#I found a tutorial for doing clouds on tiktok and so I tried out like six difference color combos and picked this one!

[sare11aa11eras]

Elissa and Rhaena on a nighttime ride

[brainwormsnotgummyworms]

Did I Lose a Piece of Myself or Has She Been There All Along?

How to retrieve blocked messages! 

How to see blocked messages when their number is blocked. ✨

I had blocked his phone number on my phone, I just got a new laptop and all of his texts he sent me while he was blocked just loaded.

When I open my laptop and it shows the last message they sent me after I blocked them. 

How to find blocked messages on iPhone. 

I caved. It started with one TikTok: a video of a teenage girl with her hand over her mouth, her perfectly manicured acrylic nails shining under the white light of her screen, and her bulky rimmed glasses glinted with a reflection of an image of the young girl recording herself. Her slicked back bun and golden chunky hooped earrings were covered with a black-and-white rounded text stating how she found her “blocked messages folder” on her iPhone–unveiling the thousands upon thousands of text messages she received from her ex. All of which consisted of the, “Take me back” pleas.  I don’t know this girl and I don’t know her ex, but I do know myself and what happened between my ex and I–the seemingly heart wrenching story which truly was just a break-up that was waiting to happen at least eight months prior. As I begged and sobbed in the stairwell of my summer dorm, he averted my eyes and laid back upon the concrete wall. “Why am I not enough for you?” I asked between stifled tears. 

Why am I not enough for you? The desperate question danced mournfully in the empty hall–its forlorn message dripped with deplorable pity and anguish as it bounced from wall to wall. 

I never received an answer, but maybe it's better that way. 

The day of the break-up, he had unfollowed and unadded me on all platforms about fifteen minutes after everything happened. To retaliate, I blocked him on every app that I could–except his phone number, of course, because how else would I send desperate texts asking to stay friends!? Eventually, when I finally accepted he would never come back or return my drunken calls, I blocked his number on my birthday; it helped to never know whether or not he would’ve sent that sneaky “birthday text” some of us wish to receive after the breakup. 

Over the past year or so, I have changed into the new and improved woman I like to think of myself as. A new degree; a new home; a new career; a new haircut; a new wardrobe; a new circle of friends; a new piercing or two; a new flourishing girl he will never know nor touch. Even with everything that has changed, I cannot help, but remember how I felt that day in the stairwell–that, in itself, was a new feeling I had never felt before. 

I have moved-on (or at least that’s what I tell myself). I go on dates, I chat with new guys and girls, I fantasize, I flirt, I bat my eyes and purse my lips, and, worst of all, I still think of him. I think of him in the same way you stress about having to pay off your credit card when you spent a little too much that month or when you go to the doctor’s office hoping that your symptoms are not as serious as the internet makes it out to be when you search them up on Google. He clouds my thoughts like an oil spill in a fresh green lake; the thick, black liquid shines rainbow on the baby duck’s yellow feathers as it tries to escape the woods. It’s just a dark storm which always looms at the back of my mind no matter how many sunny days I have. 

Today, I found myself getting sucked back into the haunted forest of lost memories–my normally yellow feathers now slicked back in gleaming black goo. I watched the tutorials and did as they said: 1) Opened my Phone app. 2) Clicked on my voicemails. 3) Scrolled alllllll the way down. 4) Found the tab that said, “Blocked Messages.” My heart began to race and my head was pounding. I couldn’t believe it was so easy to access this “hidden secret” that was seemingly right in my face for the entirety of this past year. As I readied myself to open up the forbidden chambers of Blocked Messages, I envisioned the waterfall of voicemails from my ex just as the girl in the TikTok did. I imagined his voice creeping through the phone and finally asking me through broken tears, “Why am I not enough for you?” I finally clicked on the tab after what felt like an eternity, my hands trembling, just to find…

Spam calls. 

It was all the spam numbers I had blocked throughout the year–nothing else. Taken aback, I listened to nearly every voicemail trying to convince myself it was him. Maybe in this voicemail I’ll hear him on the other side explaining it was a fake number because I blocked him on everything else, but he regrets everything that he did and he’s so, so, so, sorry, I thought. But it never was. It was always an automated voice message telling me to press 2 if I wanted to continue the call, then, click, silence. 

Something happened that I wasn’t expecting to happen. My heart dropped in disappointment, my throat tightened, my face felt warm, and I could feel the tears pool in my eyes. I was sad; I was sad he never tried to reach out once. It finally hit me a year later that he didn’t care like I thought he did. Selfishly, I always pictured him crying in his room in heartbroken angst in front of an ex-girlfriend shrine realizing that leaving me was the biggest mistake of his life. Now I know that never happened. In fact, I was the one crying in heartbroken angst–not him. 

As I let the sadness settle, like a baby bird taking cover beneath its mother’s wing, I swiped out of the Blocked Messages tab just to find another tab right above it titled “Deleted Messages.” My curiosity got the best of me and I sheepishly opened this second tab too–finding something I didn’t necessarily want to see. I saw all the voicemails he had left me during the relationship; I forgot I never fully erased them. I clicked on the latest one back in October many moons ago, but I couldn’t get myself to listen to it and hear his voice echoing in my cobwebbed mind like nails on a chalkboard. 

I read the transcript. I remembered this day. It was near Halloween. As we stood in front of the bar, he yelled at me in front of his friends. He had never yelled at me like that before. We weren’t even fighting, but he yelled at me. Shocked at his actions, I ran back into the bar as he waited outside, “Please call me back. I don’t want to end the night like this,” he sighed, “I love you.” The transcript ended. 

I

love 

you… 

I read those words, but I didn’t remember feeling loved then. 

What I did remember was how horrible I felt that night after he screamed in my face to back off.  I remember when he told me he hated being around my family. I remember when he hung out with his “girl best friend” late at night and turned off his location for hours.  I remember when he told me how in love he was with another girl and it wasn’t fair she didn’t want him back.  I remember when I told him I didn’t want to have sex, but he still did it anyway.  I remember when my roommate told me he was hitting on her.  I remember when he lived at my apartment and refused to help me with the bills. I remember when he would have outbursts when I wouldn’t use my money to buy him weed.  I remember downplaying my own success because he would get jealous of my achievements.  I remember when he told me I was never supposed to be long-term.  I remember when he knew that one of his friends sexually assaulted me, but we never spoke of it.  I remember when he would talk about the future and he would always leave me out of it. 

I remember, I remember, I remember. Suddenly, it clicked–the biggest thing I needed to remember. This was not someone I loved or missed, but someone who hurt me so deeply that a bandaid was never going to be enough to fix the broken bones he had left behind. 

For a long time, his leaving made me feel as if I had lost a part of myself, but it has occurred to me that I never did. While he may have tried to take the best parts of me away, destroying them like bullets through glass soda bottles, I have since grown, changed, and transformed. My heart may have bruises, but it’s still intact–capable of being loved and loving others once again. It’s not that a part of me is gone. Instead, roses and daisies have finally sprouted between the cracks in the sidewalk. I was the biggest stranger to myself when I was with him, but now I know myself like no other. A wave of peace, serenity, and glee washed over me and waves hit the sand upon my mind: he will never be the forest fire devouring the flowers, trees, and wildlife in my dearest meadow. 

I stared at the screen as my finger found its way from the bright blue “Clear All” header. As I clicked it, my iPhone asked, “Permanently clear deleted voicemails?” 

Clear All. 

Despite erasing the little bit of history I had left, I had never felt so much more complete.