I was always amazed at how you weaponized the one thing that use to bring me peace. After living in a house filled with people — all your friends — I craved the rare moment of silence. I was desperate for a feeling of peace and used to love when everyone said they were going out, because it meant I’d have five minutes alone.
But then you started using silence to punish me. I remember the first time you did it. I was still living in my own place and we were chatting about something over text. It was a typical volley — you said something, I’d respond a few hours later, and then back and forth like usual. I responded to your text with something entirely normal, and then…silence.
One hour became two, two became six, and six turned into a day. I just waited, and waited, and waited for a response. I had no idea what I’d done or said. As the trust that you would respond slowly turned to fear, I began to question everything I’d said. I read back the texts multiple times, completely unclear as to what caused this horrible, punishing silence. It was incredibly painful as you let me just wait and wait for your reply.
After enough time, I was angry. I texted and asked, “Did I do something wrong?” and your snarky reply came almost immediately. You were waiting for me to reach out — a power play to feel, what? In charge? In control? I should have seen that warning sign.
I asked cautiously, “Are you mad at me?” to which you replied “Of course.” That — that right there — should have been my first red flag. But I only saw it as a case in which I must have done something inexcusable. I apologized, asking again what I did. You blamed me, harangued me, and made me feel utterly worthless. And I apologized for whatever random, entirely forgivable remark I said. You said you’d deign to come to the city to talk about it, but I’d have to meet you somewhere. You wouldn’t come to my place because it was too much of a hassle. I got dressed up and as I saw you walk slowly towards me in the park, broke down almost immediately. It was what you were waiting for.
After that, silence became the norm for you. No matter how many times I asked you not to be silent or walk away, no matter how many times it was left to me to break the silence after multiple days, I always did. I always broke it. I always went first. And somehow, I was always the one who ended up in tears.
Once or twice I emulated you. I thought it made sense because, in my mind, you just needed silence to process your emotions —and so I was trying to support you however you needed to manage your anger. And yet, you got angry at me for being silent. You came bursting into my door asking, “So are you just never going to talk to me again?” Angry, accusatory, and overwhelming my peace. And I was once again forced into a position with my back against the wall, defensive and afraid.
And to this day, even though we’re not together, you wanted to talk. You wanted to rebuild the relationship — even if it was just friendship. And you claim you would do anything to show me why you’re a better person now. And yet, when conversation is flowing about something inane like football, you disappear. For days, you don’t respond to me. And you somehow claim you don’t see why that’s cruel or manipulative.
And I am so broken I crave a text. A response. Anything to let me know what I did wrong. I think about writing to ask. I think about sending you a photo to get a response. And I even go so far as to think about calling you.
But I don’t. Because bottom line, this instance of silence — like the many, many others— shows why I was right to leave. It also shows why I was wrong to believe you would — or maybe could — be better.
You continue to disappoint me. You continue to show me your selfish nature. And you continue to prove that you will always, always, always choose yourself first. So instead, I choose to let the pain settle in. Let is work itself deep into my bones and remind me of what it felt like almost every minute I was with you. How I was always unsure of myself, always worried and scared of angering you, and always fearful of a fight because I knew I would pay the price.
So thank you of reminding me of that. Thank you for showing your true self once again. And thank you for the ability to pivot my frame of thinking to see this as a gift, rather than a curse.
