I’ve heard that toxic relationships are pretty easy to spot.

I’ve even spent time attempting to pull others out of toxic relationships before.

I considered myself somewhat of an ~expert~

Because I’ve had my fair share of gorgeous flowers tempting me, only to reveal themselves as dandelions later on.

I swore that I would never let it happen to me ever again.

But you strolled into my life with confidence and humor.

You changed everything.

I’ve fallen in love before, sure.

But it’s never cut me so deeply and fooled me so brilliantly that it left me feeling like an object.

Like I was nothing except a loser at the end of long, exhausting, impossible game.


I still remember when I realized that we were soulmates.

We spent that summer completely enamored with each other.

Sneaking into private pools.

Exploring every part of this earth we could just for the danger and the stories we’d have by the end of the expedition.

I watched you, wide eyed.

Still holding on to some sort of innocence.

I’m not sure I can even remember what innocence feels like anymore.

My obsession bloomed that summer, years ago.

And you recognized that you had me.

All of me.

As long as I loved you more than I loved myself,

You owned me.


I spent the next few years becoming gradually, painfully numb while you flitted around from one girl to the next, back to the first girl, on to another, etc.

And I sat in your room.

Watched you fall apart repeatedly while hating every inch of your life.

And I gave you pieces of happiness.

My happiness.

Every single day, I gave you another piece of my optimism,

My innocence

My love

My life.

I couldn’t bear to watch you deteriorate because others had drained you of all those things.

I gave you every good piece of me I had.

Until I looked at myself in the mirror one day

And I didn’t recognize myself.

There was nothing good left about me.

Just a shell of a human being who became drained and manipulative.

I saw you.


I began to distance myself from this overwhelming love that I had developed for you.

I attempted to fall in love a time or two.

And even succeeded once.

But as soon as you saw me rebuilding my life,

You came crashing in like a wild animal.

Burning down all the progress I had made.

And no one was willing to stay with someone whose heart was already spoken for.

I get it.

But even then, I couldn’t stay away from you.

My limit had not yet been reached.

Everyone sat me down.

Friends,

Family,

Even strangers.

And begged me to let go and to just finally move on.

I refused.

Because what kind of person would give up on love?

I am not someone who just walks away from a relationship because of some particularly heavy baggage.

You were not a lost cause.

I told myself that repeatedly until one day when it all finally clicked.

Love does not mean that you are that person’s savior.

It doesn’t mean that you need to be that person’s only reason to live.

That kind of pressure is unfathomable.

And it ends of destroying both people.

I realized that this love that I had developed and nurtured was not going to just fade over time.

It was a dangerous, terrifying love that needed to be buried alive.

So that’s exactly what I did.

I left.

Refused to look back.

Refused to give in to every impulse I had to protect you.

I see it all so much clearer now that I’ve walked farther and farther out of the smoke.

You can’t save someone else; they can only save themselves.

They can’t change for you.

It may be romantic and cinematic, but life just doesn’t work like that.

People can only change if they want to.

And you just have to keep moving forward.

Keep walking until you see clearer skies and recognize yourself in the mirror again.

I may have loved you,

But now I have to love myself just a little bit more.

 

Facebook – Becca Tremmel

Instagram – @littlelionbecca

Twitter – @littlelionbecca

He slips on his worn leather boots before swinging his Colt 45 over his toned shoulder.

His muscles have this move memorized considering it’s his morning routine.

Orion opens his eyes as the sun peaks over the galaxy like a mountain range,

Snow capped sunrises only gods can witness.

He’s known as a hunter around these parts.

The other constellations discuss his wandering and destructive behavior under hushed whispers.

His gun-shots are heard from light years away like lightening striking previously untouched earth and severing it into clean cut cracks.

He is always alone.

The other constellations never follow him, though they’re intrigued.

Fear keeps them from allowing their desires to approach Orion manifest.

He is dangerous, after all.

But there is one constellation who views him just a bit… differently.

He is not a hunter,

Only hunted, she believes.

He is not dangerous,

only reserved.

She on the other hand is radiant and well-shaped like a crescent moon hanging perfectly in a coal black sky.

She is, Cassiopeia.

And she is everything.

She breathes out crystal cut stars like it’s constantly winter and breath is white and visible.

She wears robes sewn together with flakes of gold and purity.

She is wanted here and there.

