Regretfully, Yours Truly

If you’re wondering if I still remember you, I do.

If you’re wondering if I still think about you, I do.

The problem with me is, I never forget.

The problem with me is, I give people special places in my heart, and when they try to walk away from me, I chain them there.

They get stuck with me, like I’m stuck with me.

People become memories that stay forever. And in my head, I can’t decipher between past, present, and future, so my emotions get real blurry.

I lash out because I’m still thinking about my ex-best friend.

I cry because I’m already anticipating tomorrow’s pain.

I’m irritated because I’m thinking about my mother, who refuses to leave.

Most of the time, these feelings and how I react—they have nothing to do with you. They come from the little spaces in my heart, from the people I refuse to let go of. The ones I refuse to drop responsibility for.

The truth is, I’m carrying so much unbelievably heavy weight on my shoulders that my back’s starting to hurt. I have pain in my wrists now. And my legs always have bruises on them.

There’s no need for that weight to be there. But see, Melina is emotional. Melina carries things she doesn’t have to because she needs to prove to herself that she can live beyond the things and people who once hurt her.

If she doesn’t bring them with her, how will she ever measure her success, her confidence, her strength?

How will she know she’s grown if there’s not a weaker version of her that she’s constantly comparing herself to?

How does Melina know she’s a good person?

I have a story that’s really uncomfortable. And I want to talk about it, because it hurts me more than I let on. I don’t know what to omit and what not to. I don’t know how to make it make sense for you. So instead, I’ll just write what makes sense to me. Even if you don’t get it, I’m sure you’ll still find ways to make sense of the blurry.

There was a man, recently, who I’ve never met who entered my life abruptly, wanting to tear it down.

He has a vendetta that isn’t mine. And even though he’s never met me, I think he hates me.

Message after message after message. Sending me strange, violent, graphic things. He was crazy. And I was scared.

I went back to therapy. He put me there again.

I never responded. But I really wanted to. I wanted to respond to the San Francisco number. Or even the one from La Brea. But I knew that’s what he wanted, he wanted my reaction, he wanted to know he hurt me.

And to me, it was funny, because it proved he knew nothing about me at all.

I cry in the dark and eat mangoes in the moonlight. The only people who get reactions out of me are my reflection and the dogs.

He doesn’t know me at all.

So I did with him what I do with everyone else.

I blocked.

Goodbye.

Deleted.

He’s probably still watching me, to be honest.

I wonder if he reads these.

I wonder if he realizes there’s more to my life than his stupid revenge game.

I wonder if he has kids. Daughters.

I wonder why he thought I was so different from them that he could treat me the way he did.

A stranger he’s never met.

I didn’t know what to do with him. He thought he knew more about my life than I did. He thinks he knows more about the way I’ve lived for 22 years than I do. Everyone, all my life, thinks they know more about me than I do. They think I don’t catch onto things. People think I’m stupid. And maybe that’s too harsh. Maybe naive is a better word.

But whatever it is—

it’s wrong.

I’m tired of this man I don’t know speaking down to me. I’m tired of men speaking down to me. I’m tired of my father speaking down to me.

I’m tired of being an adult and still dealing with childhood bullshit.

The truth is, I’m scared of numbers I don’t know now.

The truth is, I’m afraid everyone can see the shame that lives in my home.

I’m afraid everyone can see the shame that lives in me.

I wish the matriarchs in my life were more ruthless.

I want my siblings to start thinking for themselves.

I miss all the love I’ve lost.

I crave more.

Sometimes, so badly, I beg for it.

I’m sorry I’m lashing out.

These feelings have nothing to do with you.

They come from the little spaces in my heart.

The people and things that are chained there.

This is them,

trying to claw their way out.

Thank you.