My writer friend Ashley Yates said something last year that has stuck with me: “Black women take care of Black women.” It has taken this pandemic just to see how … Continue reading In The Middle Of A Start-Over…
1.the disagreeable physical aftereffects of drunkenness, such as a headache or stomach disorder, usually felt several hours after cessation of drinking.
2. something remaining behind from a former period or state of affairs.
3.any aftermath of or lingering effect from a distressing experience
*Alejandro peeked in and out of my life, he still does.
I see his influence in the cabinets and cupboards of my existence. I remember telling him in our throws together that he ‘was a high like none other’ and to not speak to him or after speaking to him, I felt a hangover.
This sense of a residue on my soul, this feeling of knowing without doubt or fear that this person has a knowledge of you that only someone that has crafted your soul would know. Almost as if he was looking over God’s shoulder.
You had that?
It’s like knowing porn or jazz–you know it when you see it…
**There were times that I wanted nothing else and no one else but him, and there were other times where I was so incensed that he could not see or believe he could have what he wanted, that I walked away from him!
I couldn’t take it, I didn’t understand it.
I could not fathom what we were crafting, what we believe that we were crafting, he would fear. Or settle for less than it.
**I would lie awake thinking, wondering why and how this had happened to me.
Why it had happened to me?
How does one mark or measure time or space when there seem to be fingerprints on your soul made by other hands?
I would think how I could get over him, that I had to get over him, that if he didn’t see what I held and hold for him and that I was determined to show him—but at what cost?
That cost was blindness and the losing of myself again. I couldn’t bare that. I couldn’t bare losing me again…even if that meant dividing my heart into hemispheres and quarters.
And him occupying a designated piece.
I couldn’t do it–and I didn’t know how I could get over him…I was so far under him.
The high of him, the thought of him.
How do you release all that you believe that you want?
I dated, even got married the first time in 2006. I had enough of waiting.
I had enough of trying to be split in two. I moved on…with a hitch in my heart.
I decided to move on, because, y’know, that’s what adults do. The killer part? He called me about a month or so before I got married in New Orleans.
He asked me why I was getting married. I said, “To get it over with.” I was in bed, with my fiance’, and I answered the phone half asleep.
He didn’t believe it or he didn’t believe we would make it. We didn’t–LOL But that’s besides the point.
I know yall are like, “SIS! REALLY, WHAT THE HELL! If he was always BAE, why ain’t ch’all together?! We need all this tea, ma’am!”
(Get a snack.)
I got married to my ex-husband because I loved him.
Did I use him to get over **Alejandro? Looking back on it? Yeah. I did.
At the time, the ex-hubs was a really good boyfriend. He was a solid and righteous dude. He had his hang ups and issues, but it wasn’t anything that I thought couldn’t work through or he would grow out of. I mean I was 24, he was 21 (I KNOW!), and I loved him and he loved me and was DETERMINED me were going to make this isht happen–so help me!
I was going to move on with my life.
Worse part? There were months before we got married that there was a glimmer that Alejandro might have come to his senses.
We talked about it, how we would do that whole ‘together’ thing, and…honestly? I didn’t believe him.
We had done this dance before: he’d realize he loved me more than anyone else, only to get scared and run.
This time? I decided it was better to take the sure thing. *Alejandro was not the sure thing. I hated admitting that…but he wasn’t.
As much as I loved him, as much as I wanted a life with him, I couldn’t trust him.
But…I couldn’t shake him!
It was good for a while with the ex hubs. We made life together. We were in love, young and childless.
We did goofy stuff, fun stuff and then we went on road trips and we were just…together! In that, all that life we were making together, we did what every couple in love does–we had a baby.
Our oldest was born in September 2007. In October 2007, I was washing dishes and I don’t even remember HOW I was thinking of him, but I was and fell to my knees.
No, I legit fell to my knees.
I was like, “No, no. NO! I’m over him! NO!” Everything that I had thought about, repressed, lied to myself about–overtook me. There was no other word for it. From there, I don’t think I could ever repaired my marriage–that was it. That was legit the fuse to the end of it. His ghost, his residue, followed me, haunted me–no matter where I was or what I was doing.
**I was in love with him, and married to someone else. And even after we got married, before the baby, I still talked to him…more.
I talked to him to the point my then husband demanded I stop! He didn’t like how it looked, he didn’t like feeling like his wife was with another man.
(Humph. I suppose I was.)
The day I told him I could no longer speak to him? I cried. He cried. I remember I was listening to She Will Be Loved by Maroon 5 as I spoke to him on a CD player.
Oh, and the HOT, BOILING TEA?
Here it go, dahlin’.
*Alejandro was low-key dating someone in 2006 when he asked ME why I was getting married. This is the same broad he married. He married this broad (yes, broad!) while still having feelings for me.
I got married in 2006, he got married either before then or after, still 2006. He married this woman, while still having items and stuff from me that he hid in his house.
How do I know this?
Because he read it to me–verbatim what I had said–years prior.
His soon-to-be ex wife emailed me to leave her husband alone AFTER I had mailed him a letter his mother found that I had written two months prior in 2007 (I mailed it in October 2007, she emailed me in December 2007).
To this day, she cannot stand me.
Has she ever met me? No.
Ask me if I care? Nope.
She asked him if he had feelings for me. He told her no. She told him that she didn’t believe him because she saw how he “looked at pictures” of me. He and his wife are divorcing now and they have 2 children. So clearly, I wasn’t the only one with a handprint on my soul.
I’m not the only one that tried to move on…and somehow, he got haunted too.
From the saga beginning in 2003 with sleepless nights and Teenage Love Affair phone calls, to drunk phone calls where no English was spoken, fights over why I did what I wanted because he ‘wasn’t my man’ and why did he care, silent treatment with no contact, to so much laughter, I can look back on time with him and smile.
Does it still hurt? Sometimes.
Would I trade it? No.
Have y’all heard everything?
But you have enough to proceed. He’s a part of my life, and as is our cycle, he will pop up again before I die, and who knows what may happen?
We all make our way in the world one day at a time, and we don’t know which person will put the most impact on us.
That doesn’t mean that impact isn’t long lasting, hunty!
For all those, and there are less than 5 people that know the ENTIRE saga, and even those that have read the work I published, have asked me and still ask, “How are you not married to Alejandro?” And they are legit PUZZLED.
My answer? “He didn’t know what he wanted.”
Plain. Simple. Period.
The moral of this story–ain’t one. The lesson is to know what is to be loved utterly, valued completely and not be afraid of the back side of your tapestry.
The colors and knots and pieces that make up whom you are, the part some people play in your life.
Alejandro, for good or ill, is a part of me–it took me so long to admit that. Loving him, equipped me to love the man I have now.
I grin sometimes, and think this–
I have to live the rest of my life without Alejandro.
But…he has to live the rest of his life without me.
**-One of my favorite books is The Great Gatsby by F. Scott Fitzgerald. One of the themes of the books the relationship between Daisy Buchanan and Jay Gatsby. For this moment in time, I was Daisy. I hated that I was Daisy.
*-I’m still not telling y’all his real name. NO. Stop askin’.