I suffer from short-term memory loss. I forget recent events within days. Occasionally, within hours. I could have been right in the thick of it and my friends will still have to jog my memory. I can, however, still name each GOP Presidential Candidate from 2015. Honestly, for something to tattoo itself in my faulty brain, it must make an impact. It must reign in importance to the many things that occur in my brain each day.
Basically, I had to give a FUCK about the who, the what, the when, and the why. And I usually do not.
My daily life is far too busy to hold grudges. Even if all I’m doing is laying on my couch talking ish on social media, I’m still too busy to nurse a grudge. I honestly do not care enough. When something is bothering me, I address it immediately. Call it being headstrong or aggressive or confrontational. I do not allow wrongs to go unanswered. However, once I make known how I feel, intellectually, I move on. I do not linger in it. And emotionally, I’ll forgive a person even if they never ask for it. That’s not because of compassion or my Christianity. It’s mainly my ego. I don’t care enough about another person to allow my brain to exert the energy required to resent or hate them. As I stated earlier, I had to give a Fuck. And I usually do not.
As effective as this trait should be in my life–my brain’s ability to weed out the inconsequential things–it also leaves me susceptible to repeating mistakes. Hence, how I find myself legs spread wide underneath my ex.
Look, I’m arrogant. I believe anyone I let go will return to me soon. I am utterly convinced of my own appeal, and I haven’t been proven wrong. So when that ex texts, maintains eye contact with me across the room, likes a photo on my IG, instead of just accepting this as confirmation of my thinking, I engage my ex. Since they made the effort, I now have the upper hand. And then my hubris at his crawling back subsides into flattery at his still wanting me. Small talk turns into kissy face emojis that become catching up at happy hour until I’m face down, ass up.
I am arrogant but I’m also an idiot. I’m a human that is stupidly susceptible to the dangers of loneliness. You combine my short term memory loss with my inflated self-confidence, and what will yield is a delusional woman who wakes each morning knowing exactly who she is but when the sun gives way for the moon, finds herself convinced that settling for less is not so bad.I may have the wherewithal to leave the table when love is not being served, but I also have the powerlessness to find myself back in the the same seat at the same table when eating alone becomes lonely eating.
We can convince ourselves of anything when the other side of your bed has not been disturbed for weeks. All that pro-woman, “fuck him, girl” talking that you do with your girlfriends over wine and sushi become obsolete once you’re alone again scrolling social media and see the “usie” your friend just posted with her bae. A recurring joke on social media is how girlfriends/boyfriends keep their phones away from each other. In actuality, the real danger/shame would be if we women allowed our best friends to read our texts. We put on fronts for each other during the day, and I won’t call it pretense because I think we really believe or want to believe the encouraging words we say to each other and ourselves. But when that bedroom door closes and that “wyd” text comes through, I think we all start suffering from short term memory loss.
I think we forget how embarrassed we were. I think we forget what that pain he caused felt like. I think we forget all our words of how better off we were without him.
Our memories will return, though. The day after you find yourself with your legs spread waiting for a text back that will never come. Then you will remember why you should have held onto that grudge. I don’t have any advice or plan of action with this post because I am guilty of all of this. I am not above it.
I am unabashedly arrogant with extreme self-confidence. But I also do not like to sleep alone.