I had a box full of mementos from our relationship. Of course I did. Apparently I'm still a 16-year-old girl. I held onto everything. Each letter, the cards, the photos, the Post-Its. Once, he gave me a dollar bill. I kept it. That's how sentimental I am. I saved a fucking dollar bill. When he went on a family cruise, he gave me a shell. From an island.
And that damn Travis Diener bobblehead doll. He loved that thing. We had matching Diener bobbleheads. They were a part of our history. We had Dieners. It made us laugh because it sounds like "wiener."
We were goofy.
He used to write me notes on old WE Energies statements. On Post-Its. On napkins. He mailed me a card one day over the summer. I loved that card. He wrote the most wonderful things.
It was the Christmas card that killed me. Christmas was meant to be spent with the people you love, he wrote. He couldn't imagine spending it with anyone else. He thanked me for everything I'd brought to his life. "We have so much to look forward to in the new year," he said.
Funny, because exactly one month later, he broke my heart.
I packed it all into a shoebox. All of it. I wasn't ready to get rid of it. And once I made peace with the breakup, and with him, I had every intention of hanging onto what made he and I an us.
He meant everything to me. Our memories couldn't be tossed out.
Until I found out what he did to me. Betrayed me for months. Still blows my mind. Everything he wrote in that Christmas card. Why? He wrote that, while sharing himself with someone else.
And her. I was told she reads this blog, which is funny, because when I was informed, it was insinuated that I should be nice because I might - are you read for this? - "hurt her feelings."
HURT her fucking feelings.
So, why don't all of you say hi to her. Don't want to hurt her feelings, make her feel left out.
She's lucky. Not because she had him. Not because, together, they turned me into a joke. But because of everyone involved, I am the only adult.
If I had her level of class, which is absolutely none, I would destroy her. Absolutely bring her down.
If I ran into her, and shared her character, which leaves everything to be desired, I would punch her. I would hurt her. And it still wouldn't compare to how badly I was hurt.
Lucky for her, I'm above her. Above that. Above him.
And you know what I did? I spent that fucking dollar. Travis Diener went into the trash, with the shell. From the island.
But then I did something better.
I grabbed the letters, the notes, the cards, and the photos out of the trash. I was going to toss them out, forget they existed. Out of sight, out of mind. But I took them out.
I stuffed all of it into an envelope.
Every last Post-It.
And I put it in the mail, addressed to him.
A care package, full of all the love he had given to me. Every sentiment. Everything I held dear. Our relationship. I wasn't going to read it and weep anymore.
He probably opened it and threw it away. Or, did me one better, and called her. Maybe they shared a laugh. At my expense, of course. Because why do anything differently now?
But I've washed my hands of him. Of our relationship, whatever part of it was even real.
And, by the way, I never said I was the one who did a bad thing.