She is pulled from this place to that one.

And yet she only wants to follow him.

She wants to watch him hunt.

She’s almost begging to be hunted.

But Cassiopeia would never beg.

Instead she strolls around the sky searching for him, daily.

Ignoring the crass warnings of every other constellation.

The conversations are laced with disturbing judgments

She wishes she could pluck the hurtful words right out of their mouths

So they could never speak ill of him again.

He hunts down the meek and vulnerable and aims.

Targets the center of their foreheads and waits.

And yet he’s never killed a star.

He’s only watched them shoot straight across the sky and explode causing the gunshot sounds to ripple across galaxies and the whispers begin.

He’s never taken another star’s life for the sake of sport.

He aims.

The feeling of potential and power running through his veins to his fingertips and along the trigger is the only rush he wishes to have.

Cassiopeia waits around corners and watches the potential deaths and is not one bit surprised over his inability to kill;

To walk up to a star and demand his life.

Orion is not a hunter, but is hunted.

 

 

photo by: Alyssa Jiosa

So a few weeks ago I sat down with a good friend.

We laughed and chatted over coffee.

Put our phones down for an hour to have an honest and open conversation.

We talked about writing, love, music, successes, failures, avocado toast and social media.

In short, we covered a lot of millennial-esque topics.


She told me about a song she wrote about social media and the real dangers it can cause.

Comparing ourselves to one another.

Until we’re addicted to self-sabotaging cycles that never ever end.

All due to a few apps.

Wtf?

I often find myself scrolling through instagram and thinking,

“Ugh her pictures are so well done. I wish my feed looked like that”

I wish I was as skinny as her.”

I wish I performed as much as he did.”

I wish I got as many likes as her. I probably would too, if I posed half naked.”

I found myself judging other people and also comparing myself to them.

Just by looking at their instagram photos.

Isn’t that an odd concept?

You may not know someone well,

Maybe not even at all.

But you find yourself comparing your talents

Your relationships

And even your body parts to theirs.

All because you saw some beautifully edited photo of them next to a river with a flower crown in their hair.

Doesn’t that seem like… somewhat ridiculous?


I think it’s extremely important to remind ourselves

Daily

That social media is a COMPLETE lie.

I mean, obviously some of it is true.

People get engaged, promotions, photoshoots, and experience happy life changes.

But everyone also suffers.

And we all have flaws.

Who you are on social media is not the real you.

It’s who you want to be.

It’s how you want others to perceive you.

It’s the ideal version of yourself

Right?

For example,

Instagram Becca is ~skinny~

Instagram Becca has like ~so many friends~ and like everyone like ~totally adores her~

Instagram Becca is an ~incredibly successful~ singer, songwriter, blogger, cat trainer, archer, swimmer, la-di-da-di-da.

Instagram Becca never suffers.

She’s never felt a prick of pain in her entire life.

All of her breakups have been ~mutual~

(lol)

All of her flaws are covered up with some ~vigorous editing~

She is “perfect

But real Becca?

She’s really out of shape.

When she goes on a run (once every five years) she basically has a full blown asthma attack.

She only has a few close friends, but they mean the absolute world to her because they’ve seen her flaws and choose to love her anyway.

She likes to write songs but she’s not where she wants to be career-wise and her music gets rejected insanely often.

She suffers.

But she likes to cover it up as soon as someone points it out.

She also bites her nails, gets broken up with, still doesn’t know how to do her laundry and takes everything personally.

She’s a hot mess half the time.

But do I share that on social media?

Hell to the no.


So,

Now that you know the real me

I’m going to get even more honest with you.

It can be so incredibly damaging and self sabotaging to compare your flaws, career, or love life to another person.

Especially over social media.

You’re comparing your entire self to another person’s ideal version of themselves.

It ain’t healthy, yo.

So as soon as you start getting into that toxic mindset,

Put the phone down.

Go for a walk.

Have a genuine face to face conversation with someone you love.

Because it doesn’t matter how many likes you get on a post.

It doesn’t matter that you have a picture-perfect looking relationship on instagram.

It doesn’t matter.

None of it matters.

All that matters is you

And what you think about yourself.

Your self worth does not lie in a face-tuned edited photo.

You don’t need 200 likes to feel important or vital to this earth.

You already are.

Just by existing and being your flawed, imperfect, beautiful, kinda chubby, dorky, hilarious self.

