The more I think about it, the less sense it makes. 8.5! This is was my first mistake. Never and I repeat never equate yourself to a number, an object, a celebrity, or another woman. The true value of what we have to give to friendships, relationships, to our lovers, and our family can never be measured.
I learned this lesson the hard way. Unsure of how my man saw me, I asked him how he would rate me on a scale from 1 to 10. I should have known then our relationship was not genuine or even right for me. If someone is feeling you, and I mean really feeling you, you won’t need to read between the lines or play a numerical guessing game, or analyze everything he says. You will know! The feeling they have for you will manifest themselves in the way your man or woman treats you and cares for you.
Again, I asked my love interest, “What I am to you? On a scale from 1 to 10 where do you rate your feelings for me?” 8.5 folks that brotha gave me an 8.5. And, I proudly accepted my 8.5 like I was Miss America or winning a Best Actor award at the Oscars. What the hell was I thinking? Ironically, the same shallow, superficial evaluation I asked this man to give me was what I gave him in return, a relationship that warranted an 8.5. And, that my friends is being generous to this man. I’ll tell you how.
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| Miss America 2016 Congrats Betty! |
8 - the month we reconnected. August the same month my stable heart got lost in your smile, which always had a way of killing me softly.
7-the number of emails I saved from our bullshit long distance friendship. You said you couldn’t be committed at the moment so I settled for friendship. With these emails I tried so hard to give you relief from your situations and stress. I anticipated your emails before work only to be rewarded with less than stellar responses like : ‘Hi’ , ‘Bye’ , ‘Thanks’. I mean really. Why couldn’t I see then that I was dating a douchebag. But like I said I tried to read between the lines and fill in what I wanted, or expected to receive.
6- the number of months you spent overseas protecting our country. The months it took for me to go crazy for you again. The number of months it took for me to remember what a good friend I thought you were. The months it took me to carve out a space for you in my heart. The months you stroked my heart only to break it.
5- the amount of time I told people you were different. You had changed, you had matured. The amount of time I told them I could handle it if you had not changed. I was wrong. They were right.
4- the amount of time you have been back. Four days. The amount of time I tried to understand your feelings for me. The amount of time I’ve tried to believe you were different. The amount of time you took to stroke my heart only to trample all over it. The amount of time it took for me to realize I didn’t matter to you. The amount of time I cried from disappointment. The amount of time tears saturated my pillow case.
3-the third week of March you decided you were done. You didn’t want me anymore. The third week of March you walked away with no goodbye, explanation, or reason. The third week of March you pretended to be interested, leading me on with your charm all the while you knew you were going to walk away.
2-the two weeks it took for me to GET it through my thick skull and deaf heart that you weren’t different, you were clever. You used my acceptance for your own pleasure. You hadn’t changed not one bit, why couldn’t I get over it? Better yet, why didn’t I see it?
1- the one day it took to change it all. We had planned to spend the day together, but you texted sorry. You said you would call later. It was Wednesday I didn’t hear from you and it must have been the last you wanted to hear from me. You only gave me this, an email that read: “It’s not what you think.”
TRANSLATION “I’m just not that into you. Why is that so hard to say? One, the day it took for you to change your mind and confuse mine. One, the number of questions I still can’t understand. Why couldn’t you just tell me? One, the one vision I had of being there for you.
And finally .5, the amount of consideration you ever had for my feelings, the amount of care you showed me. The amount of time it took you to decide you were tired of this relationship. The amount of time it took to erase my existence. The amount of strength you had to justify leaving. The amount of respect you had for me as a person or friend.
But what could I expect really? I asked for 8.5 and I got just that an 8.5. So as I reach for 8.5 prize to reflect on my mistakes, I no longer feel the pride of a beauty pageant, or a child being rewards for good behavior. I feel crushed, trampled, and used. So take your 8.5 FUCKER and sell it to someone deserving, someone who’ll settle for less and take your emotional distance as a hearty serving. Because I want no reminder of the mess you’ve made. I’ll brush the dust off from where your trophy used to lie. And, I pray the next time you give yourself to someone else, you give them something that originates on the inside. You wive them something real, and make sure they never have to guess how you feel about them. And, whatever you do —don’t give them a damn 8.5.
SIDE NOTE: the man I wrote this about has long moved on. This heartbreak happened to me in college. I hope he is well. He has a child, and I think a love. I pray he learned to connect and communicate his feelings. I have long forgiven him, but I never forget.
Love You, Love God More
Lauren Hope
P.S. I never wanted a SCRUB anyway.
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