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The Prophecy

“And it was written

I got cursed like Eve got bitten

Oh, was it punishment?”

-Taylor Swift

Most people learn about themselves as teens, and make the big mistakes in their 20s. Unfortunately, I didn’t have that privilege, I was sheltered from a young age and I couldn’t move from that for a very long time. For example, I wasn’t allowed to have or be at sleepovers. The first time my mother allowed me to go to a sleepover was when I was 16-17. These were people I knew since I was 12-13, but it took heavy convincing, and I was never allowed to have one at our house. My mother thinks this is why I’m always angry at her which is fucking laughable. My anger is due to her tone deaf comments, insensitivity, her emotional unavailability, which have never subsided, and by the way, she thinks that her helping me with homework as a child was her going above and beyond? I wish I was kidding, anyway.

She’s also very religious so she didn’t want me to be influenced by non-Christians, and it didn’t matter if they practiced another religion, for her they were all wrong because Protestantism is the one true religion (she’s changed her tune since then). I wished she was right, I wished that it was drugs or alcohol, or reckless sex, but it wasn’t (because she’d be right), it was sleepovers, movie nights, going to the movie theatre, and listening to all kinds of music, that’s what me and my friends did that she didn’t allow me to do for a long time. On this note, she says that I was a good Christian girl until I was brainwashed in college, again, not exaggerating.

I have always craved having a mother that I could tell things to, I remember being jealous of my friends because they had a close relationship with their moms. Throughout my life I have tried including my mother, only for every time I do, she reminds me why I don’t. I remember being a teen and telling a friend of mine that I liked him, I shared that with my mother after the fact, I was like 18, her reaction to that? “Carolyn, men don’t like women that, women that are forward. You need to wait for them to make the first move.” When I was 27, she told me I ruined her Christmas when I told her I got a nose piercing, I was well out of her house by then, now she recants.

“Please

I’ve been on my knees

Change the prophecy

Don’t want money

Just someone who wants my company

Let it once be me

Who do I have to speak to

About if they can redo the prophecy?”

So you see, on one hand I was struggling (mostly alone) with the idea that no man would ever like me because of my personality (thanks mom) and on the other, I have always been fat, so I also thought no one would like me because “who likes fat girls?” (thanks society). A perfect combination for a fucking mess. Moving out of her house gave me the space to start figuring out who I am. What I like, what I don’t like. This proved to be surprisingly hard. Turns out that even though I hadn’t practiced Christianity for years at that point, everything they taught me, all the things I had heard at church in my formative years had taken a very deep hold on me. Intellectually I didn’t think I was doing anything wrong, and I wasn’t, but emotionally, I felt bad about those things.

“Slow is the quicksand

Poison blood from the wound of the pricked hand

Oh, still I dream of him”

All this story is a precursor, a summary if you will, so you understand why it took me so long to find myself, to like myself and to actually believe someone would want and like me.

I had to make conscious choices to change that way of thinking. There’s not a manual to guide you through it. Hating your body and thinking people won’t love you, makes it really hard to find someone, because if you hate yourself, how is someone else supposed to love it? Daniel Sloss has a great analogy where he says that if you love yourself 20% and someone comes in to love you 40%, you think that’s a lot, but it is literally less than half. But if you love yourself 100%, someone has to go above and beyond to love you (It’s from his special Jigsaw on Netflix).

So relatively recently I made it, about two years ago I hopped back on dating apps, matched with someone who seemed to be into me, that kind of pushed me to want to look better, dress better, I wanted to impress him you know? I shouldn’t have made all that effort for that person, BUT all the progress I made, feeling better about myself, actually liking me for once, didn’t go away when that ended, which I’m very glad for. Around the same time I had started CrossFit, if nothing else that gave me a boost of confidence for trying things out of my comfort zone. And I haven’t stopped since. All those cute clothes I used to think I couldn’t wear, I have worn, even lingerie, I started liking myself in the body I had.

