I Want To Call Him, But I Want To Be Tough (So I Hold It All In)


I want to call him.

I want to remind him that he once knew me and I, him. How I can’t listen to what was our song, “Ring of Fire.” That Johnny Cash now is exiled from my phone. That once we were in love, planning our lives together, and though sometimes things don’t work out, the way he ended things was shitty.

It was a punch-in-the-vagina type shitty, where the breath is knocked out of you, and you’re left standing there in mid-surprise, hands clenched, cupping yourself, trying to keep from crying out in pain because it hurt so much.

But you want to show that you are tough so you hold it all in — and how dare someone punch you down there!

I want to fly out to where he is, go to his job, and say “Surprise bitch! I am here and now you have no choice but to talk to me. Give me my f*cking closure because, for the life of me, I don’t understand how you can just walk away from the fire you ignited, leaving me in the ashes coughing, clasping my breast, almost dying from the smoke inhalation.”

I look at his pictures, our pictures, and try to figure out when it happened. This falling out of love and falling for someone else. But he played a good role, he carries the same look in all of them. In a few, I notice a huge smile. Where his dark eyes are gazing into the camera, crinkled on the edges from smiling. In those, I notice his freedom. His pure happiness. In those, he is alone.

He posted pictures of her. The new girl. Her back towards the camera, hair pulled up in a bun, the backpack resting on her back. In another, their legs are intertwined. Never of her face. Of course, when we were in the middle of the war I looked her up. My competition. She is young, younger than me. When he proclaimed his love for her, I gave up.

I want to message her and tell her there is no way to justify the game she played. That no matter what she tells herself, she pursued another woman’s man and that is the foundation of their relationship. I want to say to her, “When you tell your story, are you going to leave out the part that he was taken when you met?” She did not steal him, he was more than willing to go, but still.

I want to text him and ask him when he is going to face what he has done. When is he going to reach down to me, hand extended, and tell me that he knew he was f*cked up for doing what he did and how he did it. I want to ask him if he ever thinks of me, of our home, our adventures, and our cats. The cats that he was okay leaving behind, shattering their entire world along with me inside. I tried to hold onto them, but I just couldn’t, my own craziness took over and I left them behind also. I want to rage at him. Pound his chest and call him an asshole. A piece of shit.

I want to let him know that after he left I met a man. A man who I fell for and allowed to get me pregnant, only to discover he was a liar. Not just any type of liar but one that mesmerized me, and slept with another woman. A man who broke what was left of me. After discovering how sick I was feeding into his lies, my anger came back. I want to say, “If it wasn’t for you leaving me I wouldn’t have ever met that man,” I want to blame him for leaving. For everything that happened thereafter but I can’t, that is all on me.

I know that I am the one healing, the one raging, going through various emotions, allowing myself to feel. I now acknowledge that I am still grieving after months of keeping it at bay. I have hiked into the magnificence of the canyons, walked into the mountains and reconnected with myself. I have almost forgiven him.

He has yet to feel, continuously running away from what he has done. Escaping the shame, the guilt.

He is still searching for something to fulfill him while I have come into myself, my being. I feel free.

I want to tell him, “Thank you for giving me the gift of goodbye, if it wasn’t for that gift I wouldn’t have experienced the awakening of my soul, the freedom of just being me without apologizing. Thank you, for all the years we had, for if it wasn’t for that, never would I have been able to become the woman that I am. So again, thank you.”

And that would be the end.

For more self-study, The Urban Howl recommends The Inner Voice of Love: A Journey Through Anguish to Freedom.

Sip a little more:

Reconnect With The Wild & Free Woman Within

Recognize Your Symptoms Of Breaking Free — This Is Not A Disease, It Is The Cure

SAVE YOUR OWN LIFE—THE FREEDOM OF NOT GIVING A F*CK "I Do NOT Give A F*ck. Drink up the power of that. Feed it spoon by honeyed spoonful to your Anxiety until her belly grows ripe and round with it. I Don’t Give A F*ck what I’m supposed to do. I Don’t Give A F*ck. Tattoo it on the inside of your arm in case the world tempts you to forget, because it will." —Shannon Crossman ☾ Read more: #HOLYFIRE #SAVEYOUROWNLIFE #POWER #OWNIT #THEURBANHOWL #HOWLFORYOURLIFE @kayharr73 @ladypantzz @thugunicorn @dharmaunicorn @shanncr


  1. Powerful. I really felt that. And the worst part of it is the stain that we’re left with. It affects every single romantic situation we encounter after. 🙁

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