No, for real.
I don’t know what I’m doing here.
Yes, I know that I’m supposed to blog, to write about my feelings or thoughts, to let my fingers fly across my keyboard as I bitch, moan, complaint and whine about my ex-boyfriend. Like, that’s what a break-up blog is for, right? And ok let’s be real. It’s almost 2015. Do people do blogs anymore? We could take this to Twitter but that’s kind of pathetic since it’s not really going to help in this whole healing schmealing process that is supposed to happen.
Yes, I just jumped straight into the subject matter without any introduction because truly, there isn’t any need for it. A break-up, by definition, only has one meaning. Two individuals who, at one time, wanted the same thing, decided that they didn’t want that thing anymore. Or in my case, one of us didn’t. And that person is not the one who started this blog. And although to most people, a break-up is, “just a break-up so omg get over it!”, it never is ‘just a break-up’ for the person going through it.
For the person who is going through it, a break-up makes you feel like you just want to die.
Oh, I suppose some basic introductions are necessary to help you understand some of the references that I will inevitably drop throughout my future posts (HA! I actually believe someone else other than myself will actually read this. Oh well. I may be 30, but if Donald Trump can still dream of being a reputable citizen of the world, I don’t see why I can’t dream either).
About a year ago, I met someone. He liked me. I liked him. At that time, he was living in my continent. A few months later, he had to move back to his continent. But we tried to keep it going long-distance (yeah, I know… anyone could see it coming except for us) and well, I guess it didn’t work (SHOCKER!)?
So how did it end?
He suddenly disappeared. He ghosted. He just.went.poof. One day, we were in contact and the next day he just decided he didn’t want to exchange stabbing motions on his smart phone’s screen with me anymore.
(My imagery needs some work, I know)
Ok, so in the normal Cosmo Magazine-dating blog world, ghosting means you’ve tried texting him and he won’t respond or pick up your call and there’s no other way to reach him. My definition of ghosting is he stopped replying to my texts but he didn’t block my number, I didn’t attempt to attack him verbally through phone calls (because if he’s not texting back, how is a phone call going to change his mind?), we’re still friends on social media and truly, if I wanted to make his life miserable by demanding for answers (or at least a response because rude, much?) I could hound him.
But I chose not to. Because I’d like to think myself as a lady and a professional in the field that I’m working in (which is how we met) and even as I was crying my eyeballs out and heaving in my friend’s office with snot blocking my breathing passage, a small ounce of rational thinking managed to seep through my wails and I knew that I was going to leave this relationship the way I entered it.
Poised. Dignified. Classy. Matured. Patient. Kind.
At least as far as he could tell anyways. Shh…
That man may have ripped apart my heart and a portion of my dignity but I refuse to let him take away anything else. So here I am, trying to find my way through this very hazy portion of my life where everything looks really bleak. You’d think that an adult would have her crap together and that the demise of a relationship would only register a bleep through her personal life. Maybe for other women.
But for me though, when I love, I love hard. Staying loyal to a man that I had not seen for a year was not a problem for me. Trusting him and just letting him do what he needed to do without constantly checking in and demanding updates came naturally to me because I’ve always believed that when you hold on too tightly, it’ll make the person want to think of nothing but escaping your clutches. If he wanted to be with me, he had to feel like it was his choice to be with me.
And still, we didn’t work out. He didn’t even think I deserved an explanation for his ghosting. Maybe he thought that since we’re so far away, the chances of us seeing each other again is lower than Americans finally calling it ‘football’ instead of ‘soccer’.
It hurts like hell. I wanted to call him, demanding for an explanation. I wanted to write a letter about how I felt (true story: I’d composed the draft on my Evernote). My self esteem nose-dived. I over-ate. I couldn’t stop crying. I couldn’t stop moping. I couldn’t stop feeling like I wanted to die. My job requires me to present myself to an audience everyday, five times a week. I started sucking at my job when I used to kill every presentation. I just wanted him back. Only him.
So here I am, finally choosing to write all my thoughts down because writing is what I do best. I mean, I’m not GOOD at it but it’s easier for me to sort through my thoughts when they are in paragraphs. It’s the Mercury in me. And yes, I’m kinda into Astrology but I don’t believe in that whole compatibility thing.
Maybe this is going to be a big mistake. Maybe this will help me recover faster. Maybe no one will read this. Maybe this will help one person go through her own break-up too. Whatever it is, the objective of this blog is for me to find myself again. Oh I’m sure there will be posts where I’ll entertain thoughts of trying to get him back. But inherently, I know that whether or not he does come back, that’s not up to me and instead of wasting my time acting like a strategist, I should spend it trying to rediscover myself again.
I miss the old me. The one who wasn’t this soggy, floppy, clingy, weepy mess.