And the people who really matter, will love every single part of you

Not just ~instagram you~

 

 

(PS. check out my wonderful friend, Nilka‘s song which inspired this rant and blog)

 

facebook – Becca Tremmel

instagram – @littlelionbecca

twitter – @littlelionbecca

This dress feels a little too tight.

I feel kinda fat.

When am I going to start working out, jesus.

Do they notice how much I’m pulling at this dress?

I feel like my ass is just out there in the open.

You look anxious.

Stop looking so anxious.

How long has that guy been looking at me?

What is he staring at?

Do I have something on my face?

Does he notice this last-minute pimple that just popped up out of freaking nowhere?

I hate this.

When can we go home?

Is it bad if I ask my friend to go home?

We’ve only been here for an hour.

Shit.

Wait, is that girl walking up to me?

She looks drunk.

I don’t think I remember her name???

Dear god what is she going to say.

“Heyyyyyyy girl, how’re you!!”

 


 

I don’t really consider myself a “fake” person.

I definitely want to come across as “down to earth” and “genuine.”

Does consciously thinking that make me fake?

I dunno.

Whatever.

I’ve struggled with social anxiety for a long time now.

Some days it’s worse than others.

A few years back, I used to blog… a lot.

You probably noticed.

I loved writing about my thoughts.

My life.

My lessons.

Then I kind of phased out of that.

Again, you might’ve noticed.

Mostly because it got to the point where I hated going out.

It terrified me.

Because no matter where I went, who I was with, or what was going on,

Somebody brought up my blogging.

or my chaotic ~love life~

How it offended them or someone they loved.

How I shouldn’t have broken up with that guy.

How that guy should’ve probably broken up with me.

You know, casual party conversations.

 


I started to really care about what people thought of me.

I started to believe that everything that’s ever happened to me wasn’t mine to share.

Like they weren’t my own stories.

I stopped writing for a while.

It was too much.

It was all too much.

And the really shitty thing is,

I love writing.

I love telling stories.

I love sharing.

I love connecting to other human beings.

I love people.

And I was terrified of people.

It caused complete turmoil in my heart and thoughts.

What if I write about this?

No, then that person will be offended.

Okay, well what if I wrote about that?

No, then everyone will believe you’re a basket case.

I used to be bold.

I used to be brave.

By god, my first piece ever was titled “Welcome to the Psych Ward (It’s More Like a Vacation Spot” 

It doesn’t get much bolder than that, friends.

I was outspoken.

But anxiety crippled me.

It suffocated the joy that was bursting inside of me when I wrote.

I allowed the thoughts of other people to define who I was.

Not cool, man.

So I write this to encourage you to look at your choices.

Why do you do the things you do?

Do you make choices based on other peoples’ opinions of you?

Do you not drink in public because you don’t want others to think you’re a drunk?

Or do you not drink in public because you feel safer drinking at home with friends?

Are your choices fear based or faith based?

Do you post obsessively about your relationship because you want all of your followers to believe that you guys are perfectly, hopelessly in love and not self conscious about the relationship?

Or do you post about your relationship because you are actually over the moon happy with this person?

What types of choices do you make?

For a long time, mine were fear based.

100%.

But I’ve learned over that past few years that who I am is not based on someone else’s opinion of me.

I am whoever I decide to be.

You are whoever you decide to be.

I’m a writer.

I’m a sharer.

I’m a story-teller.

I’m a comeback kid.

I’m Becca.

I am a lion.

And I am bold.

 

(Featured Image by: Alyssa Jiosa)

 

It came back.

I’m not sure how.

I’m not sure when.

It could’ve started when I lost my best friend.

Or when the love of my life no longer wanted to be mine.

Maybe when I couldn’t afford to feed myself for a few months.

Maybe it was a combination of everything.

There’s only one thing I know for sure,

It’s back.


The haze.

The haze that moves in like a sickening fog

Covering everyone and everything I’ve ever loved

Skewing my vision.

The haze that wraps me up like a soft blanket

But I feel no comfort or solace.

Just colder


This dream state of emotionlessness smothers my every move

My every expression.

I feel nothing.

I want nothing.

I am nothing.

Everyone’s presence exhausts me.

How can I seem interested in their stories when mine is just a bundle of blank pages?

I’ve lost myself.

Faded out of my own story.

