You are my past; I have deleted you from almost every part of my life. You no longer serve a purpose, and all I accomplished by allowing you to be there was an opportunity to hurt me more – which you seemingly grabbed at eagerly each time. I gave you too many chances, something I am famous for doing, and while I typically avoid regret (everything is a learning experience), I cannot help myself; I regret even speaking to you after you hurt me the first time. You never deserved my kindness, my friendship, or my love. I know now that you are not the kind, caring person I once thought you to be; you are not a true friend, and do not deserve any space in my heart or my mind.
I am no longer sad that you are not there. I no longer miss you, I no longer immediately wonder what you would think, and how you would react to something funny that happened that I couldn’t wait to tell you about.
My sadness is dulled now, different; it now comes from other places, like the occasional wish to share good news and celebrate my accomplishments with you. From knowing how proud the person I once knew would be of me. From the fact that it would be completely abnormal for me to reach out and tell you such news, or anything about my life, really. I imagine how I would feel if I ran into you accidentally, and it hurts me that the last thing I want is to see you. I know all you would do is respond with the forced awkwardness that you feel because you can sense deep down that I know you, regardless of the time that has passed, and that I’m not afraid to call you out on it when you act fake. You’re uncomfortable because you know that you can’t and shouldn’t be honest with me anymore. You’re not allowed, and we both know it. Knowing all of these things doesn’t really sting anymore.
Yet, I am occasionally haunted by certain memories. I am human, after all.
I remember when you contacted me a year ago with apologies of how you fucked up, how you wished it was different, how it all could have been different. That you missed me and you realized too little, too late how important I was to you. Those apologies were what most people probably wait to hear after the way you hurt me, but they really didn’t change much. What haunted me the most was when you told me that I was right – you’re not yourself anymore, and you hate it; the latter via Snapchat, where words conveniently disappear.
Much like you did.
I struggled with that for the longest time; it made me sad that you were being anything but your authentic self, even if I wasn’t in your life anymore. However, I know now that it doesn’t matter. It doesn’t matter if you’re happy, if you’re sad, if you’re being true to yourself or not. It’s not for me to think about, and my friendship is not yours to have. You never chose me, whether in love or in friendship, and I’m not sure why I ever gave you a chance (or three) to wonder if I was worthy.
Your memories are becoming blurred. I am experiencing the familiarity of disconnect when I think of you now. Sadness has given way to indifference and distaste.
I told you once a long time ago that actions speak louder than words, and you’ll see that now when I back up my words. When you miss me, please know you made the choice for both of us.
Thank you for showing me that anyone that doesn’t choose me isn’t worth being sad over; thank you for reminding me how important it is to love myself first.
Thank you for helping me to choose myself.