“…I howl like a wolf at the moon

And I look unstable

Gathered with a coven around a sorcerer’s table”

Simultaneously, I stopped thinking men couldn’t like me. I found that there is actually a bunch that do (whether they’re good for me or not, is a whole other story lol). Unfortunately, every time one didn’t work, I’d find myself reverting to unhealed me and wondered if I had really healed. Because I’d find myself wondering what was wrong with me. I didn’t, and sometimes still don’t, understand why they didn’t work or why I keep crossing paths with the wrong people. In retrospect, I know that before I couldn’t really attract people, not because I wasn’t attractive but because putting myself down isn’t really attractive, I’d tell guys I liked them by saying some variation of “I know you don’t like me, but I do” and remembering that makes me ugh. But now, I was in such a good place, I made so many changes to myself and felt very good about me, how I looked, how I was portraying myself, I was emanating confidence. People took notice, yes, but still I’d get “you’re too good for me/you deserve someone better”, there still wasn’t anyone that liked me, that would fight to keep me in their life, so I wondered if all that work was worth it. I didn’t do the work for anyone other than myself but fuck, I still wanted people to notice. I still wanted to hear someone cared about me, I wanted to know what it felt like to be loved by someone.

“I’m so afraid I sealed my fate

No sign of soulmates

I’m just a paperweight

In shades of greige

Spending my last coin so someone will tell me

It’ll be okay”

As a child when I played with my Barbies, they’d get married at around 22 so they could have at least two babies before they were 25. That was learned, a product of my environment. As a teen I grew up disliking the gender roles my mother clung badly (and the ones she taught us). What I never accounted for was that my Barbies didn’t have careers, they just had their houses and cars just because. At 22 I was in my fourth year of my undergraduate degree (finished at 23), then at 25 I was working on my doctorate degree, which I finished at 28. Two degrees under 30. A Latina woman, in STEM, first woman in her family to finish a doctorate degree, second member overall. Who is working in her field. A woman that is many things, kind, thoughtful, wears her heart on her sleeve, gives a lot of herself and will go to the ends of the heart for those she cares about. Yet, she still feels inadequate. I figured once I finished grad school all the chips would fall where they needed, and they haven’t. I am still working through the fact that changing opinions is more than saying you don’t believe something anymore, you have to go in and put in the work, if you don’t all those things you used to believe will come back and bite you in the ass. That Barbie story, even though I don’t believe that I should have (or even could have) had a child at 22, I feel I’m behind, I am finding I haven’t actively changed that thought. I am a fucking doctor who feels hasn’t accomplished anything, make it make fucking sense. That just goes to show what the emphasis on success I was taught by my parents and society, ironically for a long time my mother was a single hardworking woman. I have to redefine my expectations on life, which I hadn’t reevaluated (I hadn’t realized), I don’t have a Time Machine.

I’m starting to make my peace with the fact that it might never work for me. That I have to be perfectly content being the single aunt, that has pets, and travels the world. But I do want the black picket fence, the kids, that suburban life. Will I get that? I don’t know. I do know that I can’t put my life on hold waiting for that, I have to live my life to the fullest, I have to make myself happy in whatever situation I am. Otherwise a lifetime will have passed me by and I would have only been miserable.


Some days I wake up with hope. Not because things are looking bright —they’re still looking bleak but I get glimmers of hope. I deserve good things, I deserve to be loved, cared for, looked after, I deserve to be first choice, and hopefully affirming those to myself will manifest them to life.

As Always,

With Love,

Carolyn

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The Smallest Man Who Ever Lived and Back to November Part I

“Who the fuck was that guy?” -Taylor Swift

I tend to pride myself on not having regrets. The usual way I approach things is that I did the best I could with the information I had and there’s no need to regret things. Because of that I’m the type of person that decides to go for it, just so she doesn’t regret it later. I’m a firm believer in “you regret the things you didn’t do more than the ones you did”.

I think it’s worked out for me so far… until now anyway.

Last year I started seeing someone (Electric Touch dude, let’s call him Peter), I felt he was way out of my league, cute, tall, and green eyes. He seemed into me, stole kisses and touches here and there. I thought it was the start of a beautiful relationship. Newsflash, it wasn’t. In the words of Queen Swift: “I don’t even want you back I just want to know, if rusting sparkling summer was the goal”. It was arguably one of the hardest thing I’ve had to get over. This time I hadn’t imagined a whole relationship with someone based on nothing, I hadn’t thought they liked me, this time he said he did, he said he’d catch me, and when push came to shove, he didn’t. I was “too much”, where have I heard that before? Hmm.

