“People think they know you. They think they know how you’re handling a situation. But the truth is no one knows. No one knows what happens after you leave them, when you’re lying in bed or sitting over your breakfast alone and all you want to do is cry or scream. They don’t know what’s going on inside your head—the mind-numbing cocktail of anger and sadness and guilt. This isn’t their fault. They just don’t know. And so they pretend and they say you’re doing great when you’re really not. And this makes everyone feel better. Everybody but you.”—William H. Woodwell Jr.
Imagine you have a Rolex watch. Nice fancy Rolex, you bought it because you like the way it looks and you wanted to treat yourself. And then you get beaten and mugged and your Rolex is stolen. So you go to the police. Only, instead of investigating the crime, the police want to know why you were wearing a Rolex instead of a regular watch. Have you ever given a Rolex to anyone else? Is it possible you wanted to be mugged? Why didn’t you wear long sleeves to cover up the Rolex if you didn’t want to be mugged?
And then after that, everywhere you go, there are constant jokes about stealing your Rolex. People you don’t even know whistle at your Rolex and make jokes about cutting your hand off to get it. The media doesn’t help either; it portrays people who wear Rolexes as flamboyant assholes who secretly just want someone to come along and take that Rolex off their hands. When damn, all you wanted was to wear a nice watch without getting harassed for it. When you complain that you are starting to feel unsafe, people laugh you off and say that you are too uptight. Never mind you got violently attacked for the crime of wearing a friggin time piece.
You have even less body fat than you did when we dated, but I still have the belly that you loved to squeeze.
You have dated four different guys since we broke up and the few dates that I’ve been on materialized into nothing more than an expensive dinner.
Your whole sorority thinks you’re a wonderful person.
I kept all of your secrets.
When you graduated with a degree in psychology, you’d already secured a job recruiting for an IT company and my students always remind me that despite graduating with an education degree I’m just a sub.
I’m not sure about this, but I think you make more money than me.
You’re still pretty.
And I still think you’re gorgeous.
Your hair is blonde now.
My bald spot is just as noticeable as it used to be, if not more.
People I meet ask me, “Didn’t you used to go out with…” and then they tell me how much they love you.
I still think of you to get myself off sometimes.
My friends tell me every time they see you.
Your friends don’t talk to me anymore.
When I run into you and you’re drunk you can ask me why we don’t talk anymore but still ignore me when I send you texts.
I’m still writing about you and you haven’t read a word.