… to the one that got away, but never actually left. Thank you for being my bad habit.
Have you ever met someone you connected to so intensely that something about their being got stuck inside of you? It pops up like a bad habit over and over again exactly when you think it’s done.
I have. It was like I felt you coming. Before I even met you, when I heard your name, something in my heart tightened. I tried to ignore that spark I felt about someone I’d never seen, but there it was. And then I continued to try to ignore that sinking feeling I got when I found out you were already taken. But it was already there. Our first conversation, I played tough, guarded, and protective. And then I met you, and the jig was up.
It was so easy, the way we interacted. The conversation never stopped. A smile was plastered to my face. It was your fault. I laughed as hard as I could remember laughing in years. And you loved it. You lapped up my energy like a thirsty dog at the water bowl. For the first time in years, I felt myself like someone. I felt myself want someone. I just wish it hadn’t been you.
You made me feel special while simultaneously making me feel like I wasn’t good enough. You told me how you wanted me, what it would be like, but you never acted. You never left her. Now I’m no Meredith Grey, ‘pick me, choose me, love me’, but I certainly wouldn’t have said no. And I certainly wouldn’t have hated finally being the one, finally actually being special to someone, finally being worth it.
I always thought it would end up with you and me together, somehow, magically, in that romantic comedy way where there’s bad timing, and other people, and a comedy of errors. I mean, eventually even Ted and Robin figure it out and the eventual epic love story finally comes together. (If that reference makes no sense, please go back a re-watch How I Met Your Mother and find you someone you steal a blue French horn for.)
Here I was standing by you through tragedy, your eventual prolonged breakup, and even you’re continual talent for letting me down, as if I made a difference to you, as if I mattered in your life. It was like I thought I factored in as anything more than a toy you picked up when you were bored, lonely, and desperate. And I forgave you for all of it. Just a little grin and I fell to Jell-O. One witty comment and somehow I was that weak, little girl I always feared being. And yet you captivated me.
And then you met her, and even though I felt you pull away, I denied it. And you pretended nothing had changed. After all you had said one day with me and you’d be in love, and then you went and asked her to marry you, the girl who looks like me. But she isn’t. I died a little inside that day, knowing that part of me was still waiting for you, even with the rock on her finger.
See, you’ve always known just what to say to keep me on the hook, wanting you just enough, wondering what it would be like. You know just what to say to make me think of you as soon as I’ve moved on. As soon as I’ve convinced myself that I’m not special to you, you get soft and tell me I’m the only one that makes you this way. And I’m back on your hook. Stupid little fish.
Don’t get me wrong, I’m not blameless. I’ve kept my hold on you in that same way you’ve kept yours on me. We both make sure it’s still there. Just in case. I call you to ‘make sure your ok’, to check on you, and, if we’re honest, to remind you of me, and a little bit to make sure you still feel it. I’m your back up. It just took me until now to realize that you’re mine as well. I need you there, wanting. You’re my security blanket in case maybe I don’t find “it” and you’ll still be around and you’ll be good enough. The man who didn’t pick me, good enough. Ironic isn’t it?
So I move onto rationalization, the thing I do best. I tell myself that meeting you had to be a lesson. Maybe it was just about setting a standard of what I can’t accept less than in some area. Like learning what great sex is and realizing you can never go back to accepting less. It’s the realization that this aspect of this person is critical to me in being a part of the person I need. And that’s what I think I have to take from our interactions (since we certainly can’t call it any form of a relationship). The ease of our conversations, the way you make me laugh, the way you see me, the way I allow myself to see me in your presence, the fire between us, those are critical pieces for me to carry forward. Those are pieces you taught me to seek in my eventual match.
And there’s nothing wrong if I someday find myself in the possibility of finding out what if. What if you’re single, and I’m single? What would be so wrong in finding out what it might be like to be with you? I mean if you have the chance to do something you always wondered about and didn’t do when you could, that would be silly right? It’s like denying yourself a chance to complete a bucket list item that hurts no one. That would be absurd!
On the other hand, it’s taken me years to sort out what your mind games and indecisiveness have done to me. Or maybe it was just how I chose to see your choice of not me as indecisiveness. For the first time now, finally, I can see myself as worthwhile. I mean rarely, when I’m dressed up and dolled up. But I could never have kept up that façade near you and your lifestyle and your fancy crowd you’ve tried so hard to become part of. There, I was just another girl. Not good enough, rich enough, thin enough, enough enough.
Don’t get me wrong, I still like to make sure you see me when I know I’m looking good. Especially when other men remind me. It’s good to know that people recognize what you missed, what you passed on. And I know somewhere inside of you, you’re thinking it too. And that’s the one comfort I can still take, even if it is slightly vindictive.
Yet I can’t shake the part of me that has this need to see you one day when I have all the things I’ve always wanted, a stable career, real love and partnership, and the security, confidence, and stability I’ve always sought, not because it’s a competition, but because deep down I still feel the need to show you, and more to show me, that I really do deserve all those things. In my imagination, I find myself needing to stand in front of you making sure that what I have is more than you would have been to me. That’s the part I still don’t like in me. That’s the part I’m still working on.
In a low moment, a good friend once made you into an analogy for me. He called you the bridge troll. He said she was perfect for you because she was a forest troll. You two were the same kind. (He uses his own special form of comfort like all great friends.) So, I asked him, what did that make me, some sort of forest nymph? And I’ll never forget what he told me.
“No”, he said, “You’re a dragon because you’re scaly and breathe fire.” That is of course, what every girl dreams of hearing, but his explanation was really what said it all. He told me that when angered, I did in fact breath fire, but only because I had to protect me and mine. And my ‘scales’, well they were hard on the outside for my own protection, but they protected the me underneath. More importantly he said this…
There are only two people who may slay a dragon. One is a knight. He can ride in on his horse, go into battle, and put the beast to rest, maybe for a little while. But only a prince can come in, see a dragon, and nurture her until she becomes be a princess. That is until she becomes his queen.
He continued…
You, my dear, have not found a prince, only a troll, and no troll can handle the strength and force of a dragon. No troll can penetrate those tough scales. So he finds something he can run with, and understand, his Forrest troll, and together they live happily ever after. And you remain waiting for your prince. You’ll know him when you’re unable to throw him from your back with your strength, and when your fire-breathing is just another adorable tactic you’ve unsuccessfully used to scare him off. And when these things are true, your scales will melt, and the dragon you appear to be will disappear, leaving only the princess behind. And on that day you will ride off into the sunset and become the queen you were always meant to be. So remember to wait for your prince.
These may be the kindest words ever spoken to me by any human ever. My standards may also be low.
So, my dear Troll, I guess what I’m trying to say in my own roundabout, long-winded kind of way is Thank You. Thank you for making me laugh. Thank you for reminding me I wasn’t dead inside. Thank you for waking me up and showing me what fire feels like. Thank you for all those moments I actually felt special in your presence. And thank you for the lessons you’ve taught me. I do love you, I always will, and I want you to have everything you’ve dreamed of, even if I think you’re too afraid to go get it. I honestly hope you’re happy and fulfilled. She’s a truly great girl. I hope somewhere in me, you’ve also learned your lessons. And I hope you will do right by her because of that.
I now gracefully withdraw from the race, or the battle depending on your viewpoint. I’ll think of you fondly when my heart flutters at your name on my SnapChat. And in that moment, I’ll remember to thank you again. You have yourself a great girl. Please do right by her.
Add comment