After June 25, 2017
Welcome to our column written by Managing Editor Caitlyn Mae Araña, called Catching Up With Caitlyn. Through letters, she addresses the trials and tribulations that come with learning and growing as a 20-something.
This semester, she will be focusing on one particular narrative that has impacted her over the years, although not all articles will be about this one situation. So, tune in for your weekly dose of drama and strap in ladies and gents… Nothing is off limits here.
Dear Jacob*,
The night of Ella’s birthday party was the night that we broke up. It only lasted an hour or two, but the after effects of it lasted much longer. After I got home, I put on one of your hoodies and a pair of sweatpants that you let me borrow in hopes that I could remind you of good times. Truthfully, I don’t think you even noticed.
I knew how that night was going to end. I knew that we were going to end. When you got to my house and we started our walk around my neighborhood, I asked you, “What do you want out of this conversation? Because I don’t want to waste time fighting for you if your intention is just to break up in the end.” I gave you an out, and you didn’t take it.
You responded that you didn’t know. But you knew. We both knew. Yet, we still wasted our time, talking through our issues as if we were actually going to get somewhere.
I can’t remember a lot of what we talked about. I vaguely remember telling you how I felt and that we could work things through. I vaguely remember you thinking about it. I remember a lot of silence. But what I remember the most is you telling me that I was a different person around different people and that, somehow, I was lost. You told me that your sister said she thought that I didn’t know who I was, and that maybe she was right. And maybe we needed to take a break. Of course, I later found out that that’s not really what she said, or at least what she meant.
You used that as a springboard for our breakup. I cried. What exactly are you supposed to say to someone when they break up with you because they think that you don’t know who you are? How are you supposed to convince them otherwise? Are you even supposed to try?
When you left that night, I went straight into the shower and cried. I don’t remember getting out of the shower. I don’t remember going to bed that night. I don’t remember when I stopped crying. The following week was pretty much a blur. For days, all I did was sit, write, cry, and listen to music in the dark. I didn’t eat. I didn’t shower. I didn’t talk to anyone. I was just existing. It sounds weird to say now, but I’m not even sure if I was alive. Scientifically speaking, I was. But it felt as if I had died. It felt like some sad, dark limbo.
I didn’t realize how bad it had gotten until I actually left my bed for the first time in a week. Seven days after our breakup, I went to shower for the first time since June 25, 2017 (I know, it’s gross). Three minutes into my shower, I couldn’t stand. My vision was perfectly fine one second and completely black the next. I felt nauseous. All the negative effects of not eating or leaving my bed for a week came down on me all at once. So, I got out of the shower and called my mom.
This might not have been the greatest idea since you two were still in contact. She had been asking you the questions that I couldn’t give her. She told you all about what I was going through, and you called me to tell me that I had to eat and that I had to take care of myself. You called my friend and asked her to get me out of the house to take my mind off of things. Suddenly, you cared. But the thing is, even though you caring got me hopeful that maybe things weren’t over between us, I still had to remind myself that you weren’t allowed to care about me anymore. You weren’t allowed to worry about me or tell me what to do or ask my friends for favors. The way you cared about me after we broke up is the way that I wished you cared for me when we were together. Pretty ironic, right?
So, yes, for a week I was going through a wide range of emotions from loving you to hating you to being mad at you. For a week, I couldn’t see vivid colors the way I used to. The trees weren’t green anymore. The sky wasn’t blue. Everything looked muted. I didn’t love the things I used to. I couldn’t go to the places we went to. Even passing the parking space (454) outside of my house where you parked that night hurt me.
But after that, it got better. It wasn’t great, but it did get better. And I’ll admit, it took me years to get over you. Years. It wasn’t until I went to college and was independently doing my own thing that I realized what freedom I had. I realized what freedom was. You didn’t get to care about me anymore or check in on me. You didn’t have that privilege. And that was the most freeing of all.
Of course, I will always have love for you. I may not be in love with you. Yet, you were a huge part of my life, and it is definitely hard to let go of someone who meant the most to you for a very long time. And even though there’s so much more to our story that I haven’t even touched on, and even though we’ve been through so much more since that time in our lives, I’m happy about where we are today. We haven’t talked since my last article, which you had many opinions about. I’m not entirely sure if we’re still friends or even on speaking terms. But I’m not angry. And as far as I know, you’re not angry. We’re just living our own lives. And I hope you’re doing okay. Because I finally am.
Only Love,
Caitlyn Mae
**Names have been changed to maintain integrity