The Handle Over

I get into this slump sometimes where I believe everything good that has happened to me wasn’t real.

I am still not over Calvin. And I know I won’t be for some time.

Damn it, this sucks.

I question if he ever really did love me.

I talked to him the other day. He’s going to Austin, Texas for his next degree.

That put some of my concerns to rest. Not all.

He’s so much more active on social media now. Was I something that kept him from it? Does he even miss me?

I hate social media for this reason. I feel as though I can’t escape from it.

I tried the whole blocking and unfollowing thing. He got upset over that. I explained. I changed my mind because I thought I could handle it.

I can’t handle it.

I think this sudden burst in activity shows me how he felt in our relationship. He never wanted to share us. I was a safety net. I was always so proud of him, but was he ever so proud of me? Maybe at some point, but definitely not for a lot of it.

I was.

I’m not sure if I did anything wrong. Maybe I was just wrong for him. There’s a huge difference.

He wasn’t always right for me, but he was enough. Should I ever settle for what’s “enough”? What’s more than enough? Is that even a tangible thing?

I have booked my flight to go to California for a visit.

Calvin says he’s excited for me and that’s he’s always wanted me to go there. I don’t know what that means. I don’t know what any of it means.

When we talked, I had so much I wanted to say to him. So much anger and hate and sadness and disappointment that I wanted to throw in his face. But I didn’t. I only had good words to say. When he called, I was about to go out for a hike. We talked for about an hour. He talked for about 45 minutes of it. Probably more. I talked at first about the internship, but I didn’t say much about it. Just where it was, the population, what’s next to figure out, and how I was still in shock over it. Part of that is my fault, though. His professor is on sabbatical and he’s had the opportunity to work with some of the greats in our field. He actually was a taxi for one of them and got to know him fairly well. I had to hear the full story on that.

Of course I did.

I don’t know why I did.

I mean, yes, he’s one of the greats. Why did I really care, though? As he kept talking, the more and more I asked myself this question. Did I actually care about the content or just how I could hear his smile? Did I care about their drive down from the airport as they struggled to find him food then took him to a bar in Bloomington or was I just interested in keeping him on the line? The longer we talked, the more I became uncomfortable.

I cut off the conversation after that hour because I needed to go think. I needed to be out in the world and away from this tiny apartment that holds so many memories.

I hate him so much in a lot of ways. Mostly, I hate that he makes me hate myself. Not really his fault, but also he’s entirely to blame.

I had been so happy. I was waking up without feeling like a ton of bricks was sitting on my chest. I was about to reduce the amount of times I went to therapy each week. Now, I’m back to counting down the days until I go back. I’m back to questioning if I should go to the hospital daily. I hate the effect this has had upon me.

I don’t like that he wants me to go to California. California is my place for myself. I know I have no ownership rights over the state especially since he was born there, but it solidifies that he doesn’t want me in his life anymore.

And I can’t handle that.


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