He said he’s done.
He ended it.
I felt myself protest. But there was no point.
I couldn’t help but feel hopeful. Couldn’t help but think maybe he missed me… Maybe I added something to his life.
He chose to hold on to the things we did when upset. The things I’d said when upset. The tone of my smses.
If I had the capability to do that we’d be over a long time ago. But I can’t. I forgive too easily. I rationalise away the hurt.
So I’m the bad guy in this. I was inconsiderate. I made everything about me. I messed up. I couldn’t compromise.
In my head he was talking about himself. He made everything about him.
Maybe he was just a boy… Not a man.
Maybe this ending is the best thing that could happen to me.
I need to let go.
This relationship has gone on long enough. It’s broken me enough. It’s tied me down for long enough.
I need to feel again. I need to find myself. I need to learn how to love myself again.
I used to feel passionate about life. I used to have hobbies and get excited about doing things.
I can’t remember the last time I felt excited.
I found this article yesterday, while trying to hold myself together.
It feels like my relationship.
I gave him all my power. I couldn’t stand up for myself. I should have put a foot down and said I deserve better. And walked away until he respected me and treated me better.
I was weak and pitiful.
I blame my low self esteem. I blame years and years of people telling me in some way or the other that being fat makes me less worthy of a great man, or a great life, or a great career.
Now I just wanna be fat. But I also want to be loved. And all the negative brainwashing keeps turning into self hate. No matter how hard I try.
I hate myself so much that I almost begged him to stay so that I could continue to settle for the nothing he gives me. For the lack of understanding, emotional support and just support that I get from him. For the lack of conversation and continual numbing.
I never felt alone when I was with him. But I felt like I was on my own to face the world and whatever battle life through at me.
The sex was amazing. He knew it. He paid me in it at one point. He said it was all he had to give me.
He’s done. And even though I know that my life can only get better, I’m waiting for him to come back.
I miss him. I miss the familiarity. I miss the warmth of his chest. I miss his arms wrapped tightly around me as he sleeps. I miss the banter. I miss his smile. I miss his presence, the sounds he’d make that would be annoying had anyone else made them. I miss his smell. I miss his hair. I miss how comfortable I felt around him. I miss the future I’d planned with him. i just miss him… A lot.
I’m completely alone in this city. I plan to relocate but I’ll have to find a job first. I could be here for another month or another year. I have no one to distract me. To help me forget him. He has enough friends and family to never think about me again. To never feel maybe it could’ve worked. He believes there’s nothing left. That he would never be good enough for me. And he’s chosen to walk away rather than try.
I keep telling myself that I’ll get over this. That I’ll move and I’ll find somebody who loves me. Who’s ready for me. Who doesn’t have the weight of the world on their shoulders and can just love me, completely.
But I don’t believe myself.
A part of me still holds on to the idea that he could come back. It keeps me from deleting all ‘his’ movies and series… Throwing away things that were only there for him…
Where is my self respect?