I did it. I let my wall down. I allowed my heart to be vulnerable. I threw all common sense out the window. I fell for a guy. I loved someone that was not a family member, nor a friend of mine.
And within hours of taking a picture of I HEART YOU in the sand and sending it to my boyfriend, I was single.
The text read, ‘I’m sorry but I don’t want to be in this relationship anymore.’ A break up text? I thought after Berger dumped Carrie via post-it note, it had become clear to society that there are ways to break up with someone and it doesn’t involve a post-it, or a text.
I read it in the car after a great evening with my bestie and her husband. We’d gone down to the new Liberty Public Market and hit up a quaint, dark restaurant in Point Loma for a bottle of wine and a charcuterie board. I had a great wine buzz and couldn’t wait to get back to their house so I could call my boyfriend and flirt shamelessly.
Instead, I sat in silence on the 40 minute car ride back to there house where I proceeded to sit stunned on their garage floor for a little alone time after they begged me not to drive back to Palm Springs. All I wanted was my own bed and lots of answers.
“What can I do differently?”
“Are you sure?”
We tried talking as I curled myself into a fetal position and continuously wiped tears and snot from my face but both of us were buzzed and nothing was being accomplished except feelings getting hurt. My feelings.
This was someone who knew my apprehension of being in a relationship and although he had dated a little bit here and there for the last two years, I kept my heart under lock and key. He recognized my wall I had built and the bitchy persona as a defense mechanism. He reassured me that he would do nothing to hurt me. With suave and charm, he had me giving myself completely to him in a few short weeks.
I was in awe of this man. He made me feel sexy and confident. He made me laugh and challenged my thinking. My heart was happy. He reignited a spark I hadn’t felt in years. But all I was to him was a challenge. Once he got me where he wanted me, trusting and vulnerable, he was done.
So, I’m 18 hours into being single again and I’m reminded of why I don’t let anyone in. My heart hurts. I’d much rather be angry than crying. I’m lethargic and my mind is racing. Most of all, I miss him. I miss his texts and the sound of his voice. I miss his stupid fucking laugh.
I’ve sat stunned staring off into space and only appeared present in conversations with friends just nodding along when they tell me ‘you can do so much better’ and ‘it’s his loss’. But, then why do I feel like I’ve lost something, too?
I’ve had outbursts of tears followed by anger. Not at him, but at myself. I’m pissed that I didn’t listen to my friend’s concerns. I’m pissed that I listened to my heart. I’m pissed that I let this become something more than just a fling.
He’s texted twice. Once way too early for him to be up. I’m wishing that it’s because he couldn’t sleep after the horrible decision he just made and he’s regretting it.
‘Are you ok?’
FUCK NO, I’M NOT OK! I’M FUCKING HURT. DEVASTATED EVEN!
It was only a couple of months, though, they say. And somehow because it wasn’t a yearlong relationship, my matters of the heart are discredited. I chose to be single to never have to feel this way again. I thought I was heart-smart enough to recognize a man that wouldn’t make me feel the way I do right now.
But I’ve wanted him to text. I still want him to text. I want him to call. I’m not even sure I would answer. I can’t even find the words to respond to his texts. I just want to know that he’s thinking about me and that a part of him is as heartbroken as I am right now. I’m texting my friends to keep from texting him.
I didn’t think I was going to smile today. Thankfully, I’ve got great girlfriends that rallied to be by side, with wine. They sat and listened. They let me cry a little bit. We talked. We analyzed. I tried my best to make up excuses and even defend him. You know, just in case this worked out later. After about two bottles of wine, they decided, he’s a dick and I deserve better. Of course, they’re right. Who am I to argue with a table of tipsy women? But I know they’re right because for a minute, I lost sight of my self-worth and they reminded me of how amazing I am.
I’m a catch. I’m the total package. I’ve got a great job in hospitality and starting a great career in real estate. I’ve got an incredible, cute apartment with a sweet little kitty and lovebird who are excited to see me when I come home from work. I’ve got more friends than I know what to do with. I travel as much as my boss will allow me to have time off. I’m healthy and only going to get faster, better, stronger. On paper, I’m practically perfect. I AM perfect.
So why would I dare ask for more? Who am I to say that’s not enough? Why, in my moment of heartache, do I feel I’m not complete without this man in my life?
I’m thinking of you. Are you thinking of me, too?