I believed, if given the chance, people did the right thing. When I reflect on heartbreak, I see the most agonizing part. It was never the moment I found out, or realizing who the other woman was. Don’t get me wrong, those moments took me to places I didn’t recognize, but upon reflection, The worst of of the agonizing web I was interwoven into was trying to work on things after the destruction of a bond.

In the aftermath, I found myself standing far from tall. It felt like everyday, all of who I was , was screaming. Every part of me was on fire, and nothing could subside the flames.

I had believed in the inherent good of people. Statements flooded through me, on repeat, I believed so much. Phrases like; if she knew what happened she would be mortified, if he knew how much I loved him he wouldn’t cause me pain. Similar to most things I learn only by immersing myself in life to the last drop, learning only by experiencing.

After the abuse of trust and conscious decision to do so — a bond cannot be rebuilt. I hear conversations surrounding couples— we are working on things, we are going to work through it, there will always be hurdles. Words from couples of longevity.

I don’t think my heart-broke more, than in the phase of repair.

It’s like revisiting the most revitalizing parts of a relationship, just to know it doesnt look the same. Not due to the lack of love, but the formula now includes this— what cannot be forgotten.

I remember when my ex said the phrase he wanted to work on things. I don’t think I have ever been in a more psychological scheme of manipulation more, than I was then.

Months prior he had curated a relationship with a coworker behind my back. We had broken up in march of 2022 and their secret friendship, began in October of 2021.

The moment it came to light I was devastated. When we are connected, intertwined into the magic of a bond, you often look at that person and feel as if they will never harm you, could never harm you; they will protect you, and do everything they can to be the best of themselves, for not only you but them. I remember before I had heard her name, I never imagined, the man I was with would easily put me in he line of fire, while lighting the match. In the deepest parts of all I was I looked at him and saw safety.

The day I found out, he had revealed an aspect of his work day I had never heard before. He had never spoken of her, until that moment there was a slip up. After the dust was settled, and healing worked its charm, I now see they their story was just getting started. It’s safe to be indulge in the forbidden, to start a foundation with two people committed to others— there’s hardly any loss.

If they go deeper, great, but if not they have the safety of someone waiting for them at home.

About a week and a half my life consisted of aches. Something was off, and I entered a mindset I was unfamiliar with.

Who was she? What happened at his job? Did they walk down the aisles laughing and giggling like we once did? And worse, does he complain to her about me?

No, impossible. Any other guy, not him.

For that week and a half I couldn’t do anything right. There was a switch. We went from twos peas in a pod, to every movement I made created a wince, or an eye roll. For a man that had the super power of serenity, his patience with me seemed to no longer exist. Uneasiness is where I remained.

We had always had honest conversations. About how we felt, why we felt, our weaknesses and our strengths. We confided and dissected topics most people shy away from, but to us understanding the misunderstood was our power source.

I was taken aback when I started to get shamed for pieces of myself that had once been appreciated. I wanted to talk about what was happening, what I felt. My uneasiness. To be able to discuss our rawest pieces, I thought, was deeply wonderful. Out of nowhere I received a scoreboard, and I was losing— bad.

I was naive.

I had always been myself, my honest self. To be loved or hated, I am, I was me.

He had left me before for another woman. In the early parts of us. He had come back with promises. Against my moral code, i empathized. Being friends for a long time, I believed we were all human. But like I said, I believed if given the chance, people will Inherently do what’s right. They are good.

Flash forward to almost two years later.

The second time, not so much.

I was naive.

After that week and half, I could not believe where I landed. I had graduated a few months prior, got my dream job, got a car, and living in the state I had wanted to live in my whole life. I felt as if everything was falling into place

Until All of it came crashing down.

Did he do it because he couldn’t handle where I was? Did he have to be with someone more impressionable, more reliant on him?

Was this made to hurt me?

A week and a half later, he had told me he was going to hangout with this coworker. I offered to come with, to meet her. I was shot down. I knew then.

My respect, my integrity is what rules my decisions. And in that moment, as heartbroken as I was I grabbed my things from his place, screamed, and left.

I will say, at that point in time I did not understand a reaction to bad behavior was what this was justified for— rather than the bad behavior itself.

For a long time I was made to feel guilty for that day. Me leaving, was me breaking up with him— equating Leading to the path of this woman.

This is another realization, where for a long time I was fighting a non stop battle.

I was the one who caused this, I was the one who broke up with him, I was the one who created this.

NOT that I was standing up for myself and that later in time, I will appreciate my actions on that fateful day. That I allowed my integrity to shine through, even though I was confused, heartbroken, stunned.

Five days after we broke up he, his roommate, and her roommate head to Sedona. She posted photos of his hands on her thighs.

So yes, my instinct was right, and I did know who the other woman was.

He blocked me. He didn’t want to talk. He was at her house everyday.

We broke up March 20th 2022 and on April 3 2022 she released the first part to a project, A writing project called the introduction to my grief.

it was how to grieve someone alive.

I had created a Wattpad and publishing my writings had turned into my passion. From November 2021 and onward I released poems, the compilations of sweet girl and liberation.

When discovering she was not only writing, but releasing the the stages of grief, to someone who broke my heart, left me without words.

