This summer has been, in a word, tough.
Most people go into summer extremely excited. School is out
so we all get a much-needed break. Its warmer, its sunnier, its freedom. The
three months of summer break are the most anticipated of the year. I, too, was
super ready for summer. I was ready to spend my days on the beach, hanging out
with my best friend who I’d been separated from for the first time since 4th
grade, and doing cute summery dates with my boyfriend. But when summer finally
came around, one major thing was different.
It’s definitely not a secret that I am no longer with my
boyfriend. I mean if you’ve read any of my blog posts, you’ve probably got a
pretty good idea of how I’m handling the break up. (Spoiler Alert: Not well.)
Finals week came and so did the final days of our relationship, sort of.
I remember the day so vividly. He asked if we should try some time apart & I reluctantly agreed (“Um, I guess”). The
next 24 hours came in waves of tears, anger, depression, confusion, and
pain. I let little baby tears slip during lecture. I full out bawled on the
phone to my roommate as I drove myself to his apartment to get my things before he
came home. I curled up into a ball, under a blanket in my almost empty dorm
room and cried my tear ducts dry. I was
nothing short of a mess.
That night, through the hurt and the tears, I put on a
revealing outfit. I let my roommate do my makeup. I took shot after shot and I
posted not-so-subtle pictures to my Instagram and Snapchat, letting him know
what he was missing. I went out with my girls and I was ready to find somebody
new. I wanted nothing more to get his memory, his face, his name out of my
head. What I really did was come home after two hours and drunkenly cry myself
straight to sleep. I was starting to
realize how over it was.
We continued texting and swapped stories of our post-breakup
drinking adventures. He told me he had made a huge mistake and was extremely
sorry for the hurt he had put me through. I loved this guy so hardcore, but I
was emotionally down for the count. I explained that I didn’t want to just jump
back into the relationship because I needed to have a little self-respect. He
agreed and we set a day to go get coffee and talk. We continued to stay
connected and tried to rebuild what was broken.
Our coffee date turned into a lunch date and it went well.
We had fun just talking and being with each other; something we'd been lacking in the weeks before. He dropped me off and I just
kind of left, without really saying goodbye. He was confused but I reassured
him that we weren’t giving up on each other yet. We had a week or two where we
were practically together (without the label) again and things were looking up.
Obviously that’s not where this ends.
He has since told me he doesn’t have feelings for me
anymore. He was over the relationship when it ended. He’s been seeing somebody else.
But our story wasn't over. We were still seeing each other every once in a
while. I was bored, horny, and missing him and he wasn’t going to say no to
sex, so we got together again and again. Each time things were great until I
realized this wasn’t a relationship, it meant nothing to him, and it wasn’t
because he loved me. We had sex purely because we wanted it. I wanted it
because I wanted him back in my life. He wanted it because he wasn’t really
getting it anywhere else.
We went through four or five cycles of friendship, flirty,
sex, Kiana freakouts, not talking, and back to friendship. Each time the
consequences got more and more severe for me. (I’m an emotional person, what can
I say?) I wasn’t stopping though. I wanted the connection. I was lonely and
missing my other half and yeah, I was horny. Who isn’t these days? To make
things harder, my silly brain thought that if I gave him something he wanted
and tried really hard to be supportive, he’d realize how much dedication I had
and how badly I wanted him and then he’d want me again. (I still kind of have
this mentality, even though I know it’ll never work.)
All of this came to an end just over a week ago now. I was
blamed for my own pain, because I was the one who suggested sex over and over.
Which, sure, yeah, it was mostly me, but he wasn’t saying no. He made it clear
that once he officially made this new girl his girlfriend that we’d be done
with our little shenanigans (good for you bro, don’t cheat on your girl)
and that was that. He stopped replying to my texts (I only sent four, okay? And
the first 3 were part of the conversation we were having. I’m not obsessive and
annoying) and I haven’t heard from him since. This is the longest we’ve gone
without talking since last July when we started things.
It’s taking every bit of restraint I have to keep myself
from reaching out to him. I’ve had drafts of texts ready to send multiple
times. I’ve been watching who has seen my snap stories to see when he sees it.
I think of him almost constantly and I still spend most of my nights in tears,
missing him. However, its time, I have to move on. I’ve let myself build hope
for a second chance that’ll never come for 3 months now. I’m pathetic, honestly.
I’ve been starting to focus on bettering myself though. I’ve
been going to the gym regularly, trying to avoid fast food, and drinking water
instead of pop. I’ve dedicated myself to my job and having a blast with the
kiddos I take care of before I move back up to school. I’m actually blogging
for real sometimes. I’m expressing my feelings and letting things out for the
first time in years. (Thanks for that, homeboy; you were right.) Most
importantly, I’m taking this crappy situation as an opportunity to improve
(even if it started out as a way to get him back).
With moving back to the place we spent most of our
relationship and our would-be one-year anniversary coming up, things are going
to be tougher still. I’ll be okay though. Just going to keep taking this one
day at a time and keeping busy. My heart may still be his for now, but hopefully
not for much longer. Things will get better. Slowly, real slowly, but surely.
No comments:
Post a Comment