It Wasn't Me

It wasn't me.

Him on the beach, furious over me stopping to pet a dog. He said I didn't respect him. He said I was trying to flirt with the dog owner. Me with tears streaming on my face. I thought we were there because he felt bad for yelling at me the day before. Yet now this.

It wasn't me.

Standing in front of the ATM. Only have $20 in my bank account and home is 8,000 miles away. Strengthening myself to ask for cash to strangers. I need another $10 for a ticket back to my apartment in Orange County. I could be there by midnight, and I will just stay at the station until the break of dawn before going on a 3-5 hours walk home. It is better than going back with him in the car.

It wasn't me.

Saying the vow in front of the civil servant. Looking at him with a mixture of pain and fear from the lashing I received the night before, and with intense love that can move a mountain. It will be fine, I told myself. He looked at me and smiled lovingly, trembling as he said his vow. It will be better, I assured myself.     

It wasn't me.

My solo train trip to San Diego ripped me open again. The view of the beach in Oceanside. The place where I stop to get the ATM. The cliffside overlooking the beach that was similar to where we got married. "It will get better, right?" I ask my best friend over the phone as the train passed Encinitas. "It will," he assured me, pretending he didn't hear me trying to withhold my sobs.

The day before was a series of "You don't understand how hard it is for me," "I tried my utmost best for you," and "We're just not compatible," from another ex. I told him maybe I do understand and I care so much for him. I told him I only ask for what's important for me. I told him non-compatibility is a lazy excuse. 

That night I couldn't stop crying, even well into my sleep. The debate had been a repetition of my married life, minus the abuse and the lashing. I had brushed him off and end the debate by saying "I'm difficult." I keep telling myself that as he sat awkwardly beside me on the train home. I am just difficult.

Between the debate with my ex and the San Diego trip the next day, I feel like I am cut open and nasty, gooey pus is flowing out. It's good, I told myself, it is how the healing process work. Only then I realize how much I truly care for them, and how much I love them. Only then I realize how much pain I was in. Yet it doesn't feel like it's getting better soon.

"You just have to stop dating guys who are not as strong as you are," my best friend said. "Or I should stop being difficult," I replied. "That's because you have standard. There's nothing wrong with having a standard." He looked at me in my eyes, "You deserve to be happy. It wasn't you." I fixed my gaze on the floor to hide my tears. It wasn't me.