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Who Hurt You, Athena Juman? Part I

I found a layer of my abandonment issues that I'm not ready to be public with just yet, so I'm going to rant about less deep layers of that onion:


The number of times ex-girlfriends contacted my recent ex while we were together is disturbing to me. I’m talking about multiple girls on multiple occasions “reaching out” to MY boyfriend over the course of our six-year relationship and even after it ended. The most recent time being YESTERDAY. I felt disrespected not only by them, but also him because sometimes he would give them the time of day.


Even if I still had my old ex-boyfriend’s number do you think I would be calling him "hoping to hear his voice" or sending him drunk text messages from Vegas reminiscing about old memories? Oh no, honey; I’m not THAT pathetic! I messaged my “first love” on Instagram.


I was drunk in Vegas when I did it and I talked about old memories, but not the romantic kind. Part of what I had to say was that I was happy that he had that girl to pick up the pieces of his broken heart and put them back together for him because I put that shit back together myself. Admittedly, I wasn’t happy about it at the time and it took me over a decade to confront him.


Another part of it was apologizing to him for the rumors that I started and perpetuated when we were in high school. I was finally able to be accountable while also iterating that I wasn’t weak for showing my emotions; he was weak for pretending he didn’t have any.


He responded true to form with an emotionless “hope all is well...” paragraph.


My favorite part was telling my little sister ("biological" cousin) and hearing her exclaim, “WHAAAAT??! YOU DID THAT NOW?!!” Her reaction amplified how proud I felt. She saw me through some of the pain back then and I wanted to share some of the glory with her now.


It was a relief to get all that off my chest. At times, I felt haunted by those truths and now that they’ve been spoken: let’s just say I feel like I’m resting peacefully most of these “lonely” nights.


I apologized to my recent ex for not being over my “first love” before we started dating. He said he never thought I was. So, my “truest” romantic love thus far had that part of me figured out before I did. I also sent him some heartfelt drunk messages and pictures. I was missing him, cursing him, questioning him, wanting his validation, and more. I experienced what felt like the full range of my human emotions.


It wasn’t only my exes that I contacted in Vegas, I also drunk texted my new “love interest,” a self-proclaimed "fuckboy." I was interested in a physical relationship with him, like the one I had after my “first love" broke up with me, but he didn't want the same with me.


He said those types of situations “usually” end poorly. I guess I took my previous arrangement for granted.


In high school, I was pleasantly surprised to learn that the guy who I thought was hot wanted to be “friends with benefits.” We were genuinely friends, (not best friends or anything, just friends), hooked up multiple times and when it was over, we both went on with our lives like nothing happened. I didn’t always feel beautiful back then and sleeping with someone I thought was physically attractive helped me get through my breakup, although not over it. I’m grateful that at that age, we were both mature enough to maintain a strictly physical relationship.


Maybe I was looking for the same with this new guy, but “fuckboy” felt more than just an erection for me; he felt a “vibe.” At the end of the day, the reason didn’t matter too much; the fact was "fuckboy" didn’t want to fuck me. I respect his decision and my sea of rejection felt painful, yet peaceful.


Even though these men didn’t want me in their bed, I felt like the hottest girl in Vegas that weekend and I wanted me in my bed.


I called my ex-husband to apologize for pretending our relationship never meant anything at all. It did mean something at different points in time, authentically.


I met a guy with baby blue eyes somewhere in the middle of these drunken messages and calls. He was the only single guy I met that trip. A number of guys who locked eyes with me were either married or in a relationship. They were surprised to know that I was IMMEDIATELY disinterested in them upon learning that.


Part of me felt like they were accustomed to having their cake and eating it too, some because of how much money they had, others because of their looks.


Their money didn’t impress me. I make my own money; I spend my own money, and when I’m in Vegas, I gamble my own money.


Their looks may have impressed me, but committing to one person, that impresses me more. I have respect for the sanctity of monogamous relationships, especially after disrespecting some of my own.


I went up to baby blues at the lobby bar, looked him directly in the eyes and asked, “are you single?” He said that he was dumped just a couple months ago. I believed him.


One of the first things he noticed about me was that I didn’t wear makeup. I guess I liked that; I pride myself on letting people know. We kissed a number of times and besides that, he held me. He held me through my anxiety, my pain, and my discomfort.


I established my physical boundaries and he respected them. Some people might call that admirable, but I want to know why that isn’t always the case? We both went our separate ways afterwards.


It felt like I was being abandoned by some and abandoning others, giving a taste of the medicine I had received. In hindsight, I was unpacking a deeper truth.


I unintentionally carried my abandonment issues from my first romantic relationship into subsequent ones. I lied to my “first love,” believed the lies he told me, then proceeded to lie to my new lovers and continued to believe some of their lies as well.


After confronting and making peace with as many of these lies as I could remember, I had the biggest realization yet: my abandonment issues started before I was ever in a romantic relationship. It didn’t start with getting rejected by fuckboy, not with my truest romantic love yet, and it didn’t start with my “first love” either. In fact, it wasn’t a boy at all; it was her.


The layers of my abandonment issues peeled back to home, where the heart was supposed to be and family was presumed to be “forever.”


To be continued...

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