If you love something, let it go.
I guess I can admit it now, since it’s basically over. But yeah, I guess I can write it down now and shout it to the world: I’m single again. I mean, I should have been expecting it, but to be perfectly honest with you— I’m not as upset as I thought I’d be. I’m more disappointed than anything, and it hurts, but I’m surprised that it hasn’t led me to another man’s bed, or in the arms of someone else. Usually when breakups happen, I end up going through what I call my ‘slutty’ phase. Now, I can be the first to reluctantly subscribe to the motto, “To get over someone, you have to get under someone else,” (also meaning that I don’t exactly manage to follow proper coping mechanisms) however, with this breakup, I haven’t followed the normal routine. I’ve literally just been sitting, writing, reading, pouring myself into my work, as well as watching videos of adorable, chubby dogs.
But why this reaction? Why am I not as upset as I normally am? Why am I not crying or screaming or being completely empty and void of emotion whatsoever? I didn’t realize it until tonight but it’s because for the first time in a relationship: I did nothing wrong. The demise of this relationship was not my fault at all. I am completely blameless this time. If anything, my only flaws were that I was too honest, too open and communicative, I was too insecure, but I never once projected those insecurities onto our relationship. I find it to be incredibly odd that I didn’t run away once, I didn’t hide from a good thing: I dipped my toes reluctantly, in disbelief, then I managed to jump in. For as short as this relationship was, this was one of the most mature relationships I have ever been in. Short, fleeting, but incredibly beautiful. I think of that quote from Greek (even though that show reminds me of Brandon, but that’s another story to save for another day), the one that talks about how love stories may be short, but they’re still love stories all the same.
The funny thing is, usually I end up leaving if I feel too insecure in a relationship. I leave before I’m left, because I’m too scared that I’ll be hurt, so I end up wanting to let myself hurt before the other person can hurt me. This didn’t happen. I stuck around. I made a huge effort. I quite literally hopped a plane and tried to visit you (and did I hear from you? Not at all.) I opened myself up one stitch at a time, and let you in. I told you about me and let you know everything about me: the good, the bad, and the ugly. While I can keep on claiming that our relationship was effortless, it certainly was not. I had to take down the barricade in order to let you in, and that took a lot of work for me, because I had to learn how to trust you. It felt like there was no effort between us, but there was. I gave, but so did you. There were a lot of firsts in our relationship: this was the first time I wasn’t really scared. It is an unusual feeling to describe, this feeling of being so safe, so secure. There was also the first time I felt comfortable talking about marriage, children, starting a family, my future, etc. with someone. Agreeing and disagreeing, arguing about what our points of views, and having serious talks about this kind of stuff. It’s all stuff that I never talked about in great lengths with other boyfriends, simply due to my views on those topics and how scared I am of the future. So, for that I guess I have to thank you for as well.
But the demise of this relationship is your fault. And I don’t say that to make you sound like the bad guy. No one was the “bad guy” in the relationship. However, sometimes life happens and people change, and people do stupid shit. In the process, priorities shift and I didn’t end up becoming one of the higher ones. I can’t expect myself to be one of them when you can’t even take care of yourself, so I get it. You cannot love someone with your full self if you don’t even know who you are. If you cannot even take care of yourself, then how are you expected to take care of yourself? You have your issues, and I have mine, and the communication broke down. I suppose along the way, someone stopped trying to contact, and this is where we arrived: it’s over. There’s still so much love in my heart that is dedicated to you, but it’s come to the point in my life where I can consider myself in a long-term relationship, and you’re nowhere near ready for that in your state of being. You say you are, but you are still very, very young. We both are. And you’re depressive and I cannot keep an eye on you without worrying that you’re going to do something completely destructive. I’m too worried all the time, and I have to stop because it’s going to end up being the thing that kills me.
I wish I could say that love is enough to keep a relationship alive, but unfortunately it is not. A person can do everything right, and something will manage to fall apart. Murphy’s Law, correct? I want to thank you for teaching me how to love fully, how to give a part of myself when a lot of myself is damaged beyond repair, how to fix myself and learn to love again, and most of all, for giving me what I deserve. You taught me how to love myself, and how to expect more for myself, how to have higher expectations of various men, and not to settle for anything less than that. So, maybe in ten years, we’ll cross paths again, and we’ll end up together.
But if not, I know I can take comfort in the lessons I learned and the memories we shared. It will definitely take me time to let the whole thing go, but I’ve definitely said my peace.