There it is again…a notification that you want to be my friend on Facebook. Why? I’ve ignored you twice so far…why do you keep asking? Why won’t you go away?
It’s true that I loved you once…was crazy about you, in fact…but it’s also true that you manipulated me, that you used me, that you didn’t truly love me back. You loved being loved, being wanted, being needed. I was incidental to all of that. I could have been anyone…it wasn’t about me. It was about you…always about you.
The memories of our relationship are so vivid still…all these years later. I remember everything…every date, every conversation, every fight, every kiss. I also remember when you left NY…and the last day you were here…I drove away in tears…and you just stood there. The images won’t leave my brain, no matter how many times I try to erase them. I’ve had them buried for a long time, but they still surface from time to time…like when I get a fucking Facebook friend request.
For a while, even after our relationship ended, those were happy memories for me and I would smile when I thought of you. But over time, as it became clear what a selfish person you really were, those memories just became a painful reminder of how stupid I was to believe you and to believe what we had was real.
Now I do my best not to think of you. I do my best to walk by Barney’s and not remember the day we went there and bought you those brown pants I loved so much. I do my best to walk by Tiffany and not think of all the times we went there to look at all the gorgeous things we’d hope to be able to afford someday. You are everywhere in this city and I do my best not to think about you. Most of the time I’m pretty successful.
But then I get a text message or an email or a friend request and all the memories come back. All the sadness and the anger comes back. So, please, stop. Don’t text me to tell me you are in NY. Don’t email to tell me about something that reminded you of me. Don’t send me friend requests. I am not that girl anymore…the one who will swoon over a phone call or a text message…the one who will give your ego the boost it needs…the one who will make you feel wanted and needed. I haven’t been that girl for ten years.
We are not friends. You are a part of my past. You wanting to be my friend isn’t about me…it’s about you…it’s always been about you. Well…I refuse to let it be about you any more. From now on it’s about me…and it will always be about me.
Way to go, girl! I had a guy in my life who was just like this. He just doesn’t get it that I have absolutely no reason to want to be friends with an abusive, narcassistic douchebag like him. He’s taken to sending friend requests to members of my family now–just to try to get information about me. I’ve warned my friends and family that, should they friend him, they will lose me as a friend (on Facebook at least). Stay strong. You deserved better, and it sounds like you found it. And, you’re leaving the past where it belongs…in the past.
It is absolutely, 100% about him and I’m so proud of you for recognizing that!! Having J in your life does not mean you’re not falling for it because you’re otherwise occupied. Having J in your life, probably, has helped you realize how completely self-centered Mr. Me was and how, really, there was no room for you in the relationship. It was already a threesome: me, myself, and I. You were only a 4th wheel. And isn’t it devastating when we finally realize that the person we gave all of our love to doesn’t love us back in the same way? Except that it’s also liberating to know that it’s not about you and never ever will be. I truly hope Mr. Me reads your blog. And if not, I hope this was a message to him on FB because it’s one that he needs to read…if only to have it pass through one ear and out the other.
It’s like you read my inner monologue with this when my ex from high school (also early college and my ex fiance) tried to add me on Facebook. I let him but everything you wrote fits to a T… it’s been over 10 years for me but sometimes when it cuts to the bone, it’s harder to heal.
*HUGE HUGS* so well put oxoxo
Wow, Shana. I’m so proud of you. This is awesome. GOOD FOR YOU for getting the words out and I hope you feel better that you did.
It’s an ego thing for this guy. He wants to know he still has a place in your life which is just maddening for a variety of reasons, but most especially because of all of the hurt he inflicted on you while you were together. Painful reminders are the worst. It sucks that you can have an excellent day and feel you’re in a great place but then you’ll see something or catch a whiff of cologne and those memories all come back. I’m just glad that the Shana ten years later is a beautiful, CONFIDENT, and secure woman and that you realize your own worth and how deserving you are of great things. *MUAH* and *HUGS*
And also a giant SUCK IT to this a-hole who clearly needs to get a clue.
Good job, girl. Blocking is a last resort, but it can help!
I love this post and I can relate. As you know, this past summer I tried to forget about someone. I tried for two weeks before i decided not to forget (which may lead you to question why I can relate). Like you in the city, my “ghost” as I began to refer to him those two weeks, was everywhere. My car, in my house, my shower, on the radio, in the 7-11, in spin class… you name it. I admire that you’ve been able to extricate him, exist in the city without the haunting. I wasn’t as strong.
But regardless of whether we did or did not delete them, it is still about us. That’s the difference. It’s our choice to let them in or keep them out. I say you should block him. With a smile. Remember when I facebook divorced G? one of happiest days of my life, after birth of kiddies, naturally.
xoxo
So happy that you are in a place where you are able to recognize his reaching out for you for what it is . . .
An attempt to drag you back into the past.
Because he hasn’t moved on.
He hasn’t grown.
And he wouldn’t appreciate the fact that you have done both of these things.
He wants the past.
Let him stay there.
All by himself.
In the past.
Good for you.