There’s a saying we use in Puerto Rico “un clavo no saca otro clavo” which says that a nail cannot drive out another nail —what it refers to is that you can’t heal from a broken heart by going out with someone else. But that’s (kind of) what I did —or tried to.

I hyperfixate, and being hurt I wasn’t able to think about anything else and wanted something else to occupy my mind. I thought if I got myself out there it would help. I was —and am, on a quest to date outside of the imaginary box I built of how my person is supposed to look like, which is typically tall, lean, and light-skinned (I know okay? That’s been a running joke with my friends that I like generic white boys and I even get “these white men are dangerous” memes from them 😂). Most of everyone that I’ve gone out on dates with fits this description.

One day I am scrolling through dating apps and I come across this profile, let’s call him Jack, and I think that he’s cute, has a cute dog, likes cats —I liked all of those, it’s particularly hard to find a man that likes both cats and dogs. Has tattoos, and lifts. It was hard to tell from the pictures but he seemed to be a big guy which is not something I usually go for but I wanted to give it a shot. We went out one night, played pool, he gave me shit about something, and we spend a lot of time laughing. He came to the date with joggers, a green hoodie, and sandals with socks, while I wore an extra high waisted jean, and a felt/see through bodysuit, with makeup and earrings. I’m pretty sure he beat me in pool. We walked out of the bar to my car, I think I was giving him shit about his height, about being shorter than me, and to prove he wasn’t, he placed his phone against something, put a timer and stood behind me for a picture (does he still have that picture? I don’t know). I thought he was going to kiss me at the end of the date, I was nervous, but he shook my hand and hugged me. SHOOK MY HAND. I still give him shit about that.

The date was fun one, we seemed to kind of click. But once I got home, I bursted into tears. I clearly was not over Peter, and I knew that, I just didn’t realize it was going to hit me that bad. As I kept talking about Jack to my friend, she thought he and I wouldn’t work, I made sure to pay attention, particularly because of how on-point she was about Peter, ultimately about two weeks later I realized she was right. On top of that, Jack wanted to date and I didn’t feel ready for that. So, I let him know I had a good time but I didn’t think we should pursue things further.

Jack is such a sweet and kind person that all he told me was that it was okay and we should be friends. He said (and I quote): “you’re a very intelligent and strong willed woman and I’d love to keep talking to you”. And that’s what we did. I went onto date other people as he did.

We’d talk about people we were dating. Giving each other advice. One thing we always did was flirt. Exclusively when we weren’t in relationships, and if they crapped out, we’d resume, but we were always respectful to the partners. It was just playful banter. I didn’t seen him since we went on that date, but we kept in touch, we’d Snapchat, and even video chatted once. We had been playing around with the idea of having sex, we were both single, and trusted each other so why not? This time it turned into a serious conversation and I ended up at his place.

This is story is not over — it’s just paused, I didn’t want to lose you over a long ass blog post, so stay tuned for Part II.

As always,

With Love,

Carolyn

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I’m the problem, it’s me.

I’m the problem, it’s me.

When you don’t look like society’s standard of beauty you grow up being ridiculed because you’re “too fat” or whatever attribute they deemed ugly, it would get pointed out. At one point in my life I weighed 150lbs, and I remember feeling too fat, too ugly, too little. Mom and sister both were skinny, I was the only fat one. Dad was fat as were a lot of the men in my life, but for some reason they’re not held to the same standards. I felt inadequate. They couldn’t relate. It didn’t help that everyone around me would make the same idiotic comments: “Carolyn, you’re fat, that’s not healthy for you. Maybe you should lose it.” Well gee Aunt Tina, I did not know that fact, thanks for letting me know! My parents were no better, and I get that the comments from certain people were coming from a place of love, and care. But at the same time, when they’re 1. Unsolicited and 2. Given without any solution, the comments are useless. I own a mirror, I know I’m fat and I know it’s not healthy. None offered to join me in a gym, none cooked healthier foods for me (when I was a minor and not in charge of my own meals of course). I always figured there’d be a time where I’d go to the gym and I’d lose the weight. Only problem is that I always postponed that. For whatever reason, I’d always find an excuse. Not one of my greatest moments. Looking back when I was “fat”, I was quite literally a few pounds away from a healthy weight. I’ve been suggested Herbalife, I’ve been criticized for how much butter I put on a toast… think of criticism, I’ve probably gotten it.

