For anyone who reads my blog whenever I post something new, thank you. And I’m sorry my posts are sporadic and probably annoying. To be honest, this is probably just going to be another boring post about feelings and shit, but it really needs to be said; it really needs to be written. It’s been sitting in my mind for weeks, maybe months – I was just struggling to find the right thing to say, which I probably still will.
If you’ve read my posts consistently, you’d know that about a year ago, I went through the worst pain of my life (not to sound overdramatic and extra, but it was). My boyfriend of three years thought it’d be best if we broke up. We went on a three week break, which was honestly probably a little worse than it actually being official, only because everything was so uncertain. I basically sat in my house anxious and sick to my stomach as to what he would decide. What he would decide. Because the fait of our relationship lay in his hands. Looking back on that, and how pathetic I was being, it makes me frustrated. But…what can ya do? That’s love for you.
Fast forward: months of trying to forget about him, mixed with not being over him, mixed with missing him, mixed with denial, mixed with anger, mixed with every fucking feeling under the God damn sun. Countless blog posts about how hurt I still was. Only to find out 7 months later that he actually read every single post I had written about him. And according to him, that’s when he decided to contact me: when he read one of my posts where I was okay. I had come to terms with our break up. I didn’t expect anything from him at all, not even to tell me he was moving to LA. I told myself he was my first love and I wish it was different, but it is what it is. And then bam: he contacted me. They have a radar, don’t they? Oh, she’s finally doing well for herself and she seems happy, lemme just mess that all up and change her feelings.
I thought he just wanted to catch up for a drink. When I walked into the bar, it was good seeing him. However, I felt nothing. He was just the guy I used to be in love with. I wanted to look hot, of course. But as he walked me home, I never would’ve expected him to kiss me. And that’s when this all started. Feelings resurfaced that I was certain I had buried. I had gotten out alive of one of the hardest situations I’ve had to encounter in my life. Going back in would be masochism. I was so resentful: how dare he think he can come back into my life just like that.
You guys have no idea how much I had played a scenario like that over and over in my head. Of course every girl wants their ex to realize he made a mistake. I honestly never thought Nick would EVER be the one to admit that. But he did. And I love him and hate him for it at the same time.
Fast forward to the present: he’s in LA. And I miss him for numerous reasons, some genuine, some superficial. No one understood me like he did. Will there be a guy to get my sense of humor and my sex jokes without thinking I’m a psycho or a slut? Will I ever be able to eat dinner in front of him, and still eat popcorn and a hotdog at the movies after? Will he think I’m amazing and that my body is perfect even when I think it’s the farthest thing? Will he tell me he loves me? Will the sex be good? Will it be passionate? How can it be as passionate as it ever was with Nick since this person wouldn’t be my first like he was. Will he tell me how much he loves me during it? Will he tell me how much he loves me after it? Will he encourage me and help me grow as a person? Will he have as nice of a penis?
It’s no surprise that I’m still in love with my ex boyfriend. I fucking hate it, but it’s a truth that I’ve repressed. It seems as if we go back and forth on this entire thing. I need to do what is best for me. And it was hard talking to him and seeing his snap chats and everything. I can’t continue growing as the person I not only need to be but what to be, if I still have that attachment. But I’m not going to lie: I am fucking terrified. I’m scared that I made a mistake when he said that we should get back together and I said we shouldn’t. I’m scared I made a mistake not seeing him in LA. What if he finds the love of his life? All of this that he did would have been for nothing. I’m scared of being alone.
Something I’ve learned (and it’s also probably a proven scientific fact or some shit):
Love is literally like a drug. When we have it, we feel great. We get a little bit of it, realize how amazing it feels, and want more. Gradually, we get more, and we fall deeper into this hole while obtaining the greatest high there is. You become an addict. And when that love is gone or taken away from you, you go through the worst withdrawals. You feel sick to your stomach, you can’t eat, you can’t sleep, you’re anxious. All you want is that high – one more meeting or even text to get you by. But guess what, we don’t get it. They cut us off cold turkey and it’s the fucking worst. We crave it every single day but then we slowly become less dependent on it since it’s not as easily obtained anymore. We wean ourselves from it slowly. It’s not as desirable, and we’ve become more independent and discover that there are other things in life that make us happy. But within one moment, we can relapse. A call, a text, a conversation, and bam. It’s back in our system even though we’ve tried so hard to fight it.
I miss him, I do. I wanted it all with him: the kids, the marriage, the unconventional parenting.
I was recovered, but I relapsed. Now it’s time to work on my recovery once more.