Terminally Lovesick

When finally and truly parted ways, you insisted you were a piece of shit that I should not be giving my attention to.

[You:] 10:08 PM Because I understand what we’re doing is wrong, and I am terrible for allowing this to happen

[You:] 10:08 PM I’m a piece of shit.

[Me:]10:08 PM Well, I didn’t say all that.

[You:]10:09PM I know

[You:]10:09PMThat’s what im feeling right now

Fear lodged in my throat, stifling my ability to breathe, signaling that hyperventilation was not far away.

I know you were a piece of shit. However, I did not want you to utter this silent part aloud. The part where we both knew what you were and how my lips refused to part now, each time you used self-deprecation to plead for forgiveness with each new wrongdoing. If you hadn't uttered the silent part, I would still have time to fix you, and we could return to how things were before The Game destroyed us.

Hands trembling, I attempted to call you. Each ping from Discord’s ringtone pierced through my chest before I switched to call your phone number, which has had the name “L.O.M.L” for the past three years of this emotional whirlwind with you.

You did not answer.

Instead, you communicated this through a cold, grey screen on Discord, a third-party messaging app. My chest tightened at the irony of it all, since it seems I am the unwilling third party being pushed out between you and this mystery person.

I saw your dots typing a response. I tried to beat you to the punch in response time by typing my reply faster.

Me[10:09 PM] Okay, I’ll tell you exactly what I think

Like a rapid thunderbolt, your next text confirmed my suspicions and was a huge “fuck you” to me.

You[10:09 PM] that im currently cheating by even flirting and entertaining the idea of flying down to lay with you

So, the open relationship you claimed was so open during our final reconciliation was not so open after all. The Game struck again at souring my perception of you. How could you open our relationship up to chaos and others, yet whoever this person from The Game got the lost conscience I had so desperately begged you for?

The Game is about to take you away from me again while making me scorn my very existence.

There has to be something wrong with me that made you stray.

I adjusted eating habits to match the thinness of the people you obsessed over in the game.

I started dressing in fishnets and dyeing my hair crimson to fit the aesthetic you fawn over.

I stopped trying to be sensitive about you flirting with others.

The Game started and began innocently enough as an MMO that you suggested we play together. You and I took on the role of adventurers navigating through political and magical strife. We forged many alliances with honorable characters to save the realm while mastering the arts of battle to protect the fantasy land.

My favorite parts were the down seasons of The Game. We would explore the forests and frozen tundras as I told terrible puns, and you would threaten to challenge me in a duel if I did not shut up. I took special pride in decorating our home in The Game with the furniture you crafted for me, and the physical distance between us seemed to close.

However, the social aspects did not salvage the sanctity of our relationship, as the bravest warriors of the online world fall into the alluring trap of pixelated pleasures of the flesh and in-game drama.

The Game’s unforeseen sexual appeal and allure outmatched mine and stirred the sleeping beast of insecurities that I had worked so hard to lie to rest. I desperately tried to be the idea of what you and The Game thought was sexy.

I was killing myself mentally and physically for you.

Lately, I could not get you to speak to me on the phone for over 15 minutes because of the girls and guys in The Game. They were skilled in erotic roleplay and made you twitch with desire, whereas our role plays comprised more domestic life, entertaining you only temporarily before you log out leaving me alone to gather berries in The Games’s lush, lonely forest while some vixen you met in-game entertained you with raunchy pictures and a sexual phone call.

I turned over on my side, counting from 100 to 1, gripping my pillow, thinking about the unpacked boxes and hung posters in my new dorm room.

The smiling King T’Challa poster above my bed that you called “cool” because it showcased my pro-blackness and nerdiness mocked me. The large, royal blue blanket that lay across my chair near the snacks I bought for us to watch Yasuke together disgusted me to where I wanted to throw it all in the dumpster.

There is no way you are telling me this. In choosing this damned, arid, Texan wasteland, I hoped to close the lingering distance that The Game only deepened by attending my second choice school that is closer to where you frequently visit extended family. After you and your family moved further away from me, you suggested I create an account on The Game.

Me:[10:10 PM] Is it because of her?

I responded to you with this wild stab in the air, as you are still typing. Of course, it is her, but knowing you, I am not sure which her it is that can sway you to be decent to her and not to me after so many years. There were so many hers or hims I have had to take the backseat for these past few years.

