Tag Archives: memories

No More

This is the last anniversary I will remember. Or, at least, I plan to try.

I am told that, on this day, I need to say goodbye to you. And so, I shall. I do not remember the first day we met; I wonder if that’s some sort of sign. I just remember knowing you. I watched you from across the stage, playing the guitar while I taught people to sing the alto lines. I’m not sure why I was watching, but I was. I don’t remember the first time we spoke. I don’t remember much about that time at all.

My first kiss came when I was seventeen years old. I was working as a volunteer at a church coffeehouse in my hometown, where kids went every Friday night in an attempt to hide from the real world. My job involved roaming the floor and making sure people stayed out of trouble, checking the bathrooms to shoo out underage smokers, and occasionally brewing coffee. That night, however, I was trying to be seen. I wanted someone to notice me. Anyone. And Adam walked by. He put his hand on my shoulder, I drew him in towards the Coke machine, and I kissed him. I didn’t care about him.

“Whoa,” he cried as I pulled away. “I mean, yay. But what was that for?”

I tightened my fingers in his hair and kissed him again. He leaned into it this time, his lips responding to mine and his tongue finding its way into my mouth. We only separated when the kids around us started wolf-whistling. His eyes searched mine, inquisitive, but the blood rushed to my face and I looked away. I want to see if I could still feel. Apparently, I could.

I remember all of the details of this night vividly. But. I do not remember our first kiss.

When I was a kid, I did not believe I would ever get married. There were a lot of reasons for that. One, I wasn’t interested. Two, there wasn’t really anybody out there. Three, I didn’t believe anyone would ever ask me. And then someone did. I firmly believed that there would never be anybody else. I knew it wasn’t a good fit, but I thought I didn’t have a choice. I got on the first ship that sailed by, because I believed there would never be another.

I remember leaving you. Many times. I knew how uncertain I was, yet I went with it anyway; I kept coming back to you. And while I’m sorry for that, I’m also not. The path I took got me where I am now, and while I wish many of the things that had happened along the way had never happened, I wouldn’t be where I am had I not taken the path I had. The time we had together is forever tarnished, the bad outweighing the good tenfold. I remember all of the bad things you said, the lessons you taught me, the idea that I wasn’t worth anything. I remember these things, but not the good milestones. Not the things I should remember. You played on the internal dialogues I had previously created; I let you do it. I was wrong, but so were you.

Marriage does not equate to ownership, and all rights of any kind were dissolved the day those vows went ignored. You can’t make up for what happened. You may think you have stripped me of something, and maybe you did. But you also gave me a gift. I am stronger now. Powerful. Connected. Brave. This is what you are up against. I am stronger on my own now than I ever was with you, with anyone.

All of my life, I have let other people dictate my actions. That’s not all on them; that’s on me too. I am horribly codependent. There are probably many reasons for this, but I don’t understand all of them. There are a lot of things in life that I do not understand, but one thing I am certain of is that I have given you much too much of my precious time. You made me feel unworthy of my own time, my own space, when I am anything but. I can’t devote anything more to you. In the spirit of that thought, it is time to let you go. Wherever you are, on this, what would have been our anniversary, I hope that you are thinking of me. I hope that you are sorry; I doubt that you are. You took a lot from me. I want to take what I can back.

In years past, I have burned our wedding invitation. Visited the church where we were married. Sat quietly by myself and done nothing. But I have never actually said goodbye. I thought I couldn’t let you go, but maybe letting go is not the physical thing I thought of it as. Maybe it is simply denying you anymore power.

Therefore, I am thinking of you today, but I vow to make every effort that this will be the last time. You get no more space in my head.

No more.

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