So. A couple of weeks ago I posted about this great love I used to love and how I still love him.  And about a week after that I wrote him an email that basically said “Hey, what’s up, I miss you and hope you’re well.” And he wrote back:

Kate- 

When we went out, you worried me that you had an unhealthy obsession with me. I was reluctant to introduce you to friends and family because i worried that you would not respect boundaries. 

Three years later, you appear to be pining for me. I think it would be best if you don’t contact me anymore.

-[Redacted]

And… all of a sudden… I was free.

I’m not saying that I’ll never miss him, that I won’t think of him. But he’s right, I’ve been pining. For years.  And it’s time to stop now.  It’s time to let go.

I think I’ve been waiting for him to say that for a long time, without knowing that I was waiting or what I was waiting for.  So I wrote back to say I will honor his request, and then I said:

Thanks for finally saying it. I think this is what closure feels like.

He doesn’t know the person I’ve become in the last few years, and there’s no way I could possibly explain it to him. I believe that, when everything’s considered, he’s the one losing out. But hey, at least he’s finally told me to fuck off. I don’t know why he didn’t say it sooner, and I don’t know why I needed him to say it. It’s done now. I remember all the pain I was in when I was with him. I remember how the pain finally overwhelmed all the love, and I ended the relationship.  I ended it.  I saved myself.

I can walk away now, three years too late, but better than never.

Anyway.  It’s after midnight on April 17th, which means that yesterday was my thirty-first birthday. Turning 30 was really hard for me, but my 31st birthday was delightful.  I had a great party on Sunday, with great people, and I felt happy and blessed and all those gross, sappy feelings.  It was a good birthday.

But:

I got laid off on Friday. This is my last week at my boring, dead-end job. I’d already been looking to move on, but it’s happening sooner than I wanted and in a rather abrupt and unfair way. Maybe this is the fates kicking me in the ass. I’m choosing to take it that way, anyway.

Something I’m realizing is that we can choose our lives. I mean, things happen to us that we can’t control.   Sometimes terrible things happen to us. And a lot of the time, it’s hard to see anything good in these terrible things that are out of our control. But I’m discovering that there’s a lot of power in choosing to own our lives. To, instead of being sad about things or resisting change, to, just… well…  choose it.  Own it.

Redacted never loved me.  Emery doesn’t anymore. My job is phasing me out. I could sit around pitying myself, or I could see all of this as an opportunity to pick up the pieces and move onto something better. I have learned so much from loving these people.  I have gained so much from having held a steady job and showing up every day, even when I didn’t feel like it. I’m better for having loved, and I’m better for having lost.  I’m sorry if I’m a cliche factory today, but– well, usually we don’t feel any different on our birthday, even when we expect to.  But this year, I do.  I feel like I’ve turned a corner.

I am choosing to have an awesome year. I am choosing to own my life.  I am choosing to be grateful.  I am grateful that I finally have a choice. I’m no longer being strangled by depression.  I feel hopeful.  I don’t feel lost nearly so much as I feel that I’m on an adventure.

Happy Birthday, indeed.