When we had our first tiff because of the game, you suggested we become polyamorous. I was

angry and desperate, scouring my brain for who in the hell this elusive her is? Was it Mary with whom you are now at the same time as you and I reconciled and are together? She was crude, hates your family, and insults your play style in The Game. Whenever I witnessed you playing, I remembered to cheer you on because you told me you disliked the mean-spirited taunting.

Yet, I was about to lose you for a third time and not her.

You told me polyamory allows us to include more people in our relationship, to reduce jealousy while allowing me to have fun.

In reality, it was us logging into the game while you took me into these venues where girls were passive aggressive toward me while you privately messaged me about how hot it was that they fetishized and marveled over your “exotic” features. Then they swooped you away into a Discord call while I curled into a ball watching Married at First Sight, yearning for that long forgotten excitement and love expressed on the groom’s face. I knew you loved me, but you need to get all of this “fun” and “lust” out of your system first.

I’d shovel salty, fattening McDonald's down my throat to placate the pain of my pathetic existence of being enamored and submissive to your wishes, so that we don’t lose each other again.

While you were salivating and panting like a hound of broiling lust thrusting into your hand, being a “good boy” for this bad girl, while I was stuck being the good girlfriend, feigning nonchalance toward this one-sided arrangement. You didn’t seem to like any guy who considered entertaining me.

He’s too clingy.

I don’t like him.

He seems full of himself.

The standards when introducing a new male that caught my attention are astronomical. However, any old gamer within The Game was enough for you.

You[10:11PM]:I feel like you give up on easily on me than other people because idk, its because like I guess you don’t think I like to talk things through

I sent my second message as you’re still typing. Oh boy, I know this is going to be terrible. My stomach lurched in anticipation, and I suddenly craved the metallic sweetness of sangria to stifle the inevitable pain that was about to come. Somewhere along the way, I lost you, unable to retrieve our old bond. I closed my eyes, reminiscing about our first summer.

Our meeting was the perfect offline meeting. I love the story in my mind back then. I was a happier me, and you were deserving of the loving way I remembered you. The day we could meet replayed in my mind through my tears.

Seven simple words from you nearly cause me to spill my cup of water on my laptop during my lunch break at the Coding Academy three summers ago. Never in my nineteen years have I felt so frazzled. Water is the only thing that I could hold down at the thought of YOU being here in the flesh. After so many blissful months of meeting you through a Facebook group of young adult writers, I finally got to see you as you passed through Mississippi with your family during your move from Virginia. You begged your mother and father to make this one-stop to see me. I told you not to do that because it would only annoy your parents, but you are so stubborn.

L.O.M.L[12:18pm]June 18th, 2018 :Were downtown!Cant wait to see you!!

“Um, are you okay?” my friend asks, snickering.

“He’s here, oh my God. Do I look stupid?” I pat my afro. You told me you loved it every time we video-called, but I hate how short and lifeless it looks. My sad try at “cuteness on a budget” consisted of a headband that squeezed my hair too tightly, giving me a slight headache. I just hoped I would look nice when you see me.

“You look fine. You want us to come with you?” my other friend inquires, concerned.

“Nah, I’ll be okay,” I reply, waving my hand. This moment is just for us.

Granted, meeting you alone is probably a terrible idea. You could cut me up into little pieces and sell

me on the dark web, but you wouldn’t do that in front of your family (I think).

Plus, I don’t want to make you feel weird. I ask my friends to cover for me if I don't return before lunch ends. I dash out the door in the same breath as I am greeted with the musky, sweltering Mississippi heatwave.

I’d DIE if I were sweaty when you get here.

My phone buzzed in my hand.

L.O.M.L[12:27 pm]June 18th, 2018 Oh My God I just saw you. We’re about to park stay where you are!

That’s a good sign, right? You didn’t say “ew” or “I can’t come after all.”

My phone buzzed again, and this time, you called me.

Hello? Ew, why in the hell do I sound like that?

I’m out of the car. Let me not throw up everywhere.

Where bout you at? Why does every major organ in my body have a heartbeat?

I’m right. Oh Wow, I see you. Huh?!

I nearly drop my phone when I see you. My legs take control of my brain, and somehow I abandon my sandals, feeling the hot pavement scorching the soles of my feet as I run toward you like a scene straight out of Baywatch.

We crash into each other’s arms, with you nearly toppling me over onto the sidewalk.

“Oh my god, oh my god,” You sounded as if you’re about to cry. It’s a wonder I’m not crying.

You are way taller than me and smell like mint and fresh earth.

I notice how much cuter you were in person as you wrap me in your arms, my heart pounding.

I saw your dad in the background holding his vape, looking bewildered and probably wondering why we bodied each other in the street like that.

