June 1, 2024

I hate when a woman I love fades from something tangible to memories and merely words on a screen. But here we are again. What I would have written immediately after it, a month ago and now are all completely different things.

Immediately after it happened I would have written that I was helpless, heartbroken, devastated and distraught. A month ago still in the thick of things and grieving in foolish and idiotic ways, I would have written that I was lost and didn’t ever feel like loving again. Now I feel I’m on the cusp of breaking through the heartbreak, but I’m slowly being pulled back into it.

It’s now been exactly two months since I touched her, spent time in her bed and cared for her like nobody else ever had. I don’t know whether I should hold onto some fleeing hope that she’ll reenter my life and all these feelings of sadness will disappear, hate her or still care for her from far away.

I still think about her most nights and I wake up doing the same. I’ll be okay, distracted by a heavy work load, then something that reminds me of her crushes me to my core.

Most recently, it was the mention of her nickname for me, “Rue.” Nobody throughout my 30 years of existence has called me “Rue.” There’s a copious amount of things that she did that nobody else did. I presume that’s why the detachment has been so difficult.

A new girl started at work and asked if she could call me “Ben.” I balked at the question. She mentioned that her husband’s name is Ruben and she wouldn’t feel comfortable calling me that. She then mentioned that she calls him “Rue.” That’s when feelings of overwhelming sadness overcame me. I caved and texted her that night, not really knowing why I did or what I was looking to get out of texting her. I was just sad, needed some care and couldn’t just let this situation go unmentioned. We shared a brief moment of connection and that was it.

I’d like to think this situation is as difficult as it is for me as it is her. But it can’t possibly be. She’s the one who initiated this. While there are layers to this, her reluctancy to continue a relationship can be summarized in words she messaged me herself:

“the work that a relationship with you deserves from me feels unobtainable in this moment, because I have been too exhausted to do the work I deserve from myself, to feel stable and whole, and to have enough mental/emotional space for the work of a relationship.”

Beautifully said, eloquently written and easily understood. I could live with that if she remained steadfast in that reasoning, but she didn’t. She wavered between staying and going, between wanting my love and affection and rejecting it, between getting lost in the romance and finding her own identity.

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Godspeed

At the times I want to be Frank Ocean on “Godspeed,” serenading:

// Wishing you godspeed, glory // There will be mountains you won't move // Still, I'll always be there for you // How I do I let go of my claim on you //

I’d love to live in that space until she returns home. I tried to live in that right after she called it quits. I wanted to believe that the break was seasonal. I wanted to hope and wish that she ventured back to me, asking to return home, running back into my arms. I even penned a letter to her, writing, “you know you can come home whenever you want and I’ll never judge you for it.”

As romantic as those words are, I felt like the parent of a drug-addicted child when writing them. I kept the Polaroids of her up on my wall and her name as my passwords. I was the parent praying but knowing the child won’t ever walk through the doors again. That proved to be doing more harm than good. I mentioned all this to her in the moments where we were still sort of communicating and she said she didn’t think that was the best thing to do for my own growth. I feared that she was right and I took steps to let go completely.

Those steps included removing the Polaroids, changing the passwords, adding her name to the list, deleting her contact information, removing from her social media and trying to hate her.

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Throw Away

This is when I entered Future’s “Throw Away” phase:

// I don't want no relations. I just want your facial // Girl, you know you like a pistol, you a throwaway //

I always go to the extremes. It’s either 0 or 100. If I’m not holding onto hope, then I need to let go completely and this involved developing a hatred for her.

Rather than being understanding of the space she is in, I hated her for lying to me. I hated her for telling me one thing when her actions conveyed something completely different. I hated her for confusing me. I hated her for sending me a link to an apartment she envisioned us living in then days later saying she didn’t want to continue the relationship. I hated her for asking me to fall asleep with her on FaceTime after we spilt, just so she wouldn’t be alone. I hated her for saying she wouldn’t break my heart then doing so. I hated her for choosing herself instead of choosing us.

That phase didn’t last long. Although I added her name to the list of crossed out names tattooed on my ribcage, her name feels like it doesn’t belong there. But that’s okay.

I can’t dwell on what I did or what I didn’t do. I need to live in the present and continue living my truth. I can be Frank Ocean on “Godspeed.” I just can’t live in that space solely and hope for her to return. If it happens, it happens. If she ventures back, she’ll venture back. But in the meantime I have to do me and grow for myself, not for her.

What I can’t be and what I shouldn’t be is Future on “Throw Away.” That woman may be a lot of things but she isn’t like a pistol.

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I don’t know where I heard it first, but it goes “people grieve in different ways.” I tried grieving in so many different ways on the road to where I am now. Again I know for a fact I’m not completely healed. She’s still with me and may be for a long while and that’s okay.

Initially, I grieved in torturous ways. I went through a 10 day period where I didn’t eat, sleep or take care of myself at all. I remained irritable, heartbroken and angry. Although I wanted to drink my sorrows away, I didn’t and I’m proud of not doing so. It’s been 212 days since I’ve been drunk and that is a miracle in of itself.

I have been swiping right like crazy and I’m thankful nothing has come through. As nice as a replacement for her would be it wouldn’t help in the grand scheme of things. I need a break from the pressure and distractions of entertaining someone. It wouldn’t feel right being with someone else when my feelings for her are still so grand. And she’s not exactly replaceable. Despite not wanting to hold onto hope, Rihanna’s “Stay” has been heavily in rotation.

I thought of maybe not loving how I do love and not caring how I do care. I’ve thought about that in the past as well when things didn’t work out with other women. A previous fling reached out and provided some clarity and assurance:

Reading that made me smile. I’m not ever going to stop loving how I love. I may love too hard, too fast and too naively and I may get hurt again as I am hurt now, but I know the stars will eventually align. I wrote something to myself this morning that I’ll close with:

“Patience, Ruben, patience. Focus on getting better every day in whatever facet you deem necessary that day. Give yourself some grace. You could have stayed down long ago but you continued to battle. Through the heartbreaks, the drunken outbursts, the scrambling for funds you still stood tall. Whatever is coming for you hasn’t come yet. But you must not be frustrated or disappointed with that you must remain calm but harbor a hint of excitement because what’s coming is what you’ve been working for and what you truly deserve. Inshallah”