This post is about to go both ways. From me apologizing to the ones I’ve hurt, to me explaining the reality of never loving.

Now, don’t jump to any conclusions and assume I have hypothermia from my figurative ice block of a heart. It’s nothing like that. My heart is the size of a super sized meal from McDonalds (pretty effin’ big). I’ve got mad love for my family (and my dog, duh), mad love for my homies, and double mad love for the strangers I’ve had conversations with.

Completely off topic, but there is something completely amicable about over exposing your life to a stranger, and vice versa, having a stranger over expose the details of their lives to you. It always has me walking away with a fat-ass grin upon my face. It’s an ephemeral friendship that begins and ends within a matter of minutes. And it’s beautiful.

Back to business.

Heartbreak is never intentional. Unless you’re a Patrick Bateman kind of lad. Then you’re probably a total sociopath who lacks any kind of remorse.

Feelings change. It really sucks, but it’s nature. These things within us change. And sometimes they change with no warning, and with no reasoning. Or sometimes it’s a gradual process heading your way, going the speed limit, you know it’s there, you can’t put the brakes on them, and then it happens. You no longer feel the way you did towards your partner.

This is to you. You know who you are. I know you’ll read this. I told you I would no longer speak to you for a very long time. I asked you, I begged you, that if you ever felt like contacting me again, to just completely ignore that desire. I wanted to cut off any, and all contact with you.

These past 5 month of messages filled with miscommunication, words we wish we could take back, never ending conflict, and pure confusion. It needed to stop. I knew you weren’t going to be the one who blocked a phone number, so I did it. I did it for the both of us. We needed it. One of us had to stop it.

The unapologetic name calling, you repeatedly telling me how horrible of a person I was, proceeding to tell me you were sorry for calling me those names and sorry for saying these awful things to me. They  were the most toxic months of my life. I know I acted like none it could phase me, or surpass me, but it did. You were far too consistent with contacting me on a tiring weekly basis, trying to instill in me that nobody will love me like you did, and that I will never be able to forgive myself for letting a good thing go. And I never reciprocated these intolerant and contemptuous words. I always kept my cool with you, making sure I was sensitive to the way you were feeling. Because I was the reason you were feeling the way you did.

Prior to those months of us hopelessly falling apart, we had the utmost spellbinding months of building each other up. Everyday was a good day with you, everyday was a good day with me. And somewhere along the way, I lost sight of that. And I lost sight of you. The kind of person you are. That smile, that radiant personality. You were selfless. You always put me before yourself. Always reassuring me how lucky you felt that I was yours. How good it felt to have me look at you the way I did, the way I used to. You really did love me. And I need you to know that I did not take that love for granted, and I will never forget it.

Not a day goes by where I don’t think of you.

I’m sorry I robbed you of your sleep. I’m sorry I made you act in ways you never thought you would. The insecurity you felt when I wouldn’t communicate how I felt about you, or why I didn’t care to see or speak to you for a week straight. I’m sorry for the phone calls I ignored, the text messages I never responded to, the open ended questions you had for me that I didn’t answer. I’m sorry that my excitement for you faded into oblivion. That my once head-over-heels type of love I was so eager to give to you, turned into a stand-offish mesh of ambivalent feelings and insensitive distance. You told me you felt like you couldn’t keep my attention. That I was trouble. That I wasn’t a “normal” girlfriend for not caring about your whereabouts. For not caring that your ex-girlfriend wanted to meet you for drinks. That I wanted you to hang out with your boys instead of seeing me for the 4th night in a row. I’m sorry you continued to fight for me even when I was long gone with no intention of returning to you. I’m sorry I put every person close to me before you on my priority list. I’m sorry my brothers disliked you, my sisters knew you weren’t right for me, and my parents knew you were just another one of my many phases. I’m sorry I allowed you to fall for me when I knew it was a matter of time until I would willingly vanish from your world. I’m sorry I never gave you the closure you wanted. I’m sorry. I sincerely mean it, I am sorry.

I’ve asked myself, why is this a reoccurring pattern? They have my curiosity, then they have my attention, then I’m gone. I don’t leave a trace, I don’t show my face, just like that, I’m gone.

It’s really not a fun cycle. My friends ask me, my sisters ask me, my sibling’s friends ask me, “Katie, how do you make this happen? How are you always the one not looking back, walking out with not a single trace of heart ache?” They ask me to teach them. There’s nothing to teach.

Being this equivocal about love gets really old, really fast.You, yourself being the reason another person is in this desolate, helpless, barren state of mind leaves you completely abhorrent. It’s super shitty. A person who was once intoxicated over the thought of you, vulnerable at your touch, is now tragically helpless. Because of you.

I can truthfully say I have never been in love. I have been in love with moments; moments with people that I adored, but I wasn’t in love with these people. I loved them as the beings they were, for their striking souls, for their beautiful minds. But it was the same kind of love I have for my friends. The love you have for your partner should be the most unique, the most distinct and different kind of love you have for any other person in your life. Someone you’re proud to love, someone that makes you feel some type of way.

Those nights cuddled up on the floor with nothing but blankets and bodies, tangled in limbs. The beach trip we shared together where I swore I might have been in love, but in reality those feel-good beach vibes were what I was feeling. Spending day after day with one another, and still not having enough. Excessively craving more. Needing more. Having your stream of consciousness suddenly interrupted. You unwillingly begin to think  about this person. How they’re doing, what they’re doing, what they’re thinking.

I’ve been in limbo with love.

Here’s my concern: I feel like I truly need to feel heartache before I can deeply fall for someone. I don’t know what it feels like to be in love. It may sound crazy (or maybe not even that crazy at all) but I feel as if its what’s missing from the equation. My heart being ripped out. Stolen from me, and stomped on. Exploding with tears. I need to feel like I’m choking on my emotions, completely robbed by the infatuation of another soul. I’ve seen it happen to those around me, and I’m not so sure if I’m capable of it. Blocking out emotion is far too easy on my end, and I think it damages or impedes this delicate process.

I will say, I am confident that I will meet that game changer. That exception. That person I’ll share a  conspicuous love with. My right hand, my go to (Drake reference for all my OVO folk).

So here’s my question, do you think it’s harder to appreciate something good, when you haven’t experienced what it feels like to be hopelessly heartbroken?