People looked pissed at us. That is valid. It is noon on Monday on a packed sidewalk in sizzling 90-degree weather.

We clasp hands, staring at each other with goofy grins.

“Hi.”

“Hi.”

“30 minutes,” your dad calls out from behind you after we stood there looking at each other, frozen in gleeful disbelief.

That’s right, we don’t have much time together.

You hesitate and lean down toward me, attempting to kiss me.

At least before I ungracefully head-butted you.

You rub your forehead, laughing. “All is fair in love and war,” you respond with a smoothness before planting a firm, pleasant kiss on my lips.

“28 Minutes, guys.” Your dad awkwardly clears his throat.

Shit, what can we do in 28 minutes?

“Race you to find food and hope there’s not a fuck-ton of people in there?” I ask you.

Your eyes twinkle at the challenge. “You’re on.”

Now I am nearly twenty-three and my eyes brim with tears, staring at a screen devoid of any emotion.

You finally stopped typing.

You [10:25PM]: I want you to hate me, so you don’t ever want to talk to me again. So, if you do, block me on everything and see me for what I am.

I don’t want sympathy or understanding.

I just want this to be over, so you can rest easier knowing I am out of your life.

Permanently, no breaks.

Because I will do the same to you once you’ve said your piece.

Me[10:29PM]: Why do you hate me so much?

What did I ever do to you?

I attempted to call you again, but you did not pick up.

I muffled my cries into the pillow. Same old shit, just an unfamiliar room to cry in, it seems. I hadn’t even been in this dorm 24 hours yet, and here I am christening it with tears over you, just like my old room.

I will have to tell my new roommate that we broke up only hours after I dominated our first conversation about how wonderful you are.

Now here you are, telling me to tell you to fuck off forever.

Deep down, I knew you were doing this to spare me. I know this is your kindness to me by letting me go. In the times that we could talk, you gushed about me being able to pick my life back up after my intense battle with depression, and I prevailed.

We both knew that my moving to Texas was to close the gap to fix what The Game had done to us, and it was a pipe dream to fix this cracked relationship. However, we didn’t want to admit that a deep-rooted sex addiction reared its ugly head inside of you.

An even uglier addiction to each other created a shaky foundation.

You[10:29PM] I don’t hate you. so i want to end this so i don't hurt you anymore so im trying to word this as cold as i can so you hate my guts

“You look lost in thought. What are you thinking about?"

My mind sends me back to us walking hand-in-hand back from Chick-fil-A toward your family’s car. We have about ten minutes before you are on the I-55 heading toward Texas. The blue sky is cloudless, and the sun’s rays dance on our brown skin, blessing our meeting. I bite my lip, looking away.

“I already miss you before you’re even gone,” I confess.

We are near your family’s car. Your dad vapes, waving at us, giving me a friendly smile, along with your little sister. However, your mother’s scrutinizing gaze scathes me. Her eyes zero in on my coily hair, distastefully.

However, you pretend not to notice.

Just like you don't think, I notice when I hear the words “ghetto” and “mentally ill” prick our closely guarded bubble whenever she is nearby while we’re on a video call.

My eyes flicker at the ground, trying my damndest not to feel her glare.

You'd never admit she'd rather forfeit her last breath than have her pure, suburban black boy to date “po’ black trash.”

I decided I hated her when she hated the idea of me because of my financial background, but I loved you more. I knew the scrutiny of what you were trying to protect me from for a while.

You paused, standing between her venomous gaze, taking me in your arms.

“I’ll make it my damnedest mission to see you again. Finally, seeing you only motivates me more.” You hold me and kiss me several times as you spill out your hopes for our future, as I am silenced, sheepish, in front of your family.

You hold me as if you never want to let me go.

“We need to go,” your mother interjects before practically pulling you away from me.

“We have a tight schedule.”

As you all drive away, you look back through the window at me until you disappear down High Street. I do not realize the tears were falling until my eyes stung and I could barely see my friend texting me, urging my return to class.

Presently, in my dorm, I call you for the last time, leaving an angry voicemail on your phone.

“You didn’t start treating me differently until you moved and we started playing The Game. You spend more time erotic roleplaying in bars or with Mary, Aspen, and whatever stupid bitch you find. Fuck you, I fucking hate you. You can go fuck yourself.”

You seemed to listen to that voicemail despite not answering my calls.

You blocked me almost immediately after I sent that message. We can't have our shouting match because you never call me back.

Not that I wanted you to. I was too angry at you for letting me go.