And the one thing remaining?

The haze.


A storm will come.

Clean out every crevice until the haze is diffused into nothing.

That’s what happened before.

So I sit.

And watch the clouds.

Waiting in painless agony

for that very

first

drop.

Three Months Sober

“Should I invite him to my birthday party?” I asked my roommate while we sat on the floor of the kitchen playing with our cat.

“I’m really not sure what the best option is in this situation, honey.” She replied. Her eyes fell with concern like a caring mother.

“I would love to see him…” I said with a sigh.

“But it might cause too much of a scene to be a good idea.”

My heart sank deeper into my stomach.

It had been sinking farther and farther every time your name came up in conversation.

I reflected back on the past few months I had spent without you.

Countless friends pulled me aside at parties

at concerts

at school

everywhere I went.

Every person said the same sentence, give or take a few words.

“I’m so sorry about how it ended with you two. You were a great couple. There was a lot of love there. Let me know if you need anything.”

Everyone knew within the first week.

I was afraid to leave the house

Because I knew your name would pop into conversations and I’d shrink back into a miserable state of half hearted explanations to put the nosy ones at ease.

I had slept in another bed.

In another room.

And hated myself afterward.

It was a few kisses.

But it validated all of my fears.

I was completely numb without you.

My lips were numb.

My eyes sank low and extravagant colors faded into shades of grey.

My heart began to dry up and flake away every time someone mentioned your name.

The old me had disappeared

She must have followed you out when you left.

 

Six Months Sober

“What do you mean she’s seeing someone?!” You demanded to a mutual friend.

“She’s started seeing this guy a couple months ago, and she’s pretty crazy about him.” Jason exclaimed, taken aback by the rash reaction.

“It’s only been six months. How can she be seeing someone else?” You asked, unconvinced.

“I’m not sure, dude. That’s just what I know.” Jason said honestly.

You searched through his social media profiles.

Your heart sank.

My heart had began floating again.

You had finally hit the wall.

The wall that is completely ruthless and watches with cruel eyes as you attempt to climb over it with calloused hands.

The wall we must all climb when we are grieving and ultimately healing.

I had climbed and conquered the wall months before.

You were just about to begin.

 

 

Read Part 1 here

Read Part 2 here

 

Facebook – Becca Tremmel

Instagram – @littlelionbecca

Twitter – @littlelionbecca

Photo Credit: Alyssa Jiosa

Okay the title may be a little aggressive

But it’s meant to come across as urgent.

Because you need to just freaking say it.

Immediately.

Like right now.

Do you not know what I’m talking about?

That thing you’ve been dying to say for the past month, year, decade, entire life?

Those words that have been slowly rotting inside of you desperately trying to claw their way out of your mouth and into the world?

Still not catching on?

Okay, well let me tell you some stories that will clear things up.


My sophomore year of college,

I went a little…

well…

Crazy.

I was struggling with some pretty violent mental illnesses that devoured my ability to empathize with other human beings.

I had an immense sense of pride.

Several people chose to walk out of my life around that time because they weren’t able to handle my negativity or aggression.

I was impacting them in extremely hurtful ways.

I was toxic.

But I couldn’t admit it to myself.

ME?!

TOXIC?!

No way,

I was perfect.

I had never done anything wrong or purposely hurt someone in my entire life.

Everything was about me and my well-being

No one else’s.

Looking back on it now, I realize that I wasn’t trying to hurt these people that I loved so dearly.

I just wasn’t in the state of mind to admit that I was wrong or unhealthy.

I demanded support without giving any back to them in return and it was unbelievably frustrating.

My stubborn little head could not wrap itself around the fact that I could be

Potentially

Maybe just a little bit

Wrong?

In turn, the consequences were absolutely disastrous.

My loved ones were dropping out of my life like flies

And I couldn’t stop it.

Or wouldn’t, I should say.

Because now thinking the entire situation through up, down and sideways,

I could’ve stopped it.

By admitting I was wrong.

And I could’ve actively tried to mend these disintegrating bridges by swallowing my misplaced pride and telling these people just how much I loved them and that their relationships meant way more to me than a stupid, popular blog or my newfound proud reputation.

It’s a lot easier said than done, though.

I’ve been given the very fortunate gift of new relationships and friendships that completely changed my way of thinking.

