WHO I PRETEND TO BE : 'Tis the Season


–article by SHELBIE JANOCHA
 

'Tis the season for old flames to come crawling out of the dingy caves that you banished them to.  Can anything compare to the infinite joy that comes while wrapped in the arms of your current sweetie when an unsaved number flashes across your screen with the ever poignant words, “Hey, how’ve you been?”

You know the feeling I’m talking about. 

That lingering “this number is deleted for a reason” and “I vaguely remember these digits and I probably shouldn’t respond,” but you do anyway. Mostly because you’re curious and hoping that instead of, insert unfavorable ex-hookups name (that person you spent time with too drunk, too insecure, too numb to care about the fact that it was and would always be a horrible idea), it’s your great aunt.  Or is that just me?

Let’s be honest. You don’t care how I’ve been. You probably still spell my name with a Y and maybe you don’t have my number saved either and I’m just all the way at the bottom of your inbox, lingering for a moment when you’re sad and lonely and think, “Oh, I bet she’s DTF.” (Down To Fuck, but I bet you knew that already.)

I’m not. 

I’ve told you that. Many times. Frankly, I’m done with guys like you. The guys who don’t want to meet your friends or can only hang out at two in the morning or have a girlfriend or who can’t fucking say what they want. 

How’ve I been? Let me tell you. 

Wonderful. 

Not because I’ve found someone new or because I’ve got a great new job fresh after graduation or because my new haircut frames my cheekbones nicely. Well, all of that is part of it, but it’s really because I’ve grown up. Instead of ignoring your text messages, I’m going to tell you to stop. Instead of shying away from attempts to kiss me, I’m gonna look you in the eye and say, “NO.” 

Instead of feeding into your ego, I’m gonna tell it like it is. 

I don’t care how you’ve been and I don’t care that you called me a “vengeful bitch” because I didn’t want to jump into bed with you after six months. That’s the greatest gift I could get this holiday season–self-love. I look back at the time spent with you as an ever important lesson: No one can love me until I love myself and no one WILL ever love me like I can. 

So this year, I’m not singing along to Mariah Carey, because the last thing that I want is you.

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