This evening I received an interesting text from a long ago ex. I mean like, more than 10 years ago ex. It was after a brief series of text messages about what area each of us work, here in the District. I told him where I was, he told me where he was, and I said “oh aight cool”. Approximately 30 minutes later he sent me another text expressing his interest in being cool and how I seem to be holding on to our sordid past and apparently have been angry, mean, and rude to him. He also stated how he’s been made to feel (by me) that I think I’m better than him.

Now, let me say this: He opened up a can of worms tonight so expect for me to digress all up and through this post.

My first thought was to lambast his ass, but I quickly decided against it because I really have no time to go back and forth with someone who will clearly never understand our plight. Long ago we both created a tumultuous situation that ended almost as quickly as it began. There were very strong emotions shared, but after all, we were teenagers; Adult teenagers, but teenagers nonetheless. He did some things, and so did I. I am no longer pointing any fingers most of all because I really don’t care. I don’t care about what we were then, and I don’t care about what we are now. I am not however, the one holding on to the past. He is! He never grew up. The same displays of immaturity he exuded 11 years ago, he still displays today. I am certainly better than I was at 18. He is gone because our time had come and gone. I find no purpose in even conversing with him but have remained somewhat accessible to avoid being rude, but no more.

I’m so exhausted with people’s desire to push their insecurities off on me. When most people look at me, they see a confident, intelligent, well spoken, ambitious, responsible man. When I look at me, I see someone recovering. I’m recovering from an explosive childhood. I’m also recovering from a series of poor decisions made as a young adult running the gamut from money, to relationships, to education, and the list goes on. While I’m far wiser now, I’m still recovering. However, few people have seen me sweat. Few people have seen my tears, and ever fewer know the things that I fear the most, because there aren’t ANY people who have seen me succumb to fear. You can be afraid and still persevere, and that’s all I’ve ever done. I’m afraid of rejection, but I keep pursuing. I’m afraid of heights, but I keep climbing. I’m afraid to have my heart-broken (again), but I understand that that is the risk we all take in the pursuit of love. I have been beaten, broken, defiled, and some more shit, but I aint no punk. I heal, and I press on. And if people think that I’m better than them because I can take a punch, or a beating and manage to repeatedly recover, then I guess I am better than them. What makes me strong is that I believe in endurance. I’ve never been the fastest, or the tallest, or the strongest, or even the smartest, but I’m still here! “Pressed to the wall, dying, but fighting back!” (“If We Must Die”. Claude McKay, 1919.)

These days I still struggle to make better choices. I still struggle to stand firm in matters of the heart. I still struggle to stay focussed on one thing at a time. I’m still flawed! But I know better than to let this life get the best of me. I am far too intelligent, and far too perseverant to ever give up on me.

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