My dear Transition Man, I acted irrationally toward you; I did it for me.
For all the times I put myself second and the man on my menu first. I acted irrationally toward you because I needed to burn the bridge which walked me into your life when you weren’t free and I was vulnerable.
For too many years with too many men, I rose above—the cool cucumber to their belittlements. I took insults in stride and reacted as rationally as my ego would allow. I refused to be taken down. I came from my mind, my so-called higher self, while my heart hurt….hurt…hurt.
I so didn’t want to be the crazy b*tch. Too often, I contorted to make a man comfortable in his world. But, when I walked into yours, I knew I didn’t belong. You were so yesterday and a tragedy I’d tried in my youth.
Still, you threw me with your masculine beauty. I couldn’t stop looking at you. I wanted to touch you all the time. You became my addiction.
I started rationalizing maybe you and I might make a great team. After all, the one you officially played on (with your long-distance wife) was just a farce.
You craved something real, as did I. When we were together, you were present. You were like water to this dried-up rose, but of course, you were watering other flowers.
My ego wanted to win you. You felt it and were repelled.
Except when we were face to face, eyes to eyes, skin to skin, your voice to my ears. You leaned into my words. You fed me more than home-cooked meals.
Sometimes, when we made love, I tried to convince myself I was the only one. The only one living under your roof, sure. However, it became clear: I was worse than the other woman. I was one of many.
I saw myself going crazy. It was the night I sobbed from my soul. You held me with love, but not with devotion. I wasn’t committed to you either. Still, something inside me wanted to demand it.
I cried and shook. I was breaking through my past, had no idea about my future, and hated my painful present. I gave you no words and you didn’t ask. I fit into just one compartment in your traveling suitcase.
You never said I’d be more. I had no desire to vacation with you. To begin with, I soften in the sun and awaken with water. You detest the beach!
I needed to swim away from you. That was the rational decision—to an addiction.
So, I acted irrationally on my way out—hiding panties and poetry for the next woman to find like a warning. I washed my dog in your tub because you told me to never do that. After I left, I wrote you postcards exposing what you wanted to keep private.
These irrational, petulant, possibly passive-aggressive acts brought me a silly joy and made my girlfriends laugh. You said, “Who does that?!”
I didn’t know the girl who would do these things. She wasn’t rational. She wasn’t rising above or falling down.
She was on fire and you were the bridge burning behind her.
This post is republished on Medium.