When the time came and fights occurred with these loved ones,

They always reached out

Called me at 4am,

Wrote me a letter,

Knocked on my door at 3am,

Just to say sorry and tell me that they loved me.

It shattered my beliefs.

Because I appreciated it so much when they showed me how much they cared and that they were willing to bury the hatchet while I was running around with said hatchet and actively destroying my relationships.

It all taught me something very, very important.

Sometimes it’s okay to say “I’m sorry” first.

It’s okay to say “I love you and you mean the absolute world to me” first.

It doesn’t mean you’re weak or admitting defeat.

It means you’re choosing love over pride.

And trust me, love will make you MUCH happier than pride.

I chose pride over love my sophomore year and it ate at me slowly and relentlessly for years.

I thought about it constantly.

I’ve had nightmares about that time in my life that leave me sobbing in my bed in the middle of the night.

And sitting in my bed in a pathetic little heap of miserable-ness didn’t make me feel very proud

Or loved.

I made the wrong choice.

Pride is never greater than or equal to love.

So now I’m here to tell you,

You don’t have to make the same mistake I did.

If you’re in a fight with somebody you care about immensely but neither of you will just lay down your weapons for 2 minutes to apologize and hug it out,

Be the first to just freaking say it.

If you’ve spent the past three years completely in love with someone who doesn’t know how you feel because you’re terrified it could end your friendship and ruin everything,

Just freaking say it.

Because who knows what will happen and even if the feelings aren’t reciprocated, at least they know there’s someone in the world without a selfish bone in their body who loves them unconditionally. It is an absolute honor to be loved by you.

If you’re afraid to speak out for something you believe in because you’re afraid of being torn down by the masses and it’s caused you to sit in uncomfortable and unbearable silence,

Just freaking say it.

A mob with pitchforks and torches will most likely not show up at your house.

(If they do though, pls don’t hold me responsible. I’m just an emotional blogger who doesn’t know anything)


It’s never too late to make amends.

It’s never too late to tell someone you love them.

And it’s never to late to admit that you’re wrong and apologize.

Even if you’re not wrong, apologize.

Because is your pride really worth losing one of your favorite people over?

The answer is no, by the way.

So just freaking do it (as Nike says).

Just freaking say it.

 

 

facebook – Becca Tremmel

instagram – @littlelionbecca

twitter – @littlelionbecca

 

“So… how have you been?”

Please say anything but “good.”

Please for the love of God.

“Good.” you said, hesitantly

dammit.

“Oh great! That’s… wonderful.” I said with a sigh.

The tension started bubbling up as we said nothing for a minute or two.

Should I just give him the letters? Maybe I should wait… He may not want me anymore.

“Well… we should probably talk.” You said, defeated.

And that was when I knew that no amount of pleading or convincing would keep us together.

You had already given up.

And at that point.

I did too.


 

Five Minutes Sober

 

“We’ll still be friends, don’t worry.”

I nodded.

You handed me my favorite pair of shoes and I placed them on top of my car so I could hug you goodbye.

This was it.

You pulled me in one last time in that bear hug and it took everything in me not to collapse on the ground in a pathetic heap of mangled emotions.

“Take care.” You said as you let go and began walking towards your jeep.

I carried myself to my front steps and watched  as you drove away.


 

Three Days Sober

 

“I don’t want ANY of it anymore! I need it out of my goddamn house! I need to burn everything he ever touched!”

I screamed while pacing around my room and restlessly throwing items into a box

My roommate sat on my bed and her eyes followed my pacing.

“Oh honey, you’d have to burn the whole house down.” She said quietly with a hint of humor

“FINE. WHERE ARE THE MATCHES?” I threw up my hands in complete defeat.

“Okay look, calm down. Maybe just bring the box to his house?” She suggested with raised eyebrows.

“I am in no state to drive.” Tears stained my face and I couldn’t stand still without falling to my knees.

“Maybe Michael can drive you?” She said, nodding.


 

It was pouring as I walked out of my house.

I stared down at our entire relationship that I carried now in a single box.

My face was flushed with tears as I looked up at my friend, Michael running from his car to me

Grabbing the box from my shaking hands

And placing it in his car.

We were both soaking wet when we got in the car

Michael turned to me playfully and said,

“Alright, so we’ll drop off this box on his porch. But we could also leave a bag of dog shit with it as well.”

