Three years. It’s been three years since we met. That’s 157 weeks, or 1,096 days, or 26,297 re-runs of Grey’s Anatomy that were spent thinking about you. Why Grey’s anatomy? Well, I was Cristina Yang* when I came to college. I was sarcastic, and closed off, and couldn’t care less about anything except for getting to the top. I never wanted to be that girl who got swept up in an up-and-down relationship until the brake pads wore too thin to work any longer but then I met you, and here we are. Just like she and her ex-husband have in the current season of the show, we’ve become that couple that just can’t be together.
I’ve always wanted to avoid being that girl. The controlling, jealous, high-maintenance, irrational, just plain crazy girl. But I think every girl says that. And it’s about behavior that shouldn’t be shamed because it’s a product of knowing what you want and asking for it. So I’m changing my mindset – I’m not the problem, you are.
I’ll admit, the first time we ended was my fault, and despite your denial I still worry that my immaturity hurt our chances of being together again. I could tell with the long road it took us to be on good terms again. But we made it to the top of the hill, and after a while it no longer took so much for things to feel effortless again. It was when you met Mary** when you destroyed it. I still resent that November weekend, when I took the long bus ride to Manhattan for a funeral. Sitting alone in a family member’s guest room that night, I told myself that your suddenly distant demeanor was my overthinking everything from being emotional. You had told me that you had homework when we saw each other the weekend before, you had told me that you weren’t with her. But you were, and that Monday when I came back and heard the news was when you broke me. I hadn’t expected things to be the same as when we first started dating; you had made it clear you weren’t ready for that. But you had some nerve to tell me that even though you had replaced me with a new girlfriend, you still loved me and that you couldn’t see me anymore because of how much you still did.
It makes sense that you would say that though, that’s how I let you back in six months later when she left you. But I couldn’t take you back as the happy, independent girl you had met that first weekend of freshman year. I became the crazy girl who’d side-eye anyone who wasn’t me. How could I not, I had just spent the last half of the year with my heart broken because you chose someone else. The bigger question was why I ever thought that was an okay choice to forgive that, because ever since then, I’ve become consumed with worrying about what you’re doing and where we’ll end up.
Every time we’re together and your phone buzzes, my heart drops like a rock. I’ve seen the messages to ex-girlfriends telling them how you still miss them, and the flirty ones to girls you tell me not to worry about because they’re “ugly”. I’ve heard the lying about who your with, and despite what you think, you not “doing anything physical” with them doesn’t excuse the messages that cross the line from flirty to rated R. I’ve seen the Snapchat friends list that doesn’t include me. And I’ve seen enough to realize that no matter how much you tell me you love me, it won’t ever be enough. You may still say how much you want to be exclusive, and yet you can’t fully be with me. Since I can’t trust you, I’m done not respecting myself.
And you can call me as “crazy” as you want. If this is what crazy is, then I’m just going to go ahead and say that everyone has a little crazy in them and when you care about someone, that’s okay. But we’re not all pompous and self-entitled, so congratulations, I guess you win again.