I assumed when I first found out the news about your
girlfriend in the middle of a family dinner that my reaction would be worse. Instead,
I laughed once and kept quiet for the rest of the meal. My head was strangely
blank on the drive back to my cousin’s house. Maybe a shower would ease the
tightness I imagined locked in my chest. However, nothing happened while the hot
water pounded my shoulders. After toweling myself, my eyes remained dry despite
how they’d stared unblinkingly at the mirror for several seconds too long. I went
through the pre-bed motions and fell asleep without a lingering thought. The
next morning (and the mornings after that) passed similarly, resulting in a well
of satisfaction at having handled the news in such a mature fashion.
As it turned out, denial and pride had fooled me into
believing that I came away unaffected; my reaction had in fact been merely
delayed by a few weeks. My emotions were patient enough to wait until I
returned home to the States, settled in perfect comfort and routine within the
walls of my room for when I finally checked my inbox to find a message from the
person I had expected never to hear from again. The email was two months late
and of worth to no one but me. I scanned lines that sounded contrite, that acknowledged
exactly how unfairly you had treated me, and yet the expression on my face failed
to change, my armor seemed impenetrable—all the way up to this line: “Perhaps it was because you were pretty good at convincing
me that your mile-high and mile-wide guard wall was impenetrable.”
I reread
it twice, and sure enough, the tears welled up quickly, running hot down my
cheeks at 3am. Perhaps it’d been better if you hadn’t sent anything at all. At
least then I could pretend that the truth of your silence was not so glaringly
obvious in every apologetic word. The girl doesn’t bother me. Let’s be honest,
finding someone else while I was abroad sounds like something I would have done
too. No. You thought so little of me that whatever investment I had made in our
potential arrangement meant nothing, my stake in this floating weightless in
your mind—a non-factor. Like me. What an inconsiderate coward you are, fleeing
a scene you yourself had caused. How utterly predictable to boast of your
candor in the beginning, only to admit to your fear of being forthright far
past the point of decency. In the end, I’m left feeling stupid, to have shown
honesty and expecting reciprocity.
But
mostly? I’m tired. I am so tired of keeping these walls up, and as you’ve
demonstrated, they’re up for good reason. Sometimes I want to bend (and break)
under the crushing weight of all this emotional armor, but I know that if I don’t
wear it, disappointments like this (like you) would crush me even more. I’m
very fragile once I let someone in, but s/he wouldn’t know because I wouldn’t—I
don’t—let him/her know. The simple
truth is that my feelings have never mattered to anyone because I refuse to let
others think I even have them. This prison-fortress, then, is my own making. I
have no one to blame but myself. This is what I get for allowing vulnerability
without telling you.
Of
course you’re not the first to hurt me. Don’t flatter yourself. But you’re the
first in months (even years) to make me think long and hard about how I choose
to navigate (romantic) intimacy.