Why I Fell In Love Again - Despite My Better Judgment

So, here I am, almost one whole year since my boyfriend became my ex-boyfriend.  Almost one whole year since I started this blog.  Almost one whole year since I started drinking whiskey and housing hot tamales instead of drinking green tea and picturing the houses of my dreams. And finally, here I am, almost one year from having my heart broken... and I am still heartbroken.

My ex-boyfriend and I... yes, please notice I have started using the term ex-boyfriend in lieu of the euphemistic "former boyfriend" I used to say to soften the blow... anyway, my ex-boyfriend and I have spent the past three months falling back in love with one another.  Well, at least, I was falling back in love - not that I had ever fallen out of it - I think he was playing with the idea of loving me again.  So, the two of us have been spending our days thinking of each other, sharing in each other's joys, and I have been happy.

My smile was back.  I know I sound like a cliche Taylor Swift pop song.  I felt like a Taylor Swift song. 

Every time you smile

I smile

and every time you shine

I'll shine for you

Unfortunately, like most Taylor Swift songs, this one is quickly followed by an angry song about a breakup that was seemingly Taylor's fault, but honestly, I don't blame her. 

I think Taylor Swift is just trying to find love, and be loved, and be in love.  Who would want to be known as the girl that dates guys and then get's dumped on her ass and has to write pathetic love songs about the breakups? 

Anyway, you're probably wondering why I let this happen again.  Or maybe you're not wondering, but I'm going to be writing it down here regardless, because this is blog has basically become the adult version of my seventh grade livejournal. 

I fell for him again because I wanted to.  

Yes, it's that simple. I took a class in my undergrad where my professor suggested that the best way to live a happy and healthy lifestyle is to treat yourself like you are your own best friend.  I loved the idea.  I absolutely one hundred percent cannot stress enough how much I love this idea.  Think about it...

When you're tired at the end of the week and the last place on Earth you want to go is the gym, what would your best friend say? 

I'll tell you, mine would say, "Oh, no you're not going to the gym, we're drinking wine." 

On the other side of the same coin, if I am just being lazy, my best friend is the first person to kick me in the ass and tell me to get out of bed and hit the ground running. 

So, what's my point here? My point is that as my own best friend, I knew I would be happy with my ex-boyfriend if things worked out, so I let myself fall for him all over again.  I cooked him dinner, I wore more dresses (as if that was even possible), I smiled my biggest, brightest smile for his parents even though I know they don't approve of me, and then... when I realized how pathetically in love I was with someone who wasn't giving me the same in return... I walked away.

Because, see, as my own best friend, I can't let myself look stupid.  Best friends help you decide when what you're doing is going to make you happy momentarily or when the brief happiness is not worth the consequence.  For example, I have an incredibly strong desire to wear athletic clothes to pretty much every bar I go to, and sometimes my best friend let's me.  Like if she knows we're just going to a slummy bar to drink cheap beer in a room full of middle-aged men, she totally let's me rock the nike's.  But then sometimes, she's like, "Jane, no, go change! And stop crying!"  (an ode to my over-emotional response to every given situation). 

What I'm trying to say is that it's okay that I am heartbroken again. It's okay that I made the same mistake that every best friend tells you not to make, but then you make it anyway because you just think that this time will be different.  See, the best part about treating myself like my own best friend, is that I'm not mad at myself - I'm proud of myself.  Letting him back into my life was a decision I thought would make me happy, and when it didn't, I cared enough about myself to change that decision.  

And even more importantly, I am lucky to have true best friends that love me.  That knew all along I was making a mistake and they let me make it anyway.  And yeah, they're annoyed that I'm still sad.  Hell, I'm annoyed that I'm still sad! But they love me enough, and honestly, I love myself enough, to let me be sad for a little while once more, and then to kick my ass and make sure I move on. 

Started From The Bottom Now We're Here

I've been calling this past weekend "rock bottom."  For three nights in a row I went to my closet,  selected a mostly see through top, applied a little too much eyeliner, and stepped into the tallest pair of wedges I could get my hands on... and then, I drank.  My typical five beers a night quickly escalated to seven or eight, my no-shot-taking policy flew out the window as I drank Captain straight from the bottle, and the box of wine my friends left in my room was considerably less heavy by the end of each night.  I kissed a guy I barely know, woke up in my bed with no idea how I got there, and spent two hours crying to a friend as he helped me out of my heels and into his roommate's slippers so I didn't break an ankle.  I offended a girl I'm barely acquainted with, fell down the hill outside of my apartment, and ate more drunk pizza than I even care to think about.

So, after all this, do I feel any better?  Surprisingly, yes I do.  I am embarrassed, ashamed, hungover, guilt ridden, and definitely in need of some exercise.  However, I've realized that acting out reminded me who I really am.  I am not the person I acted like this weekend; if I was, I wouldn't feel shame or embarrassment.  I let myself lose control of my emotions, of my values, and of my inhibitions.  I am definitely not proud of that, but I needed this weekend to remind myself that I am always in control and responsible for myself.

In relationships, from what I have learned, the power lies with the person who cares less.  At some point in my last relationship, I let the balance tip.  I loved deeper - cared more - and I gave him control.  I tried to want what he wanted, do what he wanted, and act in the way he wanted.  Every move I made was with him in mind.  I relinquished control.

Over the past five weeks, I have done little to regain control and responsibility.  I made excuses for my melodramatic responses to small infractions, my oversensitivity to the criticism of others, and my short temper in the face of controversy.  "I'm going through a tough breakup," I'd think, "it's not my fault."  And everyday, I wish things were different.  Sometimes I wish we were still together.  Sometimes I wish we had never met.  Sometimes I wish that he wasn't in the same state as me, at the same school as me, or at the same party as me.  I don't have control over any of those things, but what I can control are my actions and the way I treat others.  Over the past five weeks I lost sight of the fact that there is never an excuse to knowingly do the wrong thing.  My mother taught me to know right from wrong, to respect others, and to carry myself with dignity.  This weekend I exemplified zero of the things my mother taught me, and there is no excuse for that - not even a broken heart.

I genuinely believe that this past weekend was actually an experience I needed to have.  I am finding myself, rebuilding my life, recreating my outlook, and mending my heart, and sometimes the only way to do that is to start from rock bottom and work your way up.


**inspired by "Beauty in a Breakdown" firstworldthoughts.blogspot.com