I F**king Hate Him

downloadI saw him again, today. So much for wishful thinking…

Now I know it was just yesterday that I posted about tossing my coin into the sea in hopes of never seeing him again, yet, low & behold, I’m minding my own business, stepped outside for some fresh air when “Boom”. I won’t even bother with details this time because I’m just so over it. At first, it was kinda cute, almost endearing, even. Now, it’s just annoying as fuck.
Immediately, when I saw his face (& even as I writing this post), one side of my lip curled up, I quickly halted and once again, made an about face. I walked in a mist of rain to avoid getting any closer to him. I’m so freaking over this.
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As I was walking back, I had a real nasty feeling. In the midst of playing that brief moment back, I felt my mind say, “I fucking hate him“. I had to catch myself real quick because #1 that’s not even me and #2 that’s a bit much, even for me. Aside from being morally wrong, hating him isn’t going to make me feel better.
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It’s no secret that I, like many people, use anger as a defense mechanism. It’s like I’d rather be mad at you than sad over you, if that makes sense. I feel like, if I’m angry, then I can control that & maybe even make you feel a way, but if I’m sad, then that means that I still care too much. I’ve come to realize that when people say they hate someone, what they really mean is they hate what that person did to them, how they made them feel. And typically, it involves a sense of betrayal by the person that they love (not hate). Saying, “I hate you” comes from a lack of words that express what we really feel, which is hurt. When someone says, “I hate you,” what they’re trying to say is, “You hurt me.” The truth is, they probably actually still love you more than they have the words (or courage) to say. The brighter side is that you can heal from hurt, but hate only deepens the pain.

-TheRealBlackCarrieBradshaw

 

 

 

 

 

Just like Déjà Vu

I hear the door to the hallway open. Around the corner walks my co-worker straight towards me, “De’Ja, some guy in the hallway is asking for you.” My heart did a back tuck & my mouth, I’m sure, hit the floor, I swallowed a breath & gathered my composure so as not to alarm my colleague. As soon as he turned the wall, I grabbed my phone to check my hair. I don’t even want to take the time to go to the other bathroom for fear he’ll be gone by the time I get back. I get myself together as best I can and make my way to the door but it was too late. He was gone.

That dream shook me. Stayed with me all morning. “I’m sorry, I didn’t catch your name, dear,” the voice on the other end of the phone says, jolting me back to reality. “It’s DeJa. Like deja vu,” I respond.
*
Okay, you’ve got to get it together, girl. I’ve gotta get some work done today. But I can’t. It’s like I get dressed up everyday to come down here to think about him. That’s like my new job.
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I’m trying not to look for him. And at the same time, I am looking for him so that I’m not caught off guard. I’m looking for him to avoid him so he doesn’t think I’m looking for him. And all I’m really trying to do is live my life.
*
I still carry pieces of you with me every day.
It’s true. Sometimes I wear his things. At home, I’ll put on one of his shirts. It makes me feel closer to him. So close. Yet so far away.

-TheRealBlackCarrieBradshaw