Clairvoyance

What the fuck have I been doing for the past four years?

After many internal conversations, much agonizing, countless tears and circling conversations, I have reached a timeless conclusion – one I end at repeatedly – I’m over it. I’m not necessarily “over it” in the sense that I’m over The Boy… because, though I should be, I’m not quite there. And not “over” all relationships… because I feel as though I’m actually pretty close to being ready for a real one. I’m over the grown-up childishness of having a “boo,” or “talking” to someone, or endless “dating” with no real future. I’m over laughing at derogatory jokes about women. I’m over misogynistic hip-hop lyrics. I’m over our over-sexed society. I’m over black men who cannot commit. I’m over black men who CAN commit, and only refuse to do so with “the boo”. I’m over jump-offs. I’m over casual sex (for the most part). I’m over “playing it cool” to score points with someone who probably doesn’t deserve the 15 minutes of time I’m willing to spend.

I’m over late night conversations that won't ever see the dawn of a new day. I’m over cutesy text messages with no real purpose. I’m over men who say one thing and mean another. It’s all so silly. I’m over sucking it up for the sake of “what if” and “maybe later”. I’m over sacrificing my wants and needs for those of others. I’m over the game.

The pain I have endured over the past three months (disproportionately as a result of my dealings with this whore-boy) has taught me so, so much. Not only do I realize what I can put up with versus what I will put up with, but I appreciate that I don’t HAVE to put up with shit. I can do bad all by myself. I can date outside of my race. I can achieve happiness being alone. Purely physical relationships tend to get me in trouble anyway. And for what? What is fulfilling about a casual encounter? Where is the love in any of that? When is the last time I WAS in love? When will I find it again?

Granted, I’m being built into a better me. God is really working some magic this summer. And, while it hurts like hell, I KNOW it is for the best. I do not doubt it for one second. But, I’ve been chastising myself for my “number”. Not in a holier-than-thou religious sense, but in a perfectionist you-know-you-know-better sense. Why did add those worthless “notches”? Who even CARES about some of these dudes?! I get so angry.

I’m not bitter. I’m refreshed, actually.

Clairvoyant.

High.

How sweet is the realization that substantive relationships are attainable, and real, and well-deserved? Hell no, I don’t have to settle for a non-committal sociopath. I could actually meet someone amazing! Someone older. Someone mature. Someone grounded. I could test these fragile and somewhat hardened wings again… soaring over the disgust and contempt I once felt for he who shall forever remain nameless. I will rise above it. There is someone out there with whom I’m more compatible and more equally yoked. Maybe he’s sitting at a corner Starbucks reading today’s Post. Maybe he’s buying a new mixtape at Moods Records in L5P. Maybe he’s working late nights, grinding, just like me. Maybe…

I know it’s not time for me to meet him yet – because, like I said, I’m not there yet. My head is still jumbled with fleeting thoughts of The Boy. My heart is still reeling from the petty, but hurtful email war with the GF. She made me feel small. She chastised me for mistakes I know I should have never made. She gutted me. Yanked me by my roots and tossed me aside. And, though their foundation is unsteady – built upon lies, and backstabbing, and false realities – it doesn’t involve me. Though I cringe as I reflect upon her words, and secretly continue to plot against her… their present does not involve me. I don’t even care about the two of them together. I care that I was and continue to be affected by her sharp and pervasive WORDS. Sticks and stones… I know… but still.

I still have a few more things to learn. I still have a few more miles to go. I still have some rebuilding to do. My mom has some more wisdom to share. My heart has some mending to bear. I have a few more tears, I think. A few more prayers… Some kinks to iron out. I’ll get there. I’m not too worried about it… I’m just disappointed about those four frivolous years: dealing with him, rebounding from him, forgetting about him, remembering him, spiting him, reconnecting with him, believing him, ignoring him, trusting him, and burying him... for good. I used men as tools during the rebound years to make myself feel better. Or, to make him feel worse… To numb college heartache... To satisfy drunken curiosity... None of it seems to have meant anything now. None of it seems relevant. None of it seems useful. So, why’d I do it?! And, why did I let it go this far?

What the fuck have I been doing for the past four years?