Door Slammers.

"I want you to stay..."


So apparently, I'm a door slammer. It's not what you think, though. Ironically, it's not me slamming the doors, as one would expect.

A few weeks ago, I turned on the TV because I needed background noise as I primped in preparation to see a few of my friends at a comedy show. I wasn't in the mood to hear any particular artist or song, so I flipped to a random station and returned to staring at myself in the mirror, focusing on this one particular curl in the front that still hasn't recovered from years of heat damage. While my attention was on my hair, my focus shifted as a relationship specialist took the stage and began talking to a young woman who was heartbroken after her boyfriend left her to be with another man.

"There were a few signs that I ignored, and I gave him the benefit of the doubt a lot. I didn't want to think that he just might be...gay. But we fought all the time, and we broke up repeatedly. It was almost like he was pushing me away with his actions and with every argument, but I couldn't leave. I refused to leave. It wasn't until he said he needed to talk to me and I planned a romantic dinner for what I thought would be the night of our engagement that he said, 'I met someone. And I want to continue seeing them. It's a man. I'm sorry, but I'm leaving you.' I was broken hearted, and still am."

The relationship expert told her that she's a door slammer. In spite of the issues in her relationship--the constant fighting, him pushing her away, the repetitive breakups, and his suspect actions--she had an image of what their relationship should be, and she held on to that. She wasn't letting that go. It wasn't until HE slammed that door in her face that she was forced to let go of the perfect relationship she wanted and face the fact that her actual relationship was imperfect and over.

This segment of the show felt almost invasive; it was a mirror of my own life. No, my ex didn't leave me for another man (at least I don't think), but his sexuality was repeatedly the topic of discussion amongst my friends, family, and even within my own mind. I defended him while we were together, but I see it even more now that we aren't an item. Some signs I ignored, and some I couldn't, but I wanted so badly for this particular long-distance relationship to be a successful one. I pretended many of the red flags weren't raised, and I fought to keep my man. But we fought constantly, just like the woman on the show did with her boyfriend. We held discussions about the future of our relationship, and doubted its strength to thrive in these conditions. With every argument, I felt like I was being pushed away, but I'd be damned if I was the one to let go. I had an image of a perfect long-distance relationship embedded in my mind, and regardless of the tears, fights, and sleepless nights, I was gonna make that happen. We took turns hurting each other, but for a moment (I think) we both believed that the pain wasn't enough to demolish what we'd built. It was almost like I was delusional. We were delusional. Soon, the doors began slamming in my face. After another night of coming second to a female friend that held no regard for our relationship, I decided to let go. I couldn't believe that he, an insecure man, disrespected my insecurities and reservations after I'd pacified his.

Door slammed.

At one point in our conversation, he boasted about being dishonest. "Yeah, I've been dishonest about a lot. I can't remember everything, but I don't tell you the truth about a lot of things."

Another door slammed.

After asking him not to go out with this female friend because of her disrespectful nature, he chose to anyway, disregarding the pain I'd feel only a few hours after our breakup.

Yet another door slammed.

I later accepted that yes, he is an insecure man, and the reassurance he gets from superficial friendships and "yes" men keeps him going. That helped me let go. I let go of the image of the perfect relationship I had plastered across my mind. I let go of the image of the perfect man I'd hoped he'd become. I let go of the image of a perfect me that would be the perfect fit for the perfect him. It helped me finally slam a door on my end.

The most important door.

I didn't see this segment until months after all doors were slammed, but the resemblance to my dear friend's situation was so uncanny that I had to share it with her.

"Apparently, I'm a door slammer."
"Whose doors you be slammin'?" she responded.

Naturally, she was confused, but I took a minute to explain. She simply responded, "Wow."

She's never been one of too many words, so I didn't expect a grand response, but she later confessed, "I think I'm a door slammer, too."

She was in a similar situation; the image of what she wanted her relationship to be was her greatest stronghold. It's not a thing of desperation, I believe. People plan things everyday. We have expectations of how our day should pan out, which is why we often say, "I'm having a bad day." We hold so tight to our expectations that when anything goes wrong, we're crushed, aggravated, angry, sad, and so on. So naturally, when it comes to matters of the heart, we're holding on even tighter to those expectations. Just as we wake up each morning with the same expectation of that perfect day, we wake up each morning hoping that this day will be the one that the perfect relationship begins to come to fruition. We remain hopeful.

My friend and I had been hopeful for far too long, and thankfully, our admittance to each other helped us remained strong as we slammed the doors.

They're still closed.

Bedmates.

I’d fall asleep in your embrace, blissfully smothered by the smell of your deodorant. I drifted away as I dreamt, and with one early morning glimpse from across the mattress, you’d pull me into your arms again.

203.74 miles.

…just to be bedmates in the full-size mattress that lay lonely on the floor with hardly enough back support for the back pains I ignore. The sheets, though scarce, were not needed. We were bedmates.

That bed has become foreign, and I found a new mate in the roll of tissue I’ve stolen from the bathroom in the wee hours of the morning. I’ll return it before everyone wakes. Together, we lay in my Brooklyn bed, and I smother him with the makeup I’ve been too complacent to remove lately. I sit him on the nightstand as I dream, stealing just enough to lay on my pillow and catch the tears that fall in my sleep. And before the sun comes up, I pull him close for one last embrace before returning him to his bathroom post. I hate these memories of being your bedmate.

Months later, I lay in my bed, sniffling uncontrollably as I wipe water from my eyes. I keep reminiscing. I don’t miss the days of being your bedmate, though the memories are so vivid. Once again, I’m forced to steal the tissue and make it my bedmate. But finally, the tissue I’m stealing isn’t wiping up tears from you.

I hope this cold goes away soon.

