Adventures in Boyland (part 2): The letter Ex is for Why

My ex broke up with me. That's not something I'm open enough about. We dated during those crucial teenage years. I always judged him by what I believed, punished him for what I thought he did wrong, and made no real effort to understand or appreciate him. Any real progress or genuine companionship was overshadowed by my totalitarianism.

The morning after he had broken up with me Senior year, I was still reeling. He defined high school for me, and being there for the first time without him wasn't something I could handle. Classes hadn't started for the day, so I was walking around the hallways alone, trying not to lose it. I found my best friend and she hurried me to the only place we knew to go: the classroom of one of our beloved teachers, Ms M. When we got there I sat at a desk and cried. We ate chocolate. Ms M (a wonderful, young, Californian teacher) sat with us. She told me that I had to understand one thing: that, whatever reason he broke up with me, it was about him, it was not about me. I understood what she was saying, and it was such a comfort to me. At the same time, it was very harrowing. Harrowing because I think I knew that they weren't true in this case, but they should have been. 

There is this moment I think back on. We had been broken up for a while, and were passing in a busy hallway when our eyes met. It was no mistake--he found my gaze and gave me this look. I can still see it, piercing and sad. I've thought a lot about what that look said, something like, "I wish you understood. It's not the same."

I think back to him because, with him, I was one of my worst (albeit earliest) drafts of myself, but one that keeps me humble and reminds me what love should really mean.