I’m the problem, it’s me

Taylor Swift

Since I have memory I have always wanted to be skinny. Even when I was 150lbs. Whenever I look, at the rare pictures that exist, I could have lost a few pounds, was I as fat as I thought? No, absolutely not. I have always felt I needed to lose the weight to feel good with myself. Until I lost it I wouldn’t feel good. I didn’t like feeling inadequate, ugly, fat, or that I was taking up too much space. At several points in my life I have joined gyms. I would go, highly pumped… for a whole month, and because I wouldn’t see results in that short time, I would get discouraged and I stopped going. I was expecting results in a month for something that had been years in the making. None of the people that would critique me ever joined me. All encouraged me from afar, no one put their money where their mouth was. I’m not proud of the times I quit, but it is what it is.

I’m not proud I quit, but it is what it is.

Circa 2008. What the fuck am I wearing? 😭 I was living in a tropical island, it was hot. Why am I wearing and ugly ass shirt and an ugly ass jacket? Don’t get me started on those baggy jeans… Oh and you can’t see the hair, but that’s another hot mess.

I always had this idea that fat = ugly and I felt bad about myself, I just wanted to hide. I hated cameras! There’s evidence of those times, but not a lot (hence the really bad cropped pictures I am showing here), I really lost a lot of memories because I didn’t like capturing my fatness, I didn’t want to be reminded at the time. That’s how bad I felt about myself. And it’s sad, no one should be made to feel like that. I look at pictures of my friends in high school and I’m not in a lot of them, I would take them but I’d never be in them. And the ones that do exist I look fucking terrible. For fuck’s sake, I would dress so bad. But that only speaks to the level of confidence I had at the time, which was essentially none. Oh and on top of it I’m tall for a woman, so not only was I fat, I was very tall, everything about me was very difficult to hide. It pains me to look back at those pictures, not because I was fat, but because I see that insecure little girl that never felt pretty enough because she was fat. I also missed out on so many things. I didn’t do a lot of things, I didn’t take enough pictures, I would wear the most hideous things ever, again, it’s very sad I lost so much because of that.

Sometimes I feel like everybody is a sexy baby
And I’m a monster on the hill
Too big to hang out
Slowly lurching toward your favorite city

Taylor Swift
Circa 2010. This wasn’t any better. Two shirts, a longer one hiding my arms, and then one on top? Why did I think this was okay?! Here the hair is more noticeable…

My confidence had always been close to zero, fat people can’t be pretty can they? So why would I feel any confidence? There’s not much representation of fat people in the media, no one looked like me. Insecurities built up, for me this translated into baggy clothes, long sleeves, layers of clothes all in order to hide the fat. Of course, I was not hiding anything, I was just looking fucking terrible in the process. I mean, that’s all looking at it retroactively, I am pretty sure at the time I thought I looked great. Well, never hot, I had never found myself looking hot, there are always Jennifer Annistons walking around, I could never measure… Even though I loved it, part of the reason I cut off my hair into a pixie cut (inspired from Ginnifer Goodwin), was because I would not know how to handle my long hair. I never felt I could do or wear “girly” stuff because I was fat, you’ll see that I looked like a tomboy for a hot second there, that’s all I felt comfortable in.

Circa 2017. I doubt I ever wore this dress outside without a jacket or a cardigan. I hated those arms.