Let's kiss while standing on opposite sides of the State Line until we trick ourselves into believing a long distance thing could work.

The Pursuit of Happiness.

O. Chambers once said, "If through a broken heart God can bring his purposes to pass in the world, then thank Him for breaking your heart." This really resonated with me, because if I'd never turned to God before, I turned to Him when I had a broken heart. My last breakup was probably one of the toughest. It had been a long time coming, and you'd think that knowing it'd end ugly would prompt me to admonish my heart and prepare for the worst, but nope. Once the relationship ended, I quickly needed peace of mind. There's a saying that's plastered across Instagram that says something like, "The amount of pain you experience after a breakup is directly proportionate to the amount of energy you put into the relationship." How true is that? Without a doubt, the reason why my relationship ending was so painful was because I'd spent so much energy trying to salvage it when I felt it crumbling at my fingertips. There was no reason why we should've been together, yet there we were, going through the motions and calling it "love." That wasn't love. But thankfully, having exhausted all possibilities and being spent in every way imaginable, I had no choice but to go to church and pray for peace of mind. And I got it. So much so, that when he called and asked to "talk," I respectfully declined. I valued my happiness after spending night after night in a depressive state. Reflecting on where I am now, my heightened sense of self-worth, and my inexplicable joy, I can only thank God for yanking me from my situation and forcing me to seek Him for happiness. And that doesn't always come only after you've spent hours in the church, praying for a mighty move of...something grand. See, my problem was that I put God-like expectations on a flawed man and was heartbroken when he didn't measure up. I looked to him for happiness, and I didn't get it. But I turned to God, and instead of sending resounding trumpets and an overflow of joy, He sends a downpour of things that he knows makes my heart smile. My happiness comes in the form of LOLCats and Puffy Cheetos and red wine. It comes in the form of breathtaking sunsets, trains that come right on time, short lines at Starbucks, and a Tuesday night lineup of my favorite shows. My happiness is 2 hours of "Friends" every night on Nickelodeon, and art galleries that carry my favorite paintings. Oh, and best of all, my friends.

For whatever reason, I didn't think certain friends wanted to be bothered with me. I'm a venter. I vent about my problems until I get them out of my system and have nothing more to say. If I could buy a mannequin that I can tell a million times the same problem, I would. As much as I need to talk instead of internalizing my issues until they disappear, I do sometimes feel bad that my friends' GChat windows are filled with me spilling my problems even if I don't require helpful feedback. And sometimes, I do text, "I need some encouraging words" and hope that they have something that will bring me off the ledge. While I have certain friends who hear my troubles as they come, there are a few that I don't want to burden with the things that make me upset. Ciera was one of those people.

Ciera and I got extremely close when she came back from her 18-month deployment in Afghanistan. She was away, and during her time gone I had befriended her core group of girls. Using each other's personal stories as material for our creative writing classes, Ciera and I quickly bonded as we spent most nights in Starbucks with our laptops and our lattes. We were writers, and she got me. Even in our being close, I was hesitant to divulge all of my private information in an effort to not scare her off or burden her. One day, though, I went against my "rule" and told her that my then boyfriend cheated, and I left him. She and I met in Starbucks, and after asking about my weekend, I broke the news.

"We broke up. He cheated on me. Twice, apparently. I cried a bit, but I think it's out of my system. I'll be okay." 

Tears flowed from Ciera's eyes. "I can't believe he did that to you. You're such a good girl and you don't deserve that. I feel silly for getting emotional, but you've done so much for him, and I know you have your flaws, but you didn't deserve that."

I suddenly felt silly for thinking I couldn't talk to her about my problems. It wasn't until I became completely vulnerable and  emotionally exhausted that I turned to her for an encouraging word and receive more than I could've asked for. This receptiveness carried on even after we graduated and I moved to NYC.

Nine months after ending that relationship, I found myself becoming emotionally invested in the friend who actually gave me valuable advice to help me get through that breakup on the day our relationship ended. We started out as great friends, and as our conversation grew, so did our affinity for each other. For months, he was with a girl who he complained about daily, and pretty soon, he began professing his love for me and even spent hours on the phone discussing how life would be when he'd finally leave her and we'd be together. I'm almost embarrassed to admit that I'd accepted a relationship like this. But I did, and our demise left me just as hurt and confused as I was throughout the duration of our "friendship." Things escalated, and he did eventually leave his girlfriend, but after just a month of it being "us," he decided that he wanted to live the single life, in spite of the dreams he fed me. Naturally, I was crushed. I went home and talked to my family about it, and they had little sympathy. It started out shady, and of course the ending was a reflection of how we began. As much as I hated him, I had only myself to blame.

I needed to find happiness, and quick. Being around my family was amazing as usual, but I needed more. Luckily, Ciera saw fit to see me before I went back to NYC.

"What time does your flight leave? I really wanna see you before you go." She was in town for drill, and could escape just long enough to have a catch-up sesh. She had no idea I was hurting, but her fervency in meeting up with me broke me down emotionally, and I knew I'd be venting once more before heading home to New York. I told her that I had a late flight, but it didn't matter. I arrived at the airport 2 hours before my flight, and as soon as I pulled up in the departure lane, there she was, sitting in front of the airport, dressed in her full army uniform, and ready to talk. I told her everything, even the parts I was ashamed of. I was completely candid, as I know she expected of me. Spilling the darkest parts of my life to her, she gave nothing but love, support, and understanding in return. We sat for an hour, confessing, giving advice, asking questions, and seeking answers. Because of my poor decisions, I was drained emotionally, and backed up against a wall. It was all my fault. I didn't deserve to be happy, but for that moment, in front of that Richmond airport, God sent me happiness in the form of a friend.