I laughed half-heartedly and turned the face the window.

Preparing myself to walk up your front porch steps for the very last time.

 

Three Weeks Sober

 

“Thanks for coming over.”

I was shaking.

“I just really needed someone here with me, I think. Just was not in a good mindset.”

An old friend whispered in my ear as I lay in his bed.

What was I doing here?

A constant stream of thoughts flowed through my head at an anxious pace.

You’re no longer the last person I’ve kissed. You would be so upset if you knew where I was. How can I possibly give myself to this person when all I want is to be with you?

I just want to be with you.

“Are you alright?” He asked curiously.

His arms wrapped around my waist and squeezed tight.

“I’m fine.”

All feeling had left my body.

My eyes stared blankly at his wall in the moonlit room.

The numbness had finally overcome me.

I wondered if you were in another girl’s bed right now.

I wondered if you felt the same numbness I was feeling.

Or if you were happier without me.

Please don’t be happier without me.

 

Facebook – Becca Tremmel

Instagram – @littlelionbecca

Twitter – @littlelionbecca

It’s raining harder than it has in years.

The city is asleep as it prepares for another hectic Monday morning.

The pavement glows underneath her as she runs from her car to his doorstep.

She’s breathless

A ball of anxiety

But pounds fearlessly on his door anyway.

Minutes pass as she stares at the ground and bites her lip.

Finally, he pulls open the door.

Shocked.

They haven’t spoken in several months.

But months of silence couldn’t suffocate the four years she’s spent completely in love with him.

Should’ve known better.

She thinks to herself in hindsight.

They stand in complete silence.

Until finally,

“What are you doing here?”

“I don’t know.”

Silence.

Her eyes slowly lift to meet his.

Those perfect, innocent green eyes that have kept her mesmerized for years.

This is it.

They’ve never kissed, surprisingly.

She thought about kissing him every day for four years.

This is it.

This is it.

This is it.

Her mind trips over itself thinking and re-thinking over every possible reaction he could have.

This is it.

She loses eye contact with him when she closes her eyes and inhales the last breath she will ever breathe not having kissed him.
This is it.

All she needs is ten seconds of blinding courage

This is it.

Her legs carry her to him with wavering confidence

This is it.

And she places her hands on either side of his puzzled face

This is it.

And pulls her lips to his

This is it.

And the past four years of frustration,

Anger,

Depression,

Guilt,

And heartbreak

Slowly melt away

Drop by drop

With this one kiss.

The kiss we’ve all been waiting for.

And everything that has bruised her,

Stung her,

Left her broken on the bathroom floor,

Or helpless on her knees

Suddenly all made sense.

Because all of those moments

Brought her to this moment

With him.

And she decides that she would live through those painful moments a thousand times over

As long as they always ended right here

Right now

Her lips on his.

His heart against hers.

~One Month Before “The Break”~

 

We were so close.

Lying together in that same bed.

But I had never felt further away from you.

“Please, just tell me what to do.” you panicked.

“I think I’m having an anxiety attack, babe. Tell me how to make this better.”

You pleaded breathlessly.

I was facing away from you on the other side of the bed.

Letting my fingers dig into your blue comforter as I sighed with a hint of annoyance.

“Just… breathe.”

Your breath shallowed and I heard whimpering for the next 15 minutes.

Then silence.

A sensation of overwhelming guilt flooded over my body like a blanket that threatened to suffocate me.

I was in no place to help you.

But I felt a more powerful feeling than even guilt in that particular moment.

Unwavering anger.

I was pissed.

Pissed that you had broken my trust a month prior.

Pissed that I felt on edge with every girl you shook hands with.

Pissed that I was so pissed.

I wanted to love you unconditionally and hold you close and help you steady your breathing and tell you over and over and over again how wonderful and talented you are.

How incredibly special you are to me

But I didn’t.

Instead,

I fell asleep.

And that hideous memory is seared into the back of my mind.

I have never been more ashamed of myself or my actions than in that moment.

For someone who preaches constantly about love, understanding, patience and forgiveness,

I was being cruel.

The visual of us lying there while I cold heartedly held my pride instead of you rarely leaves my conscience.

I am so sorry.

I will always be sorry.

 

~ One week before “The Break”~

 

We drove in your car and got hopelessly lost on the backroads around your new house.

We were laughing and singing “Tear in My Heart” to each other after discovering an adorable French restaurant near your new home.