There’s not a lot of fat people portrayed in the media, though we are seeing more each day, but not when I was a kid. Those that were, were just made fun of. Being fat is funny (sarcasm). The fat character was always the comic relief. They were never the love interest, they were the funny-reliable-relatable best friend. I never felt identified with any character on TV, the were not a lot of fat people, much less fat women. There’s this moment that replays in my mind every once in a while, I was in elementary school and girls are forced to wear skirts (even though pants cover up much better), very little schools allowed us to use pants, but even then, sometimes we couldn’t afford both the skirt and pants, so skirt it was… anyway, there was this kid I had a crush with, and I guess he knew, not sure, so I’m walking upstairs and if you were standing below them, you could see up all of our skirts, he’s standing below and looked up and said “eww”. It’s almost 20 years later and I still remember, that clearly scarred me. Outside of school I’d never wear a skirt, if I did certainly not one short enough that you could see my thighs (there were some rare occasions but just know I was very uncomfortable). I would never wear sleeveless shirts, or dresses, my bathing suits consisted of shorts and a shirt, I encountered many instances of going to a pool and having anxiety because it stated that bathing suits were required. I would always be wondering if I’d be allowed in or if in this instance I’d be kicked out. Wearing shirts with sleeves allowed me to hide my chubby arms, but who was I really fooling? You can still see it, you just can’t see the skin, my mind lied to me that this was better. First time I wore a sleeveless dress, that was just right above my knee was 2017/2018. I was 24 years old, this means I had basically spent most —if not all— of those 24 years, hiding my body. It also didn’t help that I was raised in a pretty strict-Christian household, it was nowhere near as strict as what my parents encountered when they were growing up, but strict. In the church, there seems to be this idea that to appear Christian, you have to look bland, I’d call it ugly, but I don’t know what they would call it. If I had a penny for the amount of people I saw looking the ugliest a person can look… I’d be rich. And this is not talking at all about their physical appearance, this is talking about their dress choices. I get that there’s modesty involved with being Christian but you can be modest and still look good, something the people I encountered growing up did not know, or chose to ignore, I’m not sure. What I am sure about is that I inherited insecurities from the adults around me, not necessarily on purpose but it’s what happens with people, we project our insecurities onto others. “Cross your legs, ladies do not sit like that” or “lower your skirt! There’s people around!” or my very favorite, the chaos whenever your bra strap slipped over, as if people didn’t know women wore bras…. And don’t get me wrong, we don’t want people looking up our clothes and we want to be modest but at the same time there shouldn’t be the taboo there is.

Circa 2018, Blue Lagoon. This is the only image I have of me ever wearing a bathing suit without any shorts. I did not want that documented.

Summer of 2018 I took an impromptu trip to Iceland, when I went to the Blue Lagoon I had a one piece bathing suit, one of the first times I had ever worn one. With a short pant of course, you can’t be showing thighs, fat thighs are ugly and no one wants to see that… my friend and I had to use bathrooms far from each other and she had my shorts in her bag, I can’t recall why. So when I’m putting my bathing suit on, I found I didn’t have the shorts with me, so I had to put my metaphorical big girl pants on and walk out wearing only the one piece bathing suit. By the time I found my friend, I had lost the shame and I decided to just not wear the shorts. I was still nervous when I went in and out of the water, but I did it. That was the first time I’ve ever worn a bathing suit without any cover up. It wouldn’t repeat itself until this year, but instead of a one piece, I wore a two piece, high waist bottoms, sure, but still. After a lifetime of feeling ashamed, in 2022, I finally felt comfortable in my own body. But I’ll get to that later. The summer of 2018 was important in my growth, it was the first time I had worn a sleeveless dress and a one-piece bathing suit without shorts. I would go to wear more dresses, makeup, especially a matte-red that everyone compliments on me. It also didn’t help that the world closed in 2020, I gained weight, lost the weight. I don’t like to think I’m the person that looks from validation from other people, but I am, though now that I know, I’m aiming to validate myself. I don’t need someone to find me pretty to feel pretty. That summer was also the first time that I liked someone and I wasn’t concerned about whether or not they wouldn’t like me because of my body. I was slowly shedding the insecurities.

2022, Puerto Rico. This woman is living her best life. You see that smile? I was also in Puerto Rico, my homeland, that I hadn’t seen in over two years. Wearing this two-piece bathing suit, short-less and very happy.

I was slowly shedding the insecurities.

