My boyfriend always watched his back. And I don’t blame him because more often than not, I was perched right there behind him. Not in a conspicuous location though. I would dress up in pitch black, tucked out of sight, blending perfectly into the night.
I must declare at this point that I had absolutely no intention of becoming a stalker, but I had trusted one too many men and had gotten disappointed one too many times that before I knew it I found myself playing detective, wearing gloves, cracking codes, hacking computers, and snooping around his flat. Reminiscing all the lies and heart breaks from my past, I just didn’t want to go back there again.
It so happens that I put my all into every relationship so excuse me if I refuse to love anyone wholeheartedly, without getting the same measure back.
So, homeboy said he had to go pick up his mail from his old flat. That’s fine because I was four cars behind him on the motorway. Picture me crouched down in my car parked across the road from his old apartment complex thinking “these sunglasses came in handy for the mission I’m on today”. Why did it take him so long to get out? I know it doesn’t take anyone that amount of time to pick up a mail. Oh! Playboy thinks he’s sleek, huh? Well, he was in for a rude shock because I had every intention of catching him pants down with the postwoman. I was almost disappointed when he walked out alone with nothing but envelopes in hand (I could swear he hid her in his back pocket).
My insecurities and paranoia had ignited in me a burning desire to always be in the know, had me desperately in love with the fear of the unknown. Got me wondering who he was with when he was not with me. Second guessing everything he said and every location he claimed to be at. Talking about “Let me call you back baby, I’m driving”. Yeah right! I knew he wasn’t driving because I had spoken to his flat mate earlier who told me he was in his bedroom at the time. Ok, so maybe he really was driving. The question is, what exactly was he driving?
I have got to tell you, snooping is hard work and I was never really sure why I tortured myself with its belittling activities. It didn’t make me feel any better. It is a self-feeding obsession, the more you look the more you find. The more you find the more you obsess. The more you obsess the more you hurt. A never-ending cycle of grief. But I couldn’t stop. Once I look, I need to see more.
I let the voices in my head take over sometimes but over time I came to realize that at the end of the day, it will all come out in the wash. Sometimes the need to have total control over a situation is realizing you have absolutely no control at all, and if you don’t, it’s ok. Don’t go wasting your energy on anxiety. So the next time you get the urge to do a garbage can search, remember that when you go out of your way looking for dirt, you will in due course find it.
Snooping keeps you wallowing in pain, keeps you from enjoying the moment and prevents you from learning from all your past mistakes. So guys, let’s quit playing detective for a minute and embrace the joy in the moment.
I wrote the manual on snooping. I’d hand it over to you but then again… what’s the point?