I Hate My Ex

It has taken me just under four years to be able to finally say that- I hate my ex. And now that I’ve said it aloud, I can finally breathe a bit easier.

The reality is, not saying it was holding me back. I know it sounds hard to believe, but these past four years, I’ve been doing overtime trying to convince myself that I didn’t hate him. Every irritating phone call and text I received from him, I bit my tongue and tried to smile through it. Even with his irrelevant commentary about the way I have chosen to live my life, I’ve smiled through with gritted teeth.
My boyfriend will be the first to tell you that as soon as my ex comes up, my entire mood changes. It doesn’t even matter in what context he gets brought up in. My face sours as I try to force a smile. As a matter of fact, I think my boyfriend can vouch for my guard immediately shooting back up whenever my ex makes his presence known.
Of course the easiest way to avoid all of this would be to simply cut ties with my ex, change my number, move, and putting enough distance between us that he would never be a thought in my mind again. But, I can’t quite do that. The issue is I had a kid with him. *facepalm*
The mere idea of admitting or even saying out loud that I hated him just seemed like the first big “no-no” on a list of “no-no”s when you have a child with someone. And considering I had taken a stand during our break-up that I would not be one of those women that puts him on child support or gets the law involved *facepalm again* it seemed impossible to utter those words. I mean, I had decided, before knowing what he would look and act like post break-up, to be the bigger person.
Now, I wish I hadn’t talked myself into not getting the law involved or even saying those four little words. Neither benefited me.
My issue however was that I wanted to be that woman who doesn’t let her past phase her. The kind of carefree black woman who could care less about what people had to say about her, has no time to engage in the back and forth fights with her ex, and is happy. I mean, all I really wanted to be was happy. Unfortunately, I couldn’t be. Not completely at least. My happiness was always tainted with the bitter aftertaste of my ex, who simply wouldn’t go away.
But it was more than him not going away, he became one of those guys that popped up whenever the mood suited him. My daughter and I would go months without hearing from him. He didn’t bother to financially support her. And whenever I brought up he needs to do better, he hit me with a woe is me story and reminded me that if it wasn’t for me, he wouldn’t be in this position. *Right before my daughter turned one, he moved to a different state that is a twenty-four hour drive away- and blames me for his decision to move because I told him I was contemplating moving there*
As much as I fought to not degrade him to a “deadbeat” or foster ill-will towards him, it seemed like he did was blame me for everything. His lack of a relationship with my daughter. My inconsideration of his daily and monthly expenses *cause I asked him if he would split the $50 monthly fee for dance classes for my daughter* And let’s not forget, I ruined “love” for him. It seemed like no matter what I did, it was never good enough for him and he found a reason to either fight with me about it or nitpick it to the point that I just stopped bringing it up to him.
And I still chose not to say those four words.
It took me going on a vacation and then meeting my boyfriend to finally find some semblance of peace and happiness. Finally, I had begun to believe that maybe, just maybe, I had done it. I was able to not only obtain happiness, but also not succumb to hating him in the process. I was wrong.
Like I said before, my happiness was always tainted with the bitter aftertaste of my ex. The reality is, my decision to not say I hate him, had more to do with me not wanting to have to deal with the hurt that I endured in our three year relationship, than it did with me wanting to be the bigger person. So for almost four years, I’ve harbored that hurt, storing it away deep inside of me, hoping that over time, I’d just forget about it. That happiness would eventually kick it out for taking up so much room and everything would be fine. But happiness doesn’t quite work like that.
So today, I’m finally saying I hate him. I’m saying it out loud and I’ll even shout it from rooftops if necessary. The hurt that I’ve been harboring can now be free to be dealt with and I finally get over the mess that was our breakup and deal with all those emotions and sentiments.
I mean, the only way to be happy and stay happy is to make room for happiness and I can’t do that, until I can let that hurt go.
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