I have an awkward confession to make. I
was really scared to leave college. Everything was wrong the day I graduated.
It rained all day, a miserable atmosphere. The last twenty minutes before A
had to leave, I came over to his apartment. We didn’t say much, but he held me
in his arms as we both cried, watching the rain fall. I can still feel my ribs
aching from his tight embrace. I can still feel my chin on his hair and the
soft sound of sniffles and pitter-patter of rain. I was apprehensive that A was leaving
for a new internship while I was stayed for my own job. We promised each other to
talk every other day and to text often. But I found out that people change really quickly. Its weird how I can’t even pinpoint the
day when life went from being really happy to being really unhappy. One day, he stopped telling me he missed me.
Somewhere between thirty seconds and all night, I realized that he fell out of
love. All of a sudden he was no longer mine; in fact he found someone new before I ended it. He wanted a serious
relationship, but not with me.
I
know because we’re broken up now, what he does shouldn’t matter to me. The
thing is it matters a lot to me because it hurts.
His decisions affected my emotional wellbeing whether he realizes it or
not. It’s so easy for friends to tell me “this as a life lesson, let it go and
move on”. Sometimes I don’t think they truly understand that they are telling
me to let go a part of me that I had become. Being his girlfriend had subtly redefined
my perspective of the world. Being in love with him and wanting to be with him became
an intrinsic part of me. I was A’s girlfriend. I made him a cup of tea when he
was down, the one who went to his talks and rallies, the one who bought him
chocolate cake because he was had to study late. Over the past two years, I went from a selfish
person, to a kinder and happier individual.
I genuinely became a better person because of our relationship. Overtime, I had woven my love and loyalty to
him into the very fabric of my self-worth. And that’s my problem isn’t
it? Having to get over this breakup feels more like pulling on a piece of
thread that was mistakenly sewn in without destroying the entire
garment. I am the architect of this cozy sweater, but now I have to fix a
horrible mistake.
It’s not easy thinking about him with someone else; a part of
me will always wish that I were enough. I carry the burden of so many
unanswered questions. I still don’t understand how three weeks apart destroyed
a year and a half relationship. I am so afraid that maybe I drove him away from
me to this new girl. I am so ashamed that I trusted him so completely when I
should’ve guarded my heart. I feel humiliated that I shared so much of my
life, but that I was never enough to make him happy. I wake up thinking I
should’ve known better. Some days,
randomly, I feel the weight of my sadness and wish I could set it on the floor
behind me.
The
thing is, I don’t know how to fix myself. Time will make the knots in my
stomach go away, but what will make me whole again? I read a book that says by
embracing your vulnerability you are able to be whole again. But at what
point is it embracing vulnerability and falling into a deep and dark
depression? I am so afraid of picking up the pieces. I’m scared I’ll
never want to pick myself up again and become someone you would be proud to
know. I look in the mirror and see my weaknesses staring back at me. I start
panting after running 0.1 miles and I can’t pick up a 15-pound weight at the
gym. I hate sharing my stuff. I can’t stomach gory movies and am
traumatized by summaries of ghost stories. I’m not brave or pretty. I
freak out if I have to meet someone new because I worry that I’m too weird or
annoying. I don’t have the courage to move across the country to start over in
a new city. I freeze up in interviews so that I stutter and mess up my
sentences so badly that I sound like a broken record player. I try to be genuine, but I still feel
incompetent and naive.
Two
years is a long time to be with someone and not be serious about them, I told
him. A corrected me, saying it was only 17 months actually. I don’t think he
was proud to be with me; he certainly spent a lot of energy keeping it a
secret. But I was proud to be in love with him. I always felt glad that A and I
struck a good balance between the relationship and our friends. We maintained
strong relationships with other people and pursued our own interests. I learned
that being devoted to someone else gives you the strength to be generous to
everyone. I also learned that love does not matter much in the end. This summer
taught me that anyone could lie to you, but also that your closest friends are
always going to be there for you. I finally know how easy it is to become jaded
and lethargic about falling in love.
Sometimes I never want to go through this again. It is a shock that he’s
already with someone else, as if I never existed. I know it will be a
long winding road and I don’t know how to redefine myself. People tell me
I have to move on and not think about what happened or what he’s up to. But how
does one do that? How can one move on past something one refuses to acknowledge
is there. I hope I feel enough courage to open up to someone
new and good. In the end, I have no answers for you or for myself. I'm still figuring it out.
