Each time I type out my story, I refrain from publishing it out of fear, doubt, victim’s guilt.
You’d walk by me. I’d call out your name. I’d ask you for the apology you denied me. I would tell you how much I’ve missed you.
Now all I hear are the echoes of our laughter faded in my mind – how fragile our relationship really was.
You know the sinking feeling – you’re falling through the void, and this time there’s no one there to catch you.
I believed in the good in you.
Please, don’t tell me I’m just a nervous person.
This is the guy that you thought was perfect for you. This is the guy that you would stay up all night talking to on the phone because you wanted to hear his voice.
I still think about you every day. I wonder how you’re doing. I think about whether you’ve become clean as well and my heart aches for the pain you endured going through that process.
I could see a future for myself. I could breathe again. And it was wonderful.
Dear women who may one day choose to date me, I’m guessing – hoping – you’re not racist by choice. But, prejudice, intolerance and sheltered thoughts can rear their head at any time. It’s like, “racism lite” or “diet racism”; these statements are meant to be harmless, but in reality, they carry a punch to the gut.