I wanted to share a post I wrote for just myself in January of 2020 while recovering from my original fusion surgery. It will hopefully give you a glimpse into the power and importance of love and relationships in my life while also referencing some scary experiences caused by narcotic withdrawal; both are topics I will continue to explore in my future posts.
(originally written 1/24/20)
What’s love got to do with it?
I landed right in the middle of my parents when it comes to how I keep my home. I am decidedly not a hoarder and never will be (hi dad). But I have clutter, sometimes keep things around far past the point of utility, and you’ll never see every surface cleared at the same time (hi mom). There are times I wish I had the power to line everything up perfectly and cull the unnecessary on a regular basis. But for this post, I am grateful to have the compulsion to keep things in my life that have deep sentimental value.
If you go to the top shelf of my guest room closet, all the way to the far right is a large, white, silky cover bag that came bearing a Coach purse at some point. Many years ago I repurposed this cover to become the “ex-boyfriend bag”. Only two guys have the honor of being included in this collection of memories and I’d like to discuss one of them in this post. My anxiety has been rearing its ugly head in recent weeks with a flood of flashbacks and often endless thoughts of the first person I ever loved. On the whole, I actually don’t really think of him all that often. But being in a vulnerable state post-surgery, alone at home trying to fill the abyss, places my mind in a precarious spot, one that leaves my brain susceptible to the rabbithole of my first truly long term relationship.
I met James on the bus home from high school during our freshman year in 2004. Both fourteen at the time, I certainly felt old enough to be flirtatious and a little cynical with this extra tall, cute boy. After discovering that the majority of my high school population came from politically conservative, George W. Bush loving homes, I immediately assumed James was being facetious in describing his parents’ liberal stance and households both registered Democrat. But, to my surprise, he was sincere. I felt a small wave of relief after having been questioned by many classmates who had clearly never met anyone outside their circle of beliefs. I quickly learned that James’s parents were also both lawyers. I even questioned his truthfulness again when he told me his father practiced water law. Now really, raise your hand if you already knew that type of law was actually a thing.
By the time spring of our sophomore year rolled around in 2006, and a few classes together later, I pretended to call James one night for help with math homework. Don’t get me wrong, I am positive I actually needed the help, and bless his heart for seeing me through AP Calculus our senior year, but this call was a foil for a different agenda. It’s funny the things that stick out in our lives and minds clear as day. I can remember that phone conversation like it happened last Wednesday, not fifteen years ago. I finally blurted out “I’m into you” (making the first move is still a trait I possess today, and I’m quite proud of it, because believe me, it takes a lot of bravery). His response before we hung up the phone was “well, let’s give it a shot”. In the six years of dating that followed he and I would often joke about that call. What does giving it a “shot” even mean in tenth grade? We both showed up to class the next day (Honors Algebra II of course) uncertain of what was taking place. I purposefully wore what James would later tell me he deemed my “tennis outfit”, which included a white miniskirt, a dark blue polo, and a flat stomach I might miss even more than James to this day. We made fleeting glances at each other from our desks, and smirks that I’m sure were equally cute and revolting to others.
And so, one of the most meaningful relationships of my life thus far was off to a great start. He and I experienced so many firsts together. That spring and summer we turned sixteen and got our driver’s licenses. We learned that our mothers already knew each other through their legal professions. His mother actually called my mom before the first time I came over to their house to make sure my mother was comfortable with the plan. Back then I was mortified. But now? I thank Nora for being the kind of mother and woman caring enough to make sure I was safe. We attended homecoming both junior and senior years as well as both proms together. What began as an anxious phone call from his mother quickly turned into me using his house as my second home. Everything about having a new relationship and especially one in which you get to grow into adulthood with the other person, made me fulfilled in ways I was learning would also be important to me. When you reach milestones alongside a partner, you begin to evaluate the parts of life that will be most critical to you as an adult. Having James taught me that someone I loved and who loved me so closely would frequently need to come first in my life.
