In My Mind, I Let Go First

I sat in my car, crying.

Not just because visiting James’ grave was always hard for me, but because of the way Eric acted while at the gravesite. How cold and distant he was the whole time. How his tone lacked any empathy even though he said all the “right” things in the moment.

His actions and his energy made it clear that he didn’t want to be there, even though he tried to hide it. And it made me regret asking him to be there with me. I couldn’t help but feel angry and embarrassed. I even found myself resenting him. I trusted him to be supportive of me in that very vulnerable moment while I grieved, and instead he made me feel like a burden.

It hit me then, just how little he cared for me. And as the realization hit me, I felt something in me die.

Yet, as hurt as I was, I was still afraid to lose him. The love I had for him was still there, albeit fragmented.

For a long time, I had hope that we would end up together someday. Despite the way he treated me, I told myself over and over again that if I just kept loving him, he would let his walls down and love me back. I told myself that he loved me too; he just didn’t know it yet. I sure loved him, and I held onto that hope because the thought of losing him terrified me.

But even with that hope, I could feel that things weren’t good between us, and hadn’t been for a while. Even without actually saying it, he made it clear that he wanted distance. So I accepted that we needed some time apart.

For the next few months, I cut down on contact, but didn’t cut it completely, only reaching out to him on weekends. And I thought that was enough. I felt like I was giving him the distance he wanted. But clearly we had different ideas of what distance was.

With every weekend message I sent him, he would ignore me. And every time, it reinforced what my mind already knew but my heart didn’t want to accept. Until finally, he did respond… with a text that broke me:

“Please leave me alone. I don’t want to be friends anymore. Goodbye.”

That was when the truth finally hit me in the face. This wasn’t just a temporary break. This was the end.

And my god, it was a crushing ending. The hurt was deep. But honestly, I was less hurt by how Eric treated me, and more frustrated by the fact that I put myself through more heartbreak than I needed to.

For years after, I was so hard on myself for handling things the way I did. I wished I’d been wiser, stronger, braver, and less desperate. I felt so ashamed of myself. I could’ve avoided so much unnecessary hurt if I had just let go sooner, but I didn’t. I kept asking myself, how could I be so weak? Why couldn’t I just let go?

It took me a long time, but eventually I healed and came to terms with it all. I know now that my younger self just wanted to be loved and didn’t know better. I’ve since learned the lessons I needed to learn from that experience. And even though I wasn’t perfect, I know I was good to Eric. I loved him the way I wanted to be loved, fully and genuinely. And I think that just shows what kind of person I am, even though he chose not to appreciate it.

I also like to think of it as a lesson I can share with others. I figure, if it can help someone find the strength to let go of an unhealthy or unfulfilling relationship, then I’ve done something good with my experience.

But every time I look back on it all, I still wish I could’ve handled things better. Because if it had been my current self in that situation, it all would’ve played out very differently…

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I sat in my car, crying.

Not just because visiting James’ grave was always hard for me, but because of the way Eric acted while at the gravesite. How cold and distant he was the whole time. How his tone lacked any empathy even though he said all the “right” things in the moment.

His actions and his energy made it clear that he didn’t want to be there, even though he tried to hide it. And it made me regret asking him to be there with me. I couldn’t help but feel angry and embarrassed. I even found myself resenting him. I trusted him to be supportive of me in that very vulnerable moment while I grieved, and instead he made me feel like a burden.

It hit me then, just how little he cared for me. And as the realization hit me, I felt something in me die.

Yet, as hurt as I was, my mind was suddenly clearer than ever.

Through my tears, I saw the situation for what it really was. And I saw him for who he really was. I realized just how much he always dragged me down. How much I drained myself trying to love him into loving me back. How he always made me feel bad about myself, and how he always did it so shrewdly that it made me question myself and my sanity. That the hope I had of us eventually being together wasn’t hope at all. It was just desperation driven by fear.

His mask, his “nice guy” persona, had been slipping for a while, as much as I tried to not notice it. But that day, it fell. And so did my rose-colored glasses. It finally occurred to me just how tired and empty I was. I had nothing left to give. I was just done. All the love I had for him, or at least what was left of it, died right then and there.

And with that, I made the decision to cut him out of my life for good.

After pausing to take a deep breath and wipe my tears, I drove home and proceeded to remove every trace of him from my life. I removed his number from my phone, unfollowed him on all my socials, and deleted all the pictures I had of him in my camera roll.

And once I finished, a wave of satisfaction washed over me. Satisfied that I stopped being so afraid, and took control of the situation before it could get worse. I knew I did the right thing.

I didn’t even feel guilty about ghosting him. I wasn’t going to give him the pleasure of knowing how much he hurt me. He didn’t deserve a proper goodbye, and he wasn’t worth the effort of one. I mean, it’s not like he ever made any effort in me. So why should I feel bad?

No, it was better to just walk away. No drama. No announcing my departure. No confronting him or attempting to explain to him how his actions hurt me. No more begging him to care about me. Just a quiet release. And it felt good.

It felt like I could breathe, like I was breathing for the first time in a long time.

Although I was going to miss the gatherings at Eric’s house and playing Cards Against Humanity with the friend group, I felt relieved to have him out of my life. And even more relieved that I had the strength to let go.

And from then on, I promised myself that I would never again beg for love. I would never again lose myself in the process of loving someone else. And I would never again fight to keep someone in my life if they didn’t want to stay.

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This story was inspired by my previous story, Grieving The Dead, And The Living.

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