Content warning: This article contains discussion of emotional abuse.
Dark rum, Carly Rae Jepsen, and black lighters. Western-themed video games and electronic cigarettes. Gold chains. The entirety of North Carolina. Wendy’s, my favorite kind of pen, Peirce chicken salad, and silver Hondas.
My associations to my ex-boyfriend range from unavoidable and broad, winter and black headphones, to specific and still frequent, American Spirits and Sword Art Online. The complication comes from the fact that my ex-boyfriend was not a good guy, was exceptionally not good to me, and the things we shared or that he liked have become not just reminders, but triggers. This is not to say that my grief is any more painful than someone else’s, just that for me that association is not to an ended relationship, but to trauma. Either way, it’s frustrating to find yourself unable to finish a Netflix show because you had started it at someone’s recommendation who, now, you never wish to see again.
There is often a push, both externally and internally, when someone is going through a breakup, to reclaim things they “lost” to their partner. The trope is to start doing things for you again, to start living an independent life in. When my ex broke up with me, I stopped wearing makeup. I had never really regularly worn makeup before him, just for special occasions or when I had extra time in the morning. Then, he told me that he couldn’t help it, that he was just a product of his time and he just preferred women with eye makeup. He never told me that I looked better with it on, he never told me I looked better with it off. He didn’t have to. Eventually, when he noticed that I had started wearing it all the time, he said, “Aren’t you, like, not supposed to change for your boyfriend?” I would shrug it off, not saying that I was afraid if I didn’t look my best or the way he wanted me to, he would have an excuse to do what he was always threatening to: leave. We broke up. I threw out my eyeliner. When I wear it now, I feel good and I feel beautiful, but only recently have I stopped seeing him every time I see myself with heavy black under my eyes.
I reclaimed my face. I reclaimed Drake, my car, and a romper that he loved when I wore it. I’ve taken back and thrown away a lot from that year of my life. But I don’t yet have all of it. There is a lot that is still his, that still reflects his face and repeats his voice, like Friday afternoons and Flavor Blasted Goldfish.
He really loved hip hop, considered himself an expert in the genre. To be honest, he seemed to consider himself an expert in everything. And music, not just hip-hop, but black metal, singer-songwriter, electronic, was his milieu. Needless to say, he was always the DJ and I kept quiet about my own music tastes. When he played something and asked me what I thought, I always tried to gauge his feelings about it first because it wasn’t a good idea to get it wrong. Music became fraught, became his, but he did introduce me to a lot that I loved. “American Girl” by Ta-Ku and the band Chairlift, I loved and felt connected to a lot that he played. I haven’t listened to those things in months.
I can’t listen to Kendrick Lamar anymore. Which is okay, I’m living a full life without “These Walls” or “Backseat Freestyle.” The sound of his voice brings back nightmares, brings back the memories of a night when he only forgave me because Kendrick had dropped his surprise, unmastered songs. Every time I hear, “Levitate, levitate, levitate,” the grounds drops out from under me. So I don’t listen to it. I don’t seek out what makes me feel so unstable and I find ways to distract myself when it’s playing around me. I’m managing. I’m staying above water.
Kendrick Lamar is a true artist, a master at his craft, and a brilliant addition to the world of music and genius. Some people think I shouldn’t let the boy who demolished me take something as glorious as Kendrick away from me. I don’t see it like that. I see it as I’m taking the time I need to heal, I’m going slow and I’m going steady in the right direction. Maybe one day, I’ll come back to Kendrick. I’m of the opinion that, when I’m ready, he’ll be waiting for me.