In 2005 or something, Meredith Grey stood in an operating room at the fictional Seattle Grace Hospital and poured her heart out to the flowy-haired wonder, Dr. McDreamy.
Objectively, this fool did not deserve the notorious MG’s “Pick Me, Choose Me, Love Me” spiel, considering his behavior resembled that of a 16-year-old JV football captain who couldn’t decide if he wanted to bring Sarah or Sandy to the prom. At the time McDreamy was being a McDickhead who had not one, but two stunningly intelligent and beautiful women pining over him…one of whom he had kinda-sorta- been married to. Adulthood is a bitch, y’all.
My point: Meredith did it. The strong, closed-off, tequila lovin’ young woman fearlessly put it all out there. She told the person she loved that she loved him. It was not at all easy or painless, but whatever she had been feeling evidently was real—and it needed to be said.
Shows like Grey’s Anatomy, moments like this, have the potential to understandably feel tangibly unrealistic. However, sometimes these moments can sneak up in you.
But until you’re in that moment, standing in front of someone emotionally stripped and unapologetic to the point where you feel a gaping hole in your chest…until you’re standing there, feeling all that, speaking in massive run on sentences similar to this one, and don’t know what’s going to come out of your mouth next, you won’t get it.
I did this once. The whole “I love you, and we’re 99% over, but I’m going to fight for us now, LOVE YA—JUST SO YOU KNOW” thing.
I did it because this person knew me in a way I never let a single soul know me before. And however many years later, I’m still here saying he was worth it.
So yes, I stood, crying, because you know all good life-love speeches-pleas-haikus or whatever require human tears/hyena-sobs.
Shonda Rhimes wouldn’t be too impressed, but it was from whatever I have that constitutes as a heart. One mid-week night, around 10 p.m., unpredictably, I couldn’t even believe I was dialing your number. You showed up with a box of tissues (as I was also crying when I initially called you) with a box of tissues and an issue of Cosmopolitan that you stole from a mutual friend.
We talked, and it was the last time we ever talked. You no longer wanted me in that way. We were best friends, then more than best friends, then attempted friends, and then nothing to each other.
I’m not sure what made me the way that I am, but I feel it. I feel that if a person makes you think twice about what you’re doing, who you are, and who you could be, that maybe that person is worth a second thought. Maybe that person is worth putting it all out there.
Sometimes, for a millisecond, I can’t help but think that I blew it. I should have held on when I had you. What are the chances of finding someone whose presence demands in you a climate of self-awareness and comfort?
Then I remind myself, or try to anyway, that the “right” person, would never yank the rug out from under me. The right person isn’t going to be absolutely in love with everything I do, but the right person also isn’t going to walk away in more ways than one. The right person will never take back the love he once promised.
I’m mangled. I’m a mess. I’m all m words, apparently. He knew that better than anyone else. I mean I Imagine there are a whole lot of young females a lot less complicated than me. They probably speak in simpler sentences, and don’t do things like actually sing the “Happy Birthday” song in their heads [twice] while watching their hands.
It’s just that I spent so many days waking up, listening to a cycle of thoughts in my head. For years, the same paralyzing and downright annoying thoughts about how unlovable and undoubtedly unworthy I am played in my mind.
I’m guessing she probably doesn’t do that. She seems kind, sweet, and fun. Why couldn’t you have dated or found a viscous troll who was like…a Mets fan?
Anyway, you deserve to be happy. But I would like to believe that I deserve that too. I’m trying so hard to believe that I deserve to be happy. The person I wanted to be with doesn’t stand by some of his words, and then renege on his promise of friendship, importance, and love. The person I want to be with doesn’t take back love. He just doesn’t.
Every kiss, every word exchanged was thoughtless; everything was natural. We fought, we tore each other apart in ways that we had never been torn apart before. We spent most of our time doubting whether or not being together was right. I think we loved each other, and I’ll always regard the way you treated me with appreciation. I am lucky to have found a short time with a person who made me feel so comfortable and loved.
I hope to one day have that again. And I mean, I hope if someone loved me, he would tell me. I’d appreciate it even if he wasn’t crying. I also don’t take back my big ol’, embarrassing, non-reciprocated love-speech. I decided a long time ago that I live my life all in.