Wave the Flag

There are always red flags when something is going on behind the scenes.  The hard part is being sensitive enough to notice them.  Or maybe the hard part is admitting something is wrong instead of choosing to ignore it.  I’d say there was at least one of those red flags that kept waving to get my attention. 

That was the discomfort in the pit of my stomache when my ex-fiancé, now boyfriend again, was doing something shady every single day.  (See flag.)  He says he always does that, it's nothing special.  (See flag wave.)  Why does he need to do that?  Isn’t he happy with me?  When asked about it, he says, “I love you.  I’m with you.  Stop being so insecure.”

So, I ignore the flag, which keeps waving harder and harder as if to say, “Hello…are you listening?…I said, HELLO!”  It knows I’m ignoring it, so it jumps around higher and higher.  It even brings friends to dance around and wave at me.  Leave me alone, Red Flag!  I don’t want to talk to you!

I ignore the red flag, because I don’t want to believe what it’s telling me…that I’m unwanted.  I’m not lovable enough for my boyfriend to want to be with me.  It’s a horrible tightness in my throat, threatening tears.  One actually spills over and plops down onto the piece of paper I'm writing on.  Splat.

What’s wrong with me?  Why do those flags have to be there telling me things I don’t want to know?  Does it have to be true?

There are many things you can ignore, but you can’t ignore it when his ex leaves a message on the voicemail saying, “I don’t know why you’re not here yet."  (See red flag sagging from exhaustion, too tired to wave anymore.)  I told him if he left to see her, we were through.  The next night he left with a change of clothes to “stay at his mother’s house.”

Packing up his clothes, I see all the red flags laying around, haphazardly stacked here, stuffed under the couch there.  I never realized there were so many.  They are everywhere!
I pick one up and think about how I knew that went on.  Each one stabs me in the heart and taunts me, telling me how unlovable I am.  “You see?  Why would he do THIS if you were wanted?  This just proves you are worthless.” 

As I put his belongings by the front door, I think about all the funny songs he would sing as he danced around the kitchen, playing with me and the dogs.  How he said when he gets a better job, he’s going to buy me a ring and make it right for us this time around.  I thought when you set the bird free and it comes back, that it’s back for good.  But I guess happy endings are only for fairy tales.