It’s Sunday night, I’m tucked in my bed at midnight, watching 500 Days of Summer. Why am I watching this film? Because Google tells me I should do. According to the “Rules of a Breakup”, you need to cry, get angry, and watch a series of breakup films. I’ve not really done those things, and it seems I’m no closer to being over The Big Love than I was 8 months ago, so I’m giving it a bash. 500 Days of Summer… Bring it on.
It had me thinking; how long does it take to get over someone? Reports seem to suggest half the time you were with them, but I don’t think this is strictly true. The Big Love and I were together for two years, but the last four months of that two years we weren’t really together – it was on and off; more off than on. Technically we were probably only together for say 20 months. Then there was that month we broke up at the beginning of the relationship too, so 19 months. Which means that after 9 and a half months, I should be over him. It’s 8 and a half months and I still feel the same tug on my heart strings when I see messages on Facebook between him and his girlfriend that I felt 6 months ago. Should it still hurt this much? Personally, I blame The Perfect Penis post for this latest rant. Him and his damn perfect penis.
The good thing about our breakup was that I moved to the other side of the world, back to where I originally came from, and cut all communication. There have been a few messages exchanged; nothing exciting. You’ll know them if you’ve read previous posts. Despite the fact that I didn’t go through the post breakup heartache of seeing him/texting him/ bumping into mutual friends etc, I still hurt. It still hurts. My heart hurts. I think I’m over it every now and again and then something will come up and it hurts again. First it was the perfect penis post. Then it was the letter I wrote to him that I found on my hard drive – the one I never gave him but probably should have done. Then I put some paperwork away and I found an old letter from him. A letter that said “I will love you forever” If only I had known at the time “forever” meant “until I get bored”
I never got the chance to say goodbye. He knew I was leaving; I had my flight booked and my bags packed. That night I got home from work, and he left. I finished packing and my girlfriend picked me up and took me to hers. We watched The Holiday and I cried. I cried a lot.
I never said goodbye. I never got to see if he had tears in his eyes, or any sense of sadness for our parting of ways. I never got to see any hint of regret, loss, grief…. It was probably for the best. If I had seen tears in his eyes, I would have clung on to anything and we were most definitely over. Did he leave because he couldn’t bear to see me leave? Or did he genuinely not care? I will never, ever forget that feeling that rushed through me when I carried my last bag to the car, shutting the door behind me and leaving my key in the mailbox. It was panic, fear, excitement, intrigue, sadness, anger, hopefulness all at once. Was he going to stop me? Was he going to come to my friends house? What about the airport, true romantic film fashion? Was he going to realize a week after I had gone home and flown to the other side of the world to get me back? Did we just need space? Were we really over?
5am came and I got dressed for the airport. Still no sign of him.
I got on the first flight. No call, no text, no sign of him.
I got on the second flight. Nothing.
I got on the third flight. Zilch. We were really doing this.
I got home. Nothing.
The second day I got a text – “Glad you got home Ok”
That was it…? Two years, no goodbye and that shitty text? Fuck him.
8 and a half months later and I still haven’t had the surprise knock on the door, text message or call. I think the time has finally come to start believing we are really over. 8 and a half months of Facebook stalking, not enough crying, too many thoughts and too much hopefulness. God I’m ridiculous.
On the plus side, I’ve lost weight, found my sense of style again, regained some confidence, and a little bit of happiness. The last 8 and a half months have been the driest my eyes have been over recent years, with The Big Love and The Hubby. I guess that says something. I’m not sad these days. That’s a good thing. One part of my past I haven’t yet shared with you is my sadness; my depression, my self harm and self hate. Another story for another day.
I guess I’m just waiting for that day when I wake up and he doesn’t pop into my mind at least once during the day. It’s happening less, I guess, than it has been. I think One Ball is helping with that, and My Mr. Grey and the Guy I couldn’t get rid of helped before him. I’m just struggling to let anyone into that part of my heart. I don’t think it has been repaired yet, so I can’t offer it out to anyone. It’s just a frustrating process; almost like a waiting game. Surely it won’t go on forever?
So for now, I’m crying while watching 500 Days of Summer and writing the newest pathetic post for my blog. Just a few more months and hopefully this chapter of my life will be over. And that time cannot come soon enough.