James was an exceptional person in a myriad of ways. He is wickedly smart and has a brain for the areas in which I struggle most. That went both directions. He could do physics in his head in seconds but often asked me to proofread his papers or help him with spelling and grammar. James was uncommonly funny. His sense of humor was, and I’m sure still is, one of his most valuable traits. He was just as dorky as me, which I adored. And his heart held so much kindness and so much patience. I always admired that about him. All in all, he is one of the most decent human beings I’ve had the pleasure of knowing. And above all else, he was my best friend. As I write this post which is exceptionally long winded, like a marathon down memory lane, I can say with confidence he is the closest friend I have ever had in my life. I can also say it’s the one component I actively miss in my life even now. It may sound cheesy, but James is a rare find, a diamond among rocks and imposter gems. I would be lying if I said I hope he’s single and miserable. Despite some bitterness, I hope he has found happiness and everything he deserves.
The summer after high school I fell into a deep depression. It was and still is the sickest I have ever been. I quit my summer job, and reached the point where I was unable to leave the house or feel safe alone. James stood by me, unwavering, during the most difficult experience I have endured. My life changed dramatically. I had to abandon my dream of going out of state to college, enroll at my state university, and hope to God that the amount of treatment to which I dedicated my existence would all eventually be worth a healthy mind. James was already enrolled at the same school under their engineering program. That first year we lived just one dorm away from one another. Despite his need to make friends and branch out, James dedicated his friendship and love to me in a way that’s hard to articulate. I didn’t appreciate at the time that James probably needed more space to find his own footing, but I am forever thankful for his deliberate presence to help see me through the lowest point I’ve yet faced.
There were plenty of good memories as time went on during our college careers. We went on spring break trips to Mexico and Europe. We always found time for dates and exploration of our new city. And that boy drove me home every single Sunday night for dinner with his parents and mine. But as the semesters of college were flying by, I knew by the beginning of junior year that our paths were beginning to diverge. It wasn’t something I could admit at the time and, in fact, took years of processing and therapy to recognize. Hindsight really is 20/20 I suppose. Although at times I questioned whether I needed to date other people before marrying James, I always ended up in the same place-I could never see a world in which we didn’t end up together. But James did see a world apart from each other. As I pushed to talk about more commitment like moving in together senior year or planning around wherever he ended up getting into law school, James became distant and ultimately a coward. I have since learned and practiced diligently more kindness and less bullying on my part in relationships. However, James was terrified to actually bring himself to break up with me. Instead, he spent about a year acting ruder and ruder. He would blow off phone calls and texts, afterwards making me feel like I had done something wrong and clingy by just trying to get in touch. My heart was sinking. Intellectually I knew what was happening, but emotionally I couldn’t accept it. At one point, James was creating a closer relationship with his friend Erin than his relationship with me. I always felt she was wildly disrespectful of our relationship to begin with. It was obvious she had feelings for him, and as it turns out, James developed feelings for her. After we broke up, he dated that awful girl for three years. Sometimes I still feel I’m owed an apology from him for treating me as disposable at the very end, but we all make mistakes.
And then it finally happened. In the fall of 2011, we had gone out to dinner at California Pizza Kitchen one weeknight. I drove, in an unusual break from the norm. On the way home the subject of the future came up like the elephant in the room that had been present for the last year. I finally pulled up to his house and we sat there in the car, in the dark, watching something so meaningful implode in slow motion. I simply asked him “I need to know if you can commit to getting engaged after college?”. He hesitated for a moment and then quietly responded “No”. “Then this is over, James. This relationship is over”. I was as shocked by the words coming out of my mouth as he was. Something in that moment had shifted. Deep within my heart I summoned the courage to finally treat myself as an equal. No matter how painful this was going to be, and believe me, it was agonizing, I knew in that moment he was never going to give me what I needed and what I deserved. Another memory still clear as day, he looked at me with petrified eyes and said “Candice, don’t”. It’s something that reminds me to this day that although he was ready to move on, it was still a massive loss for him too. He slowly got out of the car, we each said goodbye, and that was it. It was over. We were over.
