I have spent a lot of time wondering. Worrying. Being bothered. Disturbed. A tad obsessive even.

I’ve spent a lot of time in my life wondering if I am making the right decision. Knowing that every decision we make affects our lives yet understanding that we all don’t make the best decisions always. I find a certain comfort in that understanding.

Then you showed up.

The irony of writing a heartbreak story on Valentine’s day has never been more apparent

the title of this work of art

I feel a lot of anger whenever I think of you. I think about how I knew better. How my judgement was on point the first time, yet time and circumstances swayed my judgement. And oh, what a price I paid. There’s a lot of anger. A lot of anger. A lot of… anger. I think mostly directed at myself. How could I have allowed this to happen? Of all the people to fall for and be undone by, why did it have to be you? For the first time in my life, I am utterly disappointed in myself for the love I chose. I actually have regrets. I… regret… you. Which is saying a lot.

For all the things I have been through, I never regretted the decisions that led up to it. I called them experiences. Life lessons. I would be the first to defend whatever happened and own up to the part I played in it. Yet with you, all that runs through my mind is, it was all my fault. I let this happen.

I would be the first to admit that your presence in my life was not terrible. You played a relevant role at the time. But did it have to become what it became? Did our acquaintance have to reach the depths it did? Did I really need to put myself in a position that would, in effect, change my life forever?

Objectively, no matter how I look at it, you were a necessary evil. When I look at where I am now, you needed to be exactly where you were back then so that I can be where I am now. And I hate that. I really, truly, with every fibre of my being, am disgusted by that.

There is no fondness when I think of you. There is just a bitter taste in my mouth. A churning in my stomach so strong, I want to throw up. I wonder, sometimes, if it is unforgiveness. I think it is, to a very large extent. And I hate that too. I hate that I have become a person who isn’t ready to forgive. A person with a past they deeply regret and cannot seem to accept.

I do not want to be that person though. I pray that God gives me the strength to accept the past, and heal from it. I pray that he helps me to accept and acknowledge all of it without being held down by it. But most of all, I pray for the grace to forgive. To forgive myself and to forgive you too. Hatred never helped anyone.

I used to make jokes about how love can easily turn to hate if pointed in the right direction.

Clearly, the joke’s on me now.

Nana Agyeiwaa Nyameba