In One Fashion or Another.

It's that thing when you see everyone around you so happy, and you just want to rejoin them but you can't. I've been really unhappy this last week, but one may not have been able to tell. I've been keeping my mind extremely busy with friends. Different adventures, movie/dinner nights, parties, etc. All to keep me as occupied as possible. The thing is, when I stop doing and start thinking. I hate when I think. Every time I do that, I get super depressed. I googled some things this last week. One search revealed that I should try and think of only the bad things that happened in our relationship. But the thing is, I have the most difficult time doing that. Most of the things that suck were happening when he was unhappy. I cannot blame him for treating me poorly while considering a break. I can blame him for considering it, but that isn't really fair either. There were the occasional pet peeves, but even those, I can live with. The truth of the matter is we never had a fight that lasted more than 2 hours. We always solved our problems together. Discussing the event, expressing feelings, and working out a solution. We never went to be angry, and feelings never had the opportunity to fester and build. I'm so lost right now. I need him. I need him to come back to me. But if he's the person I've known for so long, then I know that he will. In one fashion or another.

Once Was Once Again.

It's funny, really. This blog was originally intended to express my feelings after having broken up with my second boyfriend. For a while, a long while (nearly 2 years), I did just that. But just as I began to feel more comfortable with the fact that I had been dumped by a person I cared so much for, my posts about him and my feelings grew fewer. Since that boy, I've been on many dates. Met great people, mended our relationship, and moved on. At one point, around 10 months ago, I met someone new. More than just a single-serving date, I began to see him regularly, then exclusively. As expected of me, I obsessed. Naturally, one gets carried away caring for someone special. I generally amplify those feelings by some immeasurable amount.

Our relationship started out great. I usually tell people we met in a restaurant. I was there with my friends, he with his. Our friends knew one another so we all sat together. He and I sat side by side and began talking, knowing that this just might lead somewhere. Every time we told the story, we would exaggerate a little bit more. Eventually, it became that we met in a suspended booth in a restaurant with fire walls in Vegas. I don't know how believable that was, but no one argued. In all actuality, we met online. He commented on a picture of mine, and we started talking. The relationship went great.

After 4 months, he told me he loved me and put a ring on my finger to prove it. After 9 months, he told me he loved me but couldn’t be with me.

I guess this is what Zooey did to Joseph. That bitch. It hurts. A lot.

I know that every good relationship must end at least once before it can work forever. I knew this around 5 months, too, and one day we broke up for ten minutes to ensure that it would never happen again. In hindsight, it was a waist of 10 minutes; they could have been spent more wisely.

I can’t say I didn’t see this coming. We have been off for some time now. I suppose it began when he told me how much his time alone is precious to him. I resented him for telling me that, knowing that it was because he thought we spent too much time together. I struggled with that resentment until a friend explained that some people just need to be alone. I don’t get sick of the people I love so I want to always be surrounded by them—others need their space. When I began to comprehend, though not understanding, I apologized to him, explaining that it wasn’t fair to think so poorly of the situation. But when the absence became stronger, when I wasn’t able to see him as often, the resentment grew.

The day he told me we are going on a break was the day I was going to tell him that I was unhappy. The only thing I’ve wanted these last few weeks was to be with the man I love. I don’t really know what he’s going through. I’m told that when a gaze is cast upon our future, something doesn’t add up. I’m banking on the fact that he’s bad at math, because when I look, everything seems perfect.

Perhaps we’re to blame, though, for letting the future cloud the present. We should not have committed so soon. Talked less about marriage, graduation, money, house, children, puppies. We should never have started the pinterest page about Our Life Together. Because now I have to go and delete it.

I hate being lied to and I hate being let down. Half of the contribution to our future was him: He seemed to want marriage and a life together just as much as I [do]. In my bedroom, he told me all these things. How we are taking a break (if anyone has any knowledge of what a break entails, please let me know) and how it is too much of me to ask that he not sleep with anyone until he knows that he doesn’t want to be with me. He asked for a hug before departing, and I granted him one. His shirt was soaked in tears, and mine was too. I have never seen him cry before. In fact, I had never really see him emote much more than excitement.

If he can ask me for a hug, I can ask for one last kiss. So I did. He licked his lips thinking that is what I meant, but instead I tilted his head down and kissed the freckle under his right eye. The very freckle that I’ve been kissing since I decided it was my favorite.

Surely were this a hand written letter, nearly every word would be smeared. I’m going to be in a hole for a while. Please be happy.