So a long time ago, when my husband and I were engaged, his brother had this girlfriend. She was a badass chick, long black hair, tats and piercings, plucked eyebrows, scars on her arms. I dug her, but I always had this weird feeling around her. She was always pleasant enough, but I felt like she didn’t like me. It was silly–I had no proof, nothing except this feeling.
At the time I was pretty new to this city, and my husband and his brother would say, “You two should have coffee, you girls have so much in common and you both need more friends.” Finally, one day we did.
So we had our coffee and eventually she said, “You know, I’ve hated you for a long time.” Huh. When I asked her why, she said it was because I had a good-paying job and a commitment from my boyfriend. We went on to have a friendship of sorts, but she and my brother-in-law broke up and I sort of lost touch with her. But I remember the overwhelming sense of relief that day. I wasn’t crazy or silly or paranoid–she just didn’t like me. And my heart knew it.
Well, I’ve been in a funk lately. Actually, it’s been more like standing on the edge of a precipice, the edge of a major depressive episode. It’s been starting all over again, the crying and hating and I really, really don’t want to go down that path again. And there is this one particular person in my life that has been making me feel that much worse. Like somehow I deserve this, deserve to feel this way. But recently, I recognized the feeling. There is something wrong between us. This person just does not like me.
Part of me feels relief at knowing what this wrongness is. Part of me is incredibly angry. Part of me wonders–why? But you know, it doesn’t matter anymore. I’m done. I’ve been taking it all so personally, letting my heart just be stomped on.
Because the thing about Bram, about losing my baby is this–it’s not Bram that’s making me sad. It’s that I realized life is so short and I’m walking through it half-asleep! I don’t want to be teenage me, living my life through fantasy novels and comic books because I figured I would never be beautiful or sexy or cool. I don’t want to be 20-something me, living my life through zombie-killing videogames, laughing at the gore because it makes me feel alive. I just want to be ME.
Higher self me, the one that eats healthy food and exercises, because I love me and I want to have this body for a long time. And I want a body that can walk and run and jump with my kids and not throw out my back. The me that is incredibly grateful for the wonderful, amazing, inspirational friends that I have had throughout my life and wouldn’t be here if not for all of them. The me that doesn’t need to be anybody else, the me that can wake up on a Monday morning and know that this is my life and this is where I’m supposed to be.
So yeah, maybe I seem a bit different now. Was I supposed to just go back to the old me, like it never even happened? Maybe that bothers some people. But I, I just want to be me.