This is not about you.
It is about me.
That is something I have to remind myself of constantly. When thoughts of you flood my mind early in the morning and late at night. When I obsessed about finding the right words, putting them in the perfect order so that you would respond. Notice me. Remember me. When I convince myself that all would be well if you just let me in your life again.
That is when I hear a tiny but strong voice telling me
This is not about her.
This about you.
So I sit. Feel all the things. Hurt, lost, joy, love. All them. Learning that if I don’t feel them they will just come back stronger and more intense until I do sit and feel them.
I ask myself why are you not letting go? Why are you not closing this chapter?
My heart knows the answer. It is a simple one. Fear. I am fearful that if this person who loved and felt for me as intensely and consistently as she did, could leave without a word- anyone can and will. I am fearfully that her decision to no longer be present means that the love we shared was not real. Perhaps something I have exaggerated in the two years since I have seen her.
I take her out of the equation and it is clear- I fear not being loved. I fear I am not loveable. I am afraid that people fall in love with an ideal of me but the reality of me makes them leave.
I hold on to the idea of her returning to my life because it might prove that I am indeed lovable and worth fighting for. Obsessing about calling her and the fantasy of her reaching out to me is easier than accepting and dealing with the fear and insecurity of not being enough.
So I long for her. Fill my head with thoughts of her. Just to drown out the insecurities floating in my head.
It is not about her.
It is about me.