I thought it was gone.

I thought it was gone. That stomach twisting, that fist clenching. That quickening heartbeat that makes me want to dig my nails into something, anything. I thought it was gone. I thought it left with the feelings. I thought the temptation grabbed it on its way out. I thought it disappeared when ‘more than friends’ turned into ‘just friends.’

What is that feeling, exactly? Is it anger? Frustration? It is terrible, whatever it is. It is persistent and sneaky. And worst of all, uncontrollable.

It slowly dissipates. My fists unclench, my breath evens out, my heart slows down. Now what am I left with? Embarrassment? Sadness? Resentment?

It used to leave me with an inability to eat, and an irrepressible urge to glance at my cell phone every thirty seconds, on the off chance I may have gotten a text. It left me with an ache in my bones, a craving for control—of the situation, of my feelings, of my decisions. A craving I could never quite satisfy. I was left with resentment toward myself—that I could get so attached that something normally insignificant could have me rocked. Resentment, truthfully, that I could care about something to the point that it had the ability to take away my control. The resentment would settle, the craving would fade away. A slow and steady sadness would wind its way through me. And I would wait. I’d fight the urge to fix things (usually), and wait. And wait. And wait. And waitwaitwait. I’d shower, I’d run, I’d take a nap. I’d waste time until he was ready to fix things. And then I’d listen to a story, I’d accept an apology, and I’d let go of the control I promised myself I would grab this time.

And then things flipflopped. The situation changed, and suddenly I had all of the control. All of it. Every single last grain of control was in my hands. This wasn’t unexpected, but it was strange. And oddly unattractive. Things simmered—not too hot, not too cold. Until a simmer wasn’t enough. I turned it off, all of it, I thought. Just friends I said. That is all I want. And I thought it was gone. Until a hung up phone and a few muttered phrases had my fists clenched and my nails itching to dig. It snuck back in and shocked my system.

But it didn’t leave me with an empty stomach, or the need to fix things. It didn’t leave me with a desire for control, or resentment toward myself. It left me with annoyance. I thought it was gone. It left me with reassurance. I don’t need this anymore. It left me with wonder. What is it about him that does this to me. It left me with interest, curiosity, and a little bit of embarrassment for the unnecessary showers, naps, and runs I took in an attempt to escape.

I didn’t like the simmering, the perfect temperature to keep things going. Boring, maybe. This certainly changed the temperature. A twist of the nob, medium to hot, simmer to boil. Has he found a way to grasp some control? Have I let it out of my grip? Just Friends, I said. And he said, I Still Love You. Old habits are hard to break, old routines hard to avoid.

He was not suppose to be able to do this to me anymore. I thought it was gone.