I have some of the most wonderful childhood memories, many of them including my mother’s side of the family who we no longer feel close to. My mom only has one sister. She has two daughters, our cousins. We spent SO much time with them as children, long before we were made aware of any bitterness harbored between our mothers, or had built up any drama amongst ourselves.
When I was a young teenager, I got my very first boyfriend. He was two years older than me, and to put it as nicely as possible…a piece of shit. Unfortunately, I was so young and naive that I didn’t realize just how horrible he was. I didn’t know that not every relationship was that way, that not every guy treated their girlfriend like that, that nothing about it was healthy. I am still to this day fully convinced that he is a sociopath. He did things that are not normal. He liked to watch people, specifically me, hurt. He knew my every insecurity, and pointed it out daily. He assured me that with all of the flaws I had, no one could possibly love me or find me beautiful. He was much more than mean, he was brutal, unfeeling, and did things to me that are unforgivable. At the time, I was still very close to my cousin B. I told her everything. She hated my boyfriend. Everyone did. For months, I poured out my soul to her. I still have letters from her that kept me strong. Finally, we broke up. I met a sweet boy who I dated briefly, and a few months later I receieved a letter from B informing me that she was dating my psychotic ex, and was not sorry for it. I still have that letter, too. We didn’t speak for 10 years. We eventually came to some sort of understanding, and have just recently been able to attend family events together without awkwardness. He does not attend said events. Not long after I married my husband, B married my ex. I am still convinced that he is completely worthless and a terrible person, but I no longer hate him. I don’t care enough to hate him. I honestly hope he treats her well, although I still believe she deserves better.
I do, however, HATE that he gets to enjoy all of my favorite places. The places and the memories that I shared with my family, he tramples through. I HATE seeing photos of him on vacations I took as a child, sitting in the exact spots that I cherish so much. I HATE that I had to look at his face at my Granddaddy’s funeral.
And I hate that I let it get to me.
Loading comments...