Summer of 2022, I matched with a guy on a dating app, I wasn’t sure about him, too young, his profile pictures were terrible, but I decided to give it a shot. He was very attracted to me, and at any given point he’d let me know. This made me want to look pretty for him, I’d go on to dress up so he’d see how pretty I was. In doing so I started feeling myself. I started wearing things I would have never worn, I bought lingerie, leather skirts, bodysuits, I realized I had nice clothes, but there were even nicer things I could get. In my mind there was a line on what stuff fat people could and couldn’t use. Turns out it was a fucking lie. I found out I look smoking hot wearing a leather skirt, that it accentuated my fat? Yes, did I still wear it? Also yes. All of this was in part for him, that’s how it started but then somewhere along the way, it started being for myself and if he liked it was a huge plus. It felt very nice to be wanted. It took me a while to understand that it needed to be for me, rather than him, because it got to a point that I was looking for validation from him. He needed to tell me I looked hot, to feel hot. This was also the first time I looked at myself and thought I was hot, it was no longer a label exclusive for the Jennifer Anistons of the world. At the moment he withdrew his validation, I wavered, man did I waver… But then I found myself, I realized it had never been for him, it had been for me. His loss really. He met this very insecure woman and unknowingly allowed her to find herself and when he left, she was not the same person, again, his loss, who doesn’t want a woman that feels confidence in herself, her body whichever way it looks at any given point? I still want and like to be told I look good, who doesn’t? But I also don’t need it to feel myself or to wear something I like. I sent my aunt a picture and she replied with: “confidence looks good on you.” And that’s something I had never felt. I walked out in public wearing a leather bra, skirt, and a sheer top. I WOULD HAVE NEVER. But did I? You bet I did.

Carolyn, 2022, Toronto, Ontario. I am officially calling this the “Carolyn leather era” (sounds naughty in Spanish lol). See the difference? I am fucking feeling myself. I still feel a little conscious but fuck it.

Confidence looks good on you.

My aunt

Am I the problem? Abso-fucking-lutely not. The problem is society fucking up with anyone that’s not a size zero. This is not in any way of form criticism to size zeros, it’s to the people that tiered who deserves to be respected and who doesn’t. I deserve to feel happy wearing whatever I want to wear. I realized I gave people too much power, I get to decide how I feel about myself and no one gets to dictate what is good or bad for me. No one is walking in my shoes, I am, no one knows what I go through, what goes through my mind or what I am working towards.

2022. As I post this, I feel a little conscious about how you can see how my fat looks through this skirt, something I’ve spent years hiding. But I am deciding to concentrate on how fucking hot I look.

My goal with this post is to, hopefully, inspire you, if you’re anything like me, my best advice is to fuck all the people that have made you feel inadequate, wear whatever the fuck you want, if you love it, wear it. Wear it confidently, or fake it until you make it. Do all the things you want to do, don’t follow in my footsteps and don’t miss out on things, your family, friends and people that love you, will thank you. You will regret all those instances where you missed out. I know I do. But no more.

As always,

With love,

Carolyn

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An open letter to the friend that broke my heart

An open letter to the friend that broke my heart

I’ve held onto this for a few weeks now, debating whether it required a post for itself or not. I read it a few days ago and decided it did. So here it goes:

