been holding onto came flooding in, and I suddenly found myself not only fighting to maintain some semblance of a human form, but also fighting back a tear. What the fuck, April? Seriously. It’s been six months. Why does this fucking matter anymore? He has clearly moved on, and you’re standing here rattled by the sight of him with his new fling. Fuck you, asshole. Fuck you for stringing me along and then snatching away something that finally felt good. Fuck you for making me feel like a big fat bag of ass over something so trivial as spotting you in a coffee shop. Fuck. You. (End April's fuck-laden inner monologue.)

I hastily retreated with my iced chai latte, hearing the faint ping announcing the arrival of a message. I had furiously fired messages to my friends seeking some placating bullshit that would calm me down. Instead, one of my best friends Beans fired back with a tender truth: "It's about's a little about him, but mainly about you.”

My first instinct was to deny, deny, deny. What the fuck are you talking about Beans?? I mean, the guy pursued me. Hard. We spent a significant amount of time together for the three-ish months we were, ummm, together? And there it is - a little hit of insight. I've been clinging to a fucking non-relationship, and I've wallowed for six months because of a fucking non-break up (there are apparently many more than zero fucks to give here). I'm quite certain that for us to have had a relationship, the other party would have to refrain from planning a trip to England (yes, ANOTHER FUCKING CONTINENT) solely to screw some broad there. It follows, then, that a non-break up would happen when he shared that little tidbit of information with me after I spent the night sharing his bed. You're right, Beans. I've let that moment have far more than the time it's due, and now I'm done. I'm exhausted from carrying that punched-in-the-gut feeling everywhere I go. I'm so fucking spent from letting someone else's choice dictate my feelings. And I am definitely done with curating my life to make someone (who doesn't deserve my energy) jealous. I allow that to happen all too often in my life. 

Let’s live life in the pursuit of happiness for the right reason - for ourselves, not out of spite for someone else.


P.S. - How could I be a scorned woman without Adele to guide me through!? The timing of her new single and this post could not be better. And neither could her eyebrows in this vid.

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