Oh, hey. Love stinks.
I mean, don’t get me wrong, love is the best feeling in the whole world, blah blah blah. But, like a maniachal bastard, it can quickly shift into the worst feeling you’ve ever felt. Love amplifies every emotion; the good moments are euphoric, the bad moments feel like your heart is melting and you want to cry-slash-puke until you’re dead. NOT an exaggeration.
For all you spurned, jilted, heartbroken and lovesick weirdos out there...You get me. And, I get you. Over the last few months, things with The Ex I Never Got Over spiraled from awful to wonderful to confusing to angry to sad and now...nothing. NOTHING. And, thanks to Facebook Memories gently prodding my heart, I was reminded that TODAY is the day we met...7 years ago. Gross.
So, rather than fall back down the rabbit hole (in typical fashion), I’ll just walk you through my lovesick trail.
Why?
Because sharing is better than bottling it up. Because maybe you’re like me and don’t know what to do with yourself.
Because maybe The Ex I Never Got Over will read this one day. And if he does, I want him to see the damage he’s done.
Because love isn’t a weapon or a crutch.
Because love shouldn’t hurt this much.
And, if it does, it’s probably time to leave it behind.
THE WHAT
Let’s take a stroll down memory lane, shall we? Oh, what a fun ride it has been.
The last update I gave you, dear readers, on The Ex I Never Got Over involved the dark and mysterious rabbit hole I fell (jumped) into. I did manage to crawl back out, so that’s a positive. But, as it turns out, the world outside the rabbit hole is just as dark and mysterious.
THE SENSE AND SENSIBILITY NIGHT
The week of my birthday, The Ex called and texted me a bunch of times. If you’ll recall, I was super confused by the messages he kept sending and un-sending. On a particularly uneventful night, while watching Sense and Sensibility (I know), he sent me a Facebook message.
The message said... “hey”.
HEY?! Despite the absurdity of sending such a short and casual text after months of not speaking (and through such a sketchy platform, like he doesn’t have my phone number), my heart leapt into my throat.
What followed was a night of professed feelings and LOTS of crying.
He told me he still loves me. He told me I’m the person he’s supposed to be with, we’re meant for each other, he’s tried to move past us, but there’s no one else like me, BLAH BLAH BLAH. He said everything I spent the last six months trying not to think about. I felt all of those things and more; I wanted everything back, I wanted him back. BAD. That night was one of the most joyous nights I’ve had in years. I cried and smiled in the dark, hugging my pillow and patting myself on the proverbial back for toughing it out this long.
I fought the good fight, I took my space away from him, and he realized he needs me just as much as I need him. He’ll break up with his girlfriend, move to New York, and we’ll ride off into the sunset of our sappy love story together.
A done deal, right? Not so fast.
THE PILLOW TALK MONTH
The month that followed was filled with ups, downs, and rock bottoms. The day after he told me he loved me...everything fell apart.
Backstory: In the years following our breakup, The Ex I Never Got Over leaned heavily into his struggles with substance abuse. Specifically, alcohol. When we were together, I could never tell when he was drunk, because he was so good about covering how much he was drinking. By the time I realized there was an issue, he had spiraled into a jealous and possessive person I didn’t recognize.
Eventually, he went to rehab. When we reconnected later, he had been sober and in control for years. I was happy for him and excited to have a second chance to get to know each other.
(Readers, that was YEARS AGO. And, here we are, back in the muck.)
Back to Now: The day after he told me he loved me, he went to work wasted and got fired. That same day, his girlfriend wrote him a letter, telling him she needed space from him. He was a complete mess. I didn’t know how to help, but I knew I loved him and would do anything to aid his recovery.
So, we talked and texted every day. Throughout the day. ALL DAY. All the time. We finally had an open dialogue about his drinking, his unhealthy urges, and what happened when I was gone the first time things got bad. I talked to him about my struggles with food, my bulimia, my body dysmorphia. It felt so foreign and so damn good to get everything off my chest. He sent me a monogrammed, leatherbound journal with a heartfelt note to never stop writing, which I wistfully pinned to my wall.
It felt like no time had passed between us. We were right back where we were supposed to be. Together. And, hot messes that we were, I was prepared to stick through it with him.
What a joke.
THE BOTTOM DROP
A month went by; we talked every day.
He walked me through his therapy appointments, his plans with his counselor to get clean. He even had a relapse mid-month; we talked through it. I never judged or shamed or pushed my own agenda. I never pressed him about WHAT’S NEXT FOR US or information about the status of his absent girlfriend.
I let it all slide; his recovery was and is the most important thing.
When three days went by and I didn’t hear from him, I was concerned. I worried he had relapsed and was lying in his own puke somewhere. I didn’t want to botjer him, but I was afraid he disappeared because he was on a drinking binge.
When he finally reappeared with a very peppy “Hey!”, I should have been relieved, but I knew something wasn’t right. Thanks to my facebook news feed, I quickly learned that The Ex had rekindled with his girlfriend. They went on a three-day camping trip with friends, which is why I didn’t hear from him.
When I asked him directly what was going on, he admitted everything.
His girlfriend came back.
They’re trying to make it work.
He’s going back into rehab.
Which, of course, meant: He didn’t need me anymore. No apologies, no excuses. It was like texting a robot.
I never responded to the message. I didn’t know what to say and I couldn’t formulate my thoughts. Fool me once, shame on you. Fool me twice...I should have known better. He used me last Christmas and now he was using me again. When he needs comfort, I’m there. When he needs to feel valued, I’m there. When he needs someone to love him unconditionally, I’m there. But, when it was easier to discard me? It was like I never mattered.
To be completely transparent, I had my own relapse that night. Bulimia has always been a coping mechanism for me; it’s not just about food intake. It’s about purging the emotions I can’t process. So, I purged and felt horrible.
Bottom Line: We haven’t talked in almost six weeks. Today is the seventh anniversary of us meeting for the first time. I remember the moment we met like it was 10 seconds ago.
It hurts like hell to admit the truth: He’s a user. He uses me when he needs me. He discards me when he’s through. He’s in recovery and needs all the help he can get, and I still want nothing more than to help and be with him. That’s my burden, because hey, love can be a burden.
I love him and I’ll probably never stop loving him. And that’s also my burden.
IN HIDING
The most recent update, readers, is that I haven’t heard from him in six weeks.
But, he continues to view my Facebook stories (weird). So, I assume that means he’s out of rehab. Aside from that, I don’t know what else to think. Assumptions are pointless; Clearly, he's not the person I used to know.
FINAL THOUGHTS
Ouch. Honestly, I don’t know what comes next. It took almost three months for me to gather the will to write this post. When I think too much about him, I feel anxiety pangs in my chest and stomach and I want to curl up in a ball and cry. I still cry, sometimes. Good days and bad days.
I want to be angry with him forever.
I want him to call and try to apologize, so I can tell him off. I want him to "Sense and Sensibility" gush love all over me (again). I want to feel like I'm in control of my feelings. But, I'm not in control, and as hard as I try, I know I'm not even angry with him. I'm hurt, I'm heartbroken, and I feel silly and stupid and sad. The worst part? What I know I truly want is the one thing I can't have.
So, I’m trying to let go, but it’s hard. Seven years of loving someone is hard.
But, I think I’m starting to wake up. I don’t need to be used in order to feel loved. I value myself too much to keep going back for more of the same pain. Love hurts, but it shouldn’t hurt this much.
I wish him well in his recovery, I miss him everyday, and I will love him always. But, he’s not the person I thought he was. And I think I need to let him go.
If I can.
XOXO AURIE SAYS
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