Towards the latter part of last week, while late night lurking on my phone, I found out that a former lover was getting married.
Now not many things can render me speechless, but after stumbling upon his wedding website, my mouth flew open and no sound could come out. I looked through the wedding party, glanced at the date and details, saw a picture of him and her, and initially, all I kept thinking was, “That should have been me.” After everything that he had taken me through, all the years, tears, and prayers, the sacrifices, the compromises, I should be the one kissing him in that photo, inviting our closest friends and family to come celebrate our upcoming nuptials.
But after the initial shock wore off, my attitude shifted from, “That should have been me”, to, “I’m glad I didn’t work out.”
I spent the majority of the night tossing and turning, looking back over our entire time together. Remembering the great moments. Missing the little things about us. Wondering what life would have been like if things had worked out. But the sad reality was that, as much as I wanted him to want me, all he saw me as was nothing more than a piece of ass.
And that’s the shit that hurt the most.
I cooked for him. Prayed for him. Believed in him. Proved my loyalty on more than several occasions. Was there for him whenever he needed me. Supported him through any and everything. Even compromised a few of my morals, only for him to never see my true value.
And in that moment, I began to hate him.
I hated him for choosing someone else. I hated him for taking advantage of my kindness. I hated him for making a fool out of me. I hated him for all the time that he wasted. I hated him for leading me on to believe that things would be different, when he knew full well that they wouldn’t. I hated him for the insecurities that I developed as a result of me never feeling like I was good enough. I hated him for my emotional walls, defense mechanisms, and fears of letting anyone get too close.
But most of all, I hated him for looking at me only as a sexual object. Someone he could fuck his frustrations out of. For equating me with the sexual pleasures that I could provide. For making sex so high on the list of priorities, that if I told him no, I feared that he would want nothing more to do with me.
And then my hatred and disappointment shifted from him, to me.
Y’all.. I knew better. I compromised so much of myself on someone who probably never even saw it for him and I. I allowed myself to be disrespected and disregarded time and time again. I willingly fell in love with someone who I doubt was ever really seriously in like with me. I opened my doors and my legs to this person whenever he called. I allowed my self confidence, self respect, and self worth to be reduced to what was between my thighs. But more importantly, I gave up my time and my heart to a person who I should have cut off years prior.
The signs were always there, but I ignored them because I all I ever wanted was for him to love me the way that I had always envisioned.
But when I think about that kind of love, I now know that he was probably never capable of giving it to me. And that, it wasn’t me who was never good enough for him. It was him who was never good enough for me. And for that, my loves, I dodged a major bullet.
And for that, my loves, I’m so glad that it didn’t work out.