“Sorry you are having a really good life and are contented by it: a love story.” "I never really liked you, but everyone else was worse: a love story." "I'm in love with you and you don't want anything to do with me so I can think we can make this work: a love story." "Just because you have beautiful eyes doesn't mean you're deep: a love story." "Let's pretend you are capable of being who I think I need you to be: a love story." "I guess you aren't going to rescue me from my life: a love story." - So Sad Today, by Melissa Broder. It's a beautiful thing when a book can reach right into your skull and pull out all of the things you've thought, but have never been able to find the right words to say. It's another thing when that book is a collection of essays, written by someone strong enough, vulnerable enough to put their name in full, bold ink next to the most exposed parts of themselves. Reading those quotes over, I'm saddened by how much they reflect who I was in my past relationship (I'm choosing to skip over my 'actual' last relationship). It's hard to not stew in shame, embarrassment, and disappointment. Sometimes I get angry at myself for all that I put up with. But then I remember that I was fresh into my adulthood, living in a household with levels of traumas. I wasn't in a headspace to make half the decisions that I did, and someone who presented themselves as stable was offering to show me a new life. You would've gone, too. It's frequently on my mind just how hard it is to move past bad relationships. Even when we are finally in a stable, loving relationship, those wounds carry on. The hurt, the betrayal, the patterns of up and down have already become etched into the fiber of our being. The littlest of things can trigger those memories and swallow us, even just for a few moments. Of course, the most beautiful thing is that when we're with someone who truly cares about us, they pick up on those snaps in and out of trauma responses. They hold us through it. They let us know that we're okay now. When reflecting on my current relationship, one fundamental aspect of it sets it far apart from my past one; I live alone. Every night, I get to come home to a safe house with no yelling, no underlying anxiety or fear. I'm able to exist and be. I don't dread knowing that a certain someone will be home, I don't tiptoe down the stairs, careful to avoid anyone. No one will be under my roof who I don't want there. I'm so happy that I'm not who I was in years' past. I'm so thankful that I don't have who I thought I'd want forever. I'm elated that I'm living the life I have now. I've come a really long way, and I'm glad that I'm here to exist in it.
