remember this

Three Christmases. Two victimized by the relationship, one tormented by its aftermath. Three Christmases burdended by unnecessary tears. Three should-be-happy seasons crushed under the blow of mania and push and pull, a plauging uncertainty and continued hope for the better: the better that showed its head every few weeks but never stayed for more than two consecutive days. It's not your fault, and it's not mine. It's just who you are. I simply wish you would have warned me earlier, or never saw my name, or that I could have been stronger and less tolerant, that I would have understand the weight of what you couldn't allow our love to be. And I wish I'd known earlier the art of walking away.

I bought a card for myself once, a Quotable, because I like reminders that keep me centered. You thought this was silly. But you didn't use that word. You probably said stupid, or laughed and rolled your eyes, but not in a "Oh, I love you and you're cute but weird" kind of way, but something far less endearing. Or maybe this was early in our relationship and you did think it was stupid but cute. I can't remember. It doesn't matter.

One of my friends bought me this for Christmas. It's the quote from the card that I bought for myself however long ago. And when she gave it to me, she didn't know I'd bought the card (and currently don't know where it is, when, of course, I absolutely need to remind myself of those quoted thoughts). But she knew it was something I needed to remember.

What I'm realizing now, in this once-strong, suddenly-and-obnoxiously-weakened state of the break-up, is that you couldn't get out of your head for long enough to really know me. I think you tried, but you failed. I admire your attempt, but I think you could have tried harder. I think you could have done a lot of things differently between you and me, and I'm slowly coming to accept the fact that you didn't, you wouldn't, you won't, and that's how it's supposed to be. I don't wish you any harm, but I don't yet wish you happiness because you crawled into my life with the allure of connection and desire, neither of which could sustain us, but once in, you shrieked apart my reason and my happiness. It was always about you. I get that, now. It was never about me. My needs were nonexistent. I bent into yet-discovered yoga poses to try to make us work, but I failed. I wasn't meant to succeed. Not with you.

So I'm tired of the hurt and the anger, tired of your unjustified reactions and skewed perceptions. I shouldn't expect anything different since that's how it always was: no steady ground. A rock one day, a roll the next, a plateau silver-lining into a brick wall the very next. I want you to understand this: you did this. You did it. I was not the perfect girlfriend, but I never pushed you away with the force and frequency that you did me. Remember that.