We spent the entire rest of our senior year in a mess. Our break up was real, but I often reached out to him, begging him to come over or see me. Because we were BOTH clueless and selfish, he took me up on those requests far too often. It’s not as important how I managed to unwind myself out of the thick of it, but it was arguably the most arduous journey I had to complete to find a life again. The tears roll down my face even now as I write this post. To my left are some of the memories I kept all these years, freshly pulled out of the ex-boyfriend bag: a Lady and the Tramp themed six month anniversary card. A Valentine’s Day card to remind me of our tradition of exchanging a book every February 14th. The movie stubs from Tropic Thunder, The Simpsons Movie, Get Smart, and Saw V. His mother’s wedding invitation from when she remarried our senior year of high school. An actual printed photo from my 16th formalwear birthday party. A postcard from Monaco to tell me he loves me and he knows how sick I am with depression, but I’m strong enough to endure. A faded Delta Airlines ticket from a college spring break trip to Puerto Vallarta. A map of Paris from another spoiled spring break trip to Europe.
I’ve only spoken with or seen him a handful of times over the last decade. It’s too much for either of us, I think, to ever be friends or talk regularly. That isn’t how our story was supposed to go. I know that he lives in Washington D.C, working as a patent lawyer (a dream he was on a mission to accomplish for as long as I can remember). I know that he was seeing a woman from Chantilly, VA for a while. At least that’s what he told my dad when they ran into each other at the store a few years ago. [And now (in present day of 2021), through the grapevine, I believe him to be engaged to his most recent girlfriend]. I’m not sure how often, if ever, he thinks about me. I don’t know if he knows what I do for work or where I live. ***The last time I reached out to him was this past summer. During another deep, despairing depressive episode I texted him for any advice he could remember from my worst summer eleven years prior. He never responded. I can’t say I’m surprised…I’m honestly not sure I would respond if the roles were reversed. There’s a lot of history and baggage there. And ultimately, we are now different people. The James stuck in my head is outdated and likely wouldn’t match the James of 2020. The same goes for his vision of me. I have only memories now, the fantasy of what might have been.
Now that I have told my James story and placed the keepsakes back in their bag tucked away in the closet, I am able to find some sense of calm. My anxiety and sadness ebbs and flows with memories of him, and always has. I’m sure I’ll find myself at the peak of a wave, in tears again at some point. But telling this story, reliving history for just a few moments, makes me realize how much I’ve learned and how vastly I’ve grown over the last decade. I kept my promise to treat future relationships with kindness, respect, and most of all, patience. After James, I taught myself to prioritize friendships as much as romantic relationships. And despite how lonely I feel in my life right now and in the past couple years, I wouldn’t trade my memories and time with James for anything. As my mom always reminds me, how lucky am I to have had such a meaningful relationship so early in my life? I got to have something innately wonderful and incredibly connective. Learning to drive, turning eighteen, graduating highschool, and all the other important firsts during your formative years, I was graced with a true best friend. Thank you, James. I will always be grateful for everything you taught me and in all the ways I changed for the better because of your presence. I can only hope you hold a special “Can” (as he used to call me) place in your heart too.
A good cry, from your gut, is sometimes the only way to make sure you’re in touch with your needs. I will always have love for James, but I am certainly past James. I don’t know the next time I’ll make another trip to the top of the guest room closet, but just knowing it’s there is invaluable…exactly like everything I gained from the boy on the bus.
Foof,
-C
***Please note that shortly after I wrote this post, I actually called James a few nights later while very mentally ill/unstable from coming off the narcotic painkiller I was on from my L4/L5 fusion surgery. To James’s credit, although he did not answer my call, he immediately called my mom relaying my distressing voicemail to make sure someone could make sure I was ok. Thank you, James.
Not your mother's 30s 