I was still broken.

We were still broken.

But drop by drop I was feeling the blind rage leave my body,

Slowly but surely

I began to think to myself,

Maybe if I just say something new, something really emotional and future-oriented, he’ll feel special and loved by me once again.

Maybe that will be what fixes us.

Looking back on that impulsive thought, I should’ve put much more intentionality into what I said next,

“I think you may be the love of my life.” I blurted out.

Because I now know that I said it out of fear of losing you rather than actually meaning it.

“I could really see forever with you.” I pushed further.

Silence.

Wide-eyed

Panicked

Agonizing

Silence.

Oh. Shit.

Wow um… babe… that’s… really sweet of you to.. err… say.”

We were still endlessly lost and looking for your house.

And in that moment, I realized we were on a dead end road.

 

~The Break~

 

We sat parked in my driveway for 6 minutes before you answered my question.

“Can you please tell me what’s wrong?” I begged.

“I have a horrible pit in my stomach and I know something’s wrong.” I kept pushing.

I was always pushing.

“Whenever I feel the pit… something is always wrong…” My words trailed off as I gave you time to respond.

6 minutes of silence.

“I just don’t think this is really working.” you half-whispered.

Ouch.

“Okay… why do you feel that way?” I said, already knowing the answer.

“Because it’s just not.” you snapped.

You took a deep breath, squeezed the steering wheel, and let your eyes drop to the floor.

“Maybe we need a… break?” you said, admitting defeat.

Tears streamed down my face.

I never believed that you would actually give up on me.

I never thought I’d live to see that mortifying moment.

“If that’s how you feel. How long would this.. um…”

I choked

“… break be?”

You paused for a second and cocked your head to the side while looking out the windshield.

“Well… how does two weeks sound?”

I wiped my cheeks and quickly opened your car door.

“Okay, sounds great. Talk to you then.” I panicked.

I shut your car door and started running towards my house

Because falling a part on my driveway didn’t seem so… nonchalant.

And my pride begged me to come off nonchalant.

“Wait, babe.”

You had gotten out of your car and you looked so helpless with those arms falling so heavy against your sides.

“What does this mean?”

Your voice cracked.

I stood there frozen.

And we just stared at each other.

I wasn’t sure if you wanted me to run back into your arms and beg for you to forgive my daily angry outbursts.

Or if you wanted me to just cut the chord right then and there so we wouldn’t have to have this conversation a second time.

I closed my eyes and took a deep breath.

“I don’t know.”

And I turned around and walked into my house.

That definitely wasn’t the right response.

I slid onto the floor and felt the weight of a two ton truck sitting on my chest squeezing every last bit of oxygen out of my lungs.

After a few minutes past,

Your car door shut .

And then you were gone.

 

~The Breakup~

 

Sitting on my front porch, I contemplated what I was about to say to you;

How I was going to beg for your forgiveness,

How I was going to give you the 14 letters I had written to you everyday while we hadn’t spoken,

How I was going to ask for my favorite pair of shoes back.

I went over every possible conversation we could have

And how I was going to finally swallow my pride for the first time in my life

And just desperately ask you to stay and work on this with me.

I could do it.

Probably.

I looked down at my phone to check the time.

4:50pm

You’d be here in 10 minutes.

My eyes looked at the sky and I finally just started praying.

I prayed for wisdom and for overwhelming peace with whatever decision we would make together.

I prayed for you to feel respected, loved and understood during this conversation we were about to have.

I prayed for God to just take control of everything and to just give me the words I needed to say in order to successfully make it through this talk.

Then I thanked Him for bringing us together.

Because despite what was about to happen,

I was completely in love with you.

And you were the best boyfriend I ever had.

And that was definitely something to be thankful for.


Your jeep pulled into the driveway.

The car door opened and I saw your face for the first time in two weeks.

You shaved.

Our eyes met briefly before they fell to the ground and you began walking on my lawn towards my front steps.

My heart tumbled into my stomach and I crossed my arms so you wouldn’t see how badly my hands were shaking.

“Hi there.” I said nervously, as you walked up.

Crap, I hope that sounded confident.

You stopped a few feet away from me and stared at me curled up on the steps.

Hands buried deep in your pockets.

“Hey.”


 

 

Thank you for reading,

Becca Tremmel

 

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