As fate would have it, I met this boy at a random party, to be honest we didn’t talk then. But by chance, we were in the same class and it was an instant click, we had a similar sense of humor. From talking before and after class, our relationship developed into sitting together. I had a new friend, yay! Then, we had conversations through Snapchat and eventually texted. A lot. Look, I talk a lot so that’s normal for me, but it’s rare to find someone that will let me talk and not mind. I told him to let me know if he minded because I am not the best reader of people and he seemed to be fine with it. For a little bit, I thought he liked me because he would say funky things. We started hanging out, at my place, out somewhere. I even got a gift from him out of the blue, the randomest thing ever. Though my favorite memory was one day where I was struggling and he stepped out of the gym and stopped by my place with ice cream. Pistachio, because out of the times we had gone out, he had observed that’s what I had gotten (ask me which flavors he got, idk!). The thing to know about me is that I treat everyone the same. Whether I like them or not, whether you’re my friend or not. At one point I’m with my best friend on the phone, talking about how it looked like we were dating, but I didn’t know if we were, my friend agreed. But I wasn’t sure what to do. He brought up the conversation once, we agreed we weren’t, I explained that I never treated him special, he brought things he minded and even dropped the “it’s not you, it’s me” (which ended up being b.s… I should have listened to FRIENDS, “if they tell you it’s them, it’s really you) and that was the end of it… or so I thought. Things were ok for like three days. He started pushing me away, stopped sitting with me. Since it was unexpected, it hurt like hell. I waited for him to clarify, about two days after, I texted him, he called me and it turned out I had said a joke, which he thought I meant. Another thing to know about me is that I’m sarcastic 99% of the time. But he didn’t buy it and asked for space. While I tried my best to keep my distance, it goes against my nature so it wasn’t perfect. So that was my best, even if it wasn’t the best by him. We were even scheduled to travel together so whatever was going on, needed to be solved by then, which is part of the reason for me to try to keep in touch and try to help fix whatever was going on. Days and weeks went by and we were not talking. I kind of confronted him through an app, not my finest moment but I hadn’t seen him so it was the only way I could do it. What I was told was that we were talking too much, that he was uncomfortable and that I was too energetic and kept reminding him he wasn’t in a good place. Long story short, he thought the trip would help him clear his mind. Short after I got a text that said that he wasn’t making it. To some extent I tried to talk him into going. Though it wasn’t long until I realized how he had made his mind up about me. There was nothing I could say that would make him change his mind. He was done with me, done with me without giving me the benefit of the doubt, without letting me explain. I didn’t know what was going on!

While he explained why he decided not to be my friend anymore, it still didn’t make sense. I did interpret that from our previous conversation, I guess he expected me to treat him different, which I didn’t because I never treated him differently. He told me how suffocated I made him feel and a lot of things along that line. I wanted to take the high road so I told him I wished him farewell, that I hoped he would fulfill his dreams because in spite of everything, I thought he was a good person. Why? I don’t know. He was horrible to me. Though I think I was horrible to him, in his story. And that’s how I got a friend and lost a friend in the course of two months. The aftermath was the worst: crying at home, and being a hermit for a week, I had anxiety attacks, I couldn’t breathe and honestly I couldn’t deal with anything. I blamed myself, even though I had taken responsibility for what was my fault, even if he didn’t see it.

If you’re reading this, I even had your Christmas gift picked out, I freaked out for months because I wasn’t sure what to get you. It was a set of loose tea and a really nice steeper. You would have loved it. I am mad at you. It took me a week and then some to feel better. I cried on the way to a friend’s house, who would subsequently take me to the airport, because it wasn’t supposed to happen that way, because it was supposed to be the two of us. I semi hoped to see you at the gate, to enjoy the trip even if it wasn’t with me. I even felt guilty, because you were excited and I felt like I took that from you. It was never my intention to be the villain in your story, on the contrary, I always try to make people feel better. It might take a little bit more for me to be over it. But you know what? I learned from this. To some extent, I’m glad it played out that way. Maybe the briefness was supposed to teach me (and maybe you) a lesson. Don’t use this bad situation as an excuse to not put yourself out there. You were working on being more open, so do it. Our friendship didn’t work out, but another one will. Fly, fly, fly.

I do wished we could have talked about it, truly talked about it. I would have gone to the ends of the world for you, but that’s just who I am. It’s hard to understand my personality, I know, but know that I never lied. I tried to be as honest with you as I could possibly be. From this, you should learn to know yourself a little bit better, know what things you’re ok with and what you’re not. It’s a shame I didn’t because I was 50% ready to end the friendship with you a month before you did, but I gave you the benefit of the doubt, joke’s on me. I’m still mad and hurt as hell with you. Because I believe I deserved better. I’m a good, kind person and I don’t think I deserved this. But oh well, live and learn. I thought I could leave the door open for us to be friends again at some point down the road. But I don’t know… In this aftermath I don’t know if I could. But to be honest, I’ll say I can’t and will probably do it. But who knows?

Carolyn 

P.S. You said I made you laugh. A few times you said that… who lets go of someone that makes them laugh? It baffles me.