I Wish I Could Hate Him, But I’m Not That Kind Of Girl

Ryan Moreno
Ryan Moreno

I think about him all the time. But it doesn’t kill me in the way that everyone expects it to kill me–full of hate, negativity, all that ex-love bullshit. I think of him and I’m proud of him. I’m proud of me, too. And I’m just really happy that I am still me after all of it and that I haven’t become one of those crazy psycho girls I will never, ever understand. He is not the enemy. I don’t want to fight him. I don’t want to forget all about him. Life happens. People change their minds. But I could never, ever hate him because of that.

We also didn’t break up like other people break up. With broken glass and the devil inside us and hate bursting with flames. Screaming. Catastrophy. Hell. Exes who are like that are filled with raging jealousy, hardness, defensive fuck off asshole and die kind of hate. But we were never like other people. We always made our own rules. And as weird as everyone thinks it is, the words ex and friends in one sentence, I don’t really care what they think. I’m good on advice. Because hating him won’t do anything for me. It won’t change the past. It won’t help me move on. It won’t help me become a stronger person. That kind of hate and aggression is ugly. It negates everything good. And I don’t want to ruin the good we had by acting stupid and making him suffer.

“I will never hate my ex,” I say, again and again. And everyone looks at me like I’ve lost my head.

I sometimes wonder, though, what it would have been like to hate him like that. I think back to one of our colossal fights. Maybe I could grab onto one of those bastard moments and let it take over me so it could erase the endless ease of my personality that even I am sometimes surprised about. Maybe then I’d finally be done—the goodbye forever stuff that would make me cringe over the sound of his name. But no. Every fight makes sense to me. Action. Reaction. Aha moments. That’s why. What he said to me doesn’t make me furious (now). And how he changed his mind, even after all those years I believed in it all, doesn’t make me furious, either. I get it. It all makes sense.

I refuse to fill myself with hate just because things didn’t go how I wanted them to. That’s for everything in life.

I hear more stories about ex-girlfriends and the fools they continue to make of themselves. It’s like so embarrassing. I want to laugh. I do laugh. And it makes me feel so much better that I could never, ever be like them, even if I tried. Does that kind of dirty revenge really make a person feel better? Does that kind of jealousy ever make their ex come back? I just don’t have it in me to act demon crazy, to be the topic of conversation that people laugh about.

I always make a joke (because I still have his keys) that if I had been like any other psycho ex I would have broken into his house by now and wrecked all his shit with his guitars, making sure I broke them in half before I was done with it all. But. I really just have his keys in case he ever loses his. But. That’s just the kind of girl I am. Thought Catalog Logo Mark

Brooklynite. Book junkie. Sarcasm at its best. On a constant quest for craft beers and live music.

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