The First of Many

A friend of mine suggested that every time I am feeling sad about my former relationship, I should write a letter and tear it up.  I understood where she was coming from, but the problem with that plan is that it doesn't hold me accountable for what I have to say.  Every thought and every emotion - be it sad, angry, hurt, relieved - are all my own and not only crave expression, but need to be expelled.  I'm pissed.  I'm saddened.  My mind and heart and everything in between is twisted and crumbling and being fueled by every day.  Every instance.  Every moment.  So, why write a letter and tear it up?  These notes are a reflection of myself that should not be destroyed, but should be celebrated.

It would only be appropriate to give a short bit of background about my relationship, since feelings and emotions do not, or should not, come from thin air.  I am a senior in college and my former boyfriend is a junior.  We attend a small Catholic college in New England.  After meeting at an event highlighting student-leadership two summers ago, we dated for a few months more than one year.  Most recently, we spent the summer apart, as his family lives a few states away, and I did a lot of traveling to see him.  A. Lot. Of. Traveling.  Unfortunately, as I came to find out, I was more interested in seeing him than he was in seeing me, he thought little of making this relationship long-term or long-lasting, and he believed the plans I was making for my future following senior of college should not include him... at all.   He also cared more to spend time with his friends, male or female, than with me, thus spending Thanksgiving, Spring Break, and visits over Christmas vacation together were not in the cards for us without a conversation which typically ended with me in tears and him looking more and more annoyed each time.  Sleeping in the same bed quickly shifted from three-five nights a week last spring, to one-three times a month this fall.  Eventually, I became insecure in a relationship that I once believed made me the luckiest girl on the planet, and found myself doing things not because I loved him, but in hopes of making him love me... and that was a terrible feeling.  I laid it all out there for him one last time, he told me that he didn't value the same things in a relationship that I did, and that what I wanted was too much pressure; so, I told him that I didn't want a relationship at all.

Keep in mind there are two sides to every story, and I do not have an account of his side.  In his eyes, I could have been too clingy, too forward thinking, too hopeful... who knows? And I am not in any way trying to demonize him.  My former boyfriend was, and still is, an incredibly friendly, upbeat, intelligent, good-looking guy.  Does that make him a good person? Yes. Does that mean he's a good boyfriend? Maybe for someone, but not for me.

This whole experience is overwhelming, underwhelming, disheartening, empowering, and a whole slew of emotions that I can't even define or articulate for myself.  A choice that I made feels like a punishment on some days, and a new beginning and introduction to my new sense of self on others. 

I am sad that our relationship has ended, that all of the memories we made together now taste bitter on my tongue.  That when I think of something to tell him, I have to keep the thought to myself or think of someone else to call.  I am sad that the love I felt for him wasn't cut from the same cloth that the love he felt was.  But mostly, I am sad for what could have been... that I could have been complacent.  I could have wanted for nothing more, and I could have molded myself into the kind of person that he wanted to be with: blindly happy, baring no request, living in the here-and-now, and moderately content with a half-hearted juvenile desire to be close to one another.  It feel like it might have been possible.  Sometimes I wish to myself that instead of asking for one more conversation about our feelings for one another, that I could've just climbed in and accepted the single time that week that he had wanted to share a pillow, a blanket, and bed as enough.  

And then I remind myself that I want more.  I want feelings of certainty.  The feeling of knowing that no matter where I am, in happiness or tragedy, that person will come running.  That when I am lost, he is looking... and that when he is lost, he wishes we were lost together.  I want aligned values and the desire to be with one another whether you are four states away and a ferry ride away, one mile away, or laying in the same bed.  Is that too much to ask? Maybe... actually, probably.  But if it is, I hope there is someone out there who asks for too much, too.  Because I am willing to give everything, to love unconditionally, and to make someone else's needs my own, but only if they can do the same... since I'm willing to give so much, I need a partner who is not so selfish as to take and take without the desire to give in return.  

So, I think this is what heartbreak feels like, and honestly, he is probably only the first of many to break my heart. But, more is out there for me.  Even when I am feeling downtrodden, hurt, and cast aside, I know that I am not meant to feel this way forever.