It’s been a horribly difficult year trying to shake this beautiful man out of my tangled hair. The eternal optimist in me has been wishing on clovers and stars, always wrapping him in hope instead of reality. Ripping the healing wound open with every smile that creeps across his beautiful face, I’ve realized what a bone-deep masochist I really am.
I should not answer his calls, nevermind going to lunch with him… but apparently I’ve needed to have this rejection punch me in the mouth a few dozen times before I started putting my hands up to protect myself. He asked yesterday and I didn’t even slightly hesitate. He’s an addiction just as unhealthy as smoking… and I gave that nasty habit up years ago. Why I haven’t been able to quit him is beyond me.
And then I see him, smell him and instinctively reach out to touch that which I want most. I am a glutton for punishment and this is my worst decision ever. I’ve never been stuck for so long, have never felt this sort of sustained devastation and have myself to blame in large part. I knew better, I just did it anyway.
Something shifted though, as I listened to him categorically remind me that I am not special to him and the sight of my sorrow is not compelling. I sat beside him as I drowned in my own tears while he watched and used the life preserver for a pillow instead of helping me. Forever reminded that I’m wasting my own time and decimating my own heart at this point.
I was breathing through the lump in my throat, blinking the tears away as best I could… when he made a joke out of me and pushed me too far. I wonder sometimes if he just likes to watch me crumble. If that’s the case, he got a good show yesterday. I cried the big tears, said the hard words… and walked away for the last time.
My sister showed up with beers and love to mop up the sad little puddle I’d dissolved into. She’s the strongest woman and actually does the healthy things I know I should do but frequently don’t bother with.
♥- Make a list of all the things he really does. The hard stuff. The truth. The stuff you forget when you’re not being honest with yourself.
J- That’s a good idea…
♥- Get a piece of paper.
She knows me well enough to know that I’m probably not going to get around to writing down anything I don’t love about him. Everyone is so sick of hearing me cry over him, but she’s my sister and she’s willing to say the things I need to hear.
♥- Hes not that cute, he has nothing to say, he’s not smart and he has nothing to offer you. You’re out of his league, entirely…
J- I wish I felt that way. It would certainly make me feel better. Instead, I can’t figure out what’s wrong with me that he’s so opposed to the idea when it works SO well.
♥- Start writing real stuff down. If it worked, you wouldn’t feel like this. If he cared at all about you, he wouldn’t be ok with you feeling like this.
J- Alright… 1. He likes dumb, angry girls.
♥- Two things you’ll never be and yuckkkkk.
J- 2. He’s a Trump supporter.
♥- Oh my God… I’ve heard all I need to know he’s not the one for you.
J- 3. He flirts with me constantly and grins when I tell him it hurts. He thoroughly enjoys my suffering and does just enough to encourage it that I can’t get over him.
♥- That’s not someone who cares about you and that’s not something you need in your life.
I know she’s right… it just hurts like hell.
♥- I have a song for you. You need to turn it up and put it on repeat.
See? She knows.
I have a fabulous evening full of drag queens and best friends tonight and it couldn’t come at a better time. I need to drown him out with bubbles, boys and laughter…
… and my sister. ♥