I loved him.
We lived together, but when I look back on it, it feels more like playing house. I felt needed and appreciated. There is no better feeling than feeling needed. I was only in my early twenties and I thought I knew the world by then. It was more than a partnership, more than a relationship and I was happy to put myself on a plate and offer all of myself to him. I didn’t care about getting flowers, or presents or anything like that. I felt like a princess because he gave me the ability love and trust someone more than I ever had in my life. In relationships, I don’t really ask for much. I have more fun with a tickle fight than going to a $40 show. His happiness was my happiness, and along the way, I lost myself. Before I knew it, his friends were my friends, my life was being planned according to his calendar and I followed like any overly loyal girlfriend would have. The only thing I asked for was to not break me. Give me the same respect I give you. Give me the same happiness in the effort I put towards you, into me.
So one night, I lay alone in the hospital after hearing the most devastating news – I was going to be a cripple. It was all right, I thought. I had him and he loved me enough to accept me for who I was. I was absolutely comforted knowing out of everyone in my life, he would be the first person to be at my side.
I never heard from him again. Sure, girls came in and out, using my bed while I was learning to walk again. The apartment was cleaned out before I came home a month later as if he were a ghost. Like he was a figment of my imagination.
I can describe all the cliché things that happen after following a break-up, especially one that cold. How your heart closes, how love is the enemy, and how cold you feel inside, enough to bring on a frost advisory.
No matter how many times I say I am grateful for the things that have happened to me over the last few years, that one incident literally broke me. But I’m a woman, and women need some emotional stuff in their life, right? So many boys came and go. I didn’t sleep with any of them. Sex became so incredibly sacred to me and it felt like I would be giving a piece of myself to this person. I went 4 years without sex. Now, I did kiss, I did flirt and date around. I needed the company. And as awful as it sounds, I needed to feel appreciated. It didn’t matter if I saw no future with the guy; I used them all to hear the things I wanted to hear. I used their hugs, their comfort, late nights and kisses. I literally flirted with disaster. My insides were the aftermath of a war, the destruction of being torn apart and the last thing I wanted was to be built back up again. I was a hollow shell unable to love anyone but myself.
Dear world, this is the most honest and open I have been to so many people at the same time. I have faith again. No matter how much I fight back those feelings I know are there, I can’t fight anymore. I am learning you cannot be happy without risking being completely open. And sometimes, just sometimes and not very often, someone comes along and brings that wall down. As exposed and vulnerable you may feel, realize it is okay to feel. It’s not healthy going down the road I took, especially for so long. Not everyone is out to hurt you. But I can’t lie and say it’s not the scariest feeling in the world. My self-destructive days are now over and it took me this long to realize it does more harm than good.
Broken and rebuilding; I know it will all be worth it.
