I’ve tried not to wear my heart on my “blog,” so to say, and with the exception of the odd rant, and some cheesy Cohen lyrics, I have succeeded. Nobody wants to read my sad little account of getting dumped. It happens to all of us.
If movies are an accurate window into relationships (haha!), I should finally just be getting up from my couch, after a month of eating Ice Cream from the carton, and listening to cheesy love songs and watching Say Anything over and over again. I’ll admit, I watched Say Anything — ONCE — and I’ve become addicted to the CMT Top 20, but besides that I’ve been surprisingly calm.
I have given him a month to come to his senses and to realize that the world is a far worse place without movie nights, and patio bars, and phone calls and the million other things that had become “us” for the past five years. While he says he is going to fix this, he hasn’t tried, and my self-esteem has gone from modest, but confident, to a shriveled raison-like ball of self-doubt. How could it not?
I don’t know what more I could have done. If moving five hours away from my friends, and the life that I absolutely loved didn’t prove my commitment, I don’t know what could. Maybe that was the problem. Maybe TOO MUCH commitment was more of a problem, than not enough.
So now I don’t know what to do. I could move on, but I don’t want to. I could keep sitting, and waiting, but that makes me weak, and I am anything but weak. How long do you wait for someone to remember that they need you in their life? I hardly thought I would ever utter such a weedy and feeble statement, but I have, and I am.
It’s that proverbial battle — the mind knows that it is weak to wait, and to stay at arm’s length, as I am, but the heart says “fuck it,” it doesn’t matter how it happens, as long as in the end we’re back together, working toward the same things that I/We have been for the past five years.
So, now what? I’ll wait, a tiny bit longer, for him to sort things out. But, being committed to something that doesn’t exist doesn’t exactly make me strong, or make any sense at all. I can think of a dozen ways to describe myself, but disposable isn’t one of them, (whether I feel that way or not), and I refuse to live my life as one of those girls who feels like they are. Everyone deserves better than that.
If movies are an accurate window into relationships (haha!), I should finally just be getting up from my couch, after a month of eating Ice Cream from the carton, and listening to cheesy love songs and watching Say Anything over and over again. I’ll admit, I watched Say Anything — ONCE — and I’ve become addicted to the CMT Top 20, but besides that I’ve been surprisingly calm.
I have given him a month to come to his senses and to realize that the world is a far worse place without movie nights, and patio bars, and phone calls and the million other things that had become “us” for the past five years. While he says he is going to fix this, he hasn’t tried, and my self-esteem has gone from modest, but confident, to a shriveled raison-like ball of self-doubt. How could it not?
I don’t know what more I could have done. If moving five hours away from my friends, and the life that I absolutely loved didn’t prove my commitment, I don’t know what could. Maybe that was the problem. Maybe TOO MUCH commitment was more of a problem, than not enough.
So now I don’t know what to do. I could move on, but I don’t want to. I could keep sitting, and waiting, but that makes me weak, and I am anything but weak. How long do you wait for someone to remember that they need you in their life? I hardly thought I would ever utter such a weedy and feeble statement, but I have, and I am.
It’s that proverbial battle — the mind knows that it is weak to wait, and to stay at arm’s length, as I am, but the heart says “fuck it,” it doesn’t matter how it happens, as long as in the end we’re back together, working toward the same things that I/We have been for the past five years.
So, now what? I’ll wait, a tiny bit longer, for him to sort things out. But, being committed to something that doesn’t exist doesn’t exactly make me strong, or make any sense at all. I can think of a dozen ways to describe myself, but disposable isn’t one of them, (whether I feel that way or not), and I refuse to live my life as one of those girls who feels like they are. Everyone deserves better than that.
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