The world is not this cruel, there is noway.

Another realization has been this, people bond over negativity. They bond over the downfall of others. I felt like I was in a movie, casted as the wrong woman for a harmless man, and his savior was the one who could understand; how to grieve someone who is alive.

The progression only got worse. They went on trips, and started doing rituals that he and I did. I was devestated. I didn’t have any answers.

At that point I didn’t know what I know now. I didn’t know they had been friends— without my knowledge. I didn’t know she and her boyfriend in February 2022 and I didn’t know her sitting at his desk was not uncommon.

But still, I believed, if given the chance, people did the right thing.

I tried contacting to apologize for ending our relationship, for there being any misunderstandings.

I was broken, but also immensely confused. At a loss for words.

I was in that state for a long time.

And again all i thought is I must be missing something. The guilt drowned me. I ended things so I deserved the reactions.

In Layered devestation; I felt ultimately rejected. When the opportunity came to work on things, I thought yes. This makes sense. Eveything will be okay.

Sinking in desperation and being pulled by the ones who harmed me developed the lesson; you cannot become healed by the hands that destroyed you.

I had decided I was leaving the state. One of the hardest decisions I have ever made. But I knew an unruly truth that laid within me. Who would be if I stayed?

A part of me knew I would want to understand. That I would never escape the woven story line I had been placed into.

I knew I would hope for reconciliation. The day he did what he did at the beginning of our relationship; come back.

About a week before I left we had met up to finally discuss what happened. I had known nothing for three months. Only the pieces I collected on social media, and from our mutuals.

They had been together, dating, but not official.

His car was decorated in new momentos, his outfit was worn from places together— we had never been, and the shoes I colored on, and made art on, were replaced with someone else’s drawings.

Heartbroken, I was just so confused how I my quirks and attributes had someone else

Fitting the exact same way.

I believed, if given the chance, people did the right thing.

We talked.

all night, cried, and he wanted me in his life.

But it was different.

He wanted to keep her in his life too.

Thinking i was being progressive, in a love nobody understood, I abided.

It devastates me to see myself in that position. My root of love believes in selflessness, that loving isn’t possessive. It believes in depth and empathy. It enrages me to know that then, I wanted him to be happy over my own— whatever that looked like.

I was in hell.

This time around didn’t feel right to me. To have the other woman, in his life, as a ‘friend.’ He wanted to have her there, he wanted to be in her presence, and it hurt. Where was my self respect? The acknowledgment of my worth?

We got space.

He spent the summer with her, and I spent the summer longing. After three more months we reconnected. He was different. I had noticed attitude changes, personality changes. His interests changed. I wanted my life back. I wanted to be saved by him; to take us back to our life, our world.

We tried. But like I said, working on things is the hardest part. For me the most devastating part.

It was like revisiting a childhood house that is now belonging to someone else. The walls are painted different, the pictures hanging up hold lives I don’t know, the closets hold skeletons that aren’t mine. It is technically a house, but it’s not a home. And me a guest, in the house I grew up in.

She was always somewhere in our equation, and he was in hers.

I often think if I was a weaker woman I would have the life I longed for. He and I could have been friends, done the dance of experimenting with chemistry.

But I am far from that.

As I grew stronger, my intolerance for what what equates right and wrong multiplied. Healing is funny in that way. You don’t even realize you’re doing it.

We tried to work on things while doing distance. Him in Arizona and me in North Carolina.

But Moments started to pop, epiphany’s were developing and I kept having to fight the thoughts of—what am I doing? If he learned, or better, understood the gravity of his actions he would want nothing to do with the woman. Is this who I am? Is this my legacy? To allow someone who willingly put me in the line of fire? Used our relationship as a stepping stone to the next? When I would never do that to them? To not value me? Will my life be all justifications for something I know in my core was unjustifiable?

Stilll thinking, if given the chance, people did the right thing.

Time continued, and In his eyes, I became less empathetic. My distaste for his actions became my fault. I couldn’t let it go, I was overreacting, I would not accept him for him. The air that surrounded our rebuild was that all of this was somehow my fault.

I wanted to be nice. I extended the olive branch to her in the fall of 2022, it was shot down.

Another realization; those desperate and broken are genuinely weak. They bend to whoever has power, and allow themselves to become a shell. They don’t want to cause ripples or dents, they want to be as good as they can. It creates toxicity. Underlying harm and instead of the relationship being balanced, power is on one person. And in this case the one who now had the ability to destroy my life.

The coats of deflection and projection were smothering. Anything I said resulted in I was upset, or I was hurt, insinuating insult. It resulted in laughs and scoffs from his friends. That I was insecure. That I was the unreasonable for wanting him to acknowledge my pain, and to understand the ickiness that came in the aftermath.

To be friends with the woman who was the other woman, and still have me around.

My words held no value. The mess that existed because of his actions held no value. I held no value.

In his eyes I was to blame.

That he he could have his cake and eat it too.

And I do blame myself, for bowing to what I know, was beneath me.

Because,

I believed, if given the chance, people did the right thing.

I was hurt and I was upset, and I had every right to be so.

And that led to the question of myself—

I believed, if given the chance, people did the right thing—

and was I doing it?