“I think if you really wanted me, you would have come to visit me!”
This was My Mr. Grey’s opening line today. He is up to something I think; maybe some kind of reverse psychology? He basically told me that he wouldn’t be coming down to see me next month and the weekend just passed had been a real eye-opener for him. He also told me that if I had really wanted him, I would have gone up to his end of the country. Really? Is this guy for real? The reason we aren’t together is because I didn’t go to the poxy wedding he had invited me to – firstly, I couldn’t have afforded it and secondly, I couldn’t get out of work. Please tell me how on earth this means I didn’t want him? Is this guy fucking retarded?
I think this is his way of trying to tell me that he has met someone over the weekend. He apparently had “a little too much crazy!” with a winking face. This isn’t the first time we’ve played this childish game – when we were younger he was always “accidentally” sending me texts meant for other people in a bid to make me jealous/paranoid/whatever else. But whatever, I’m over it. I told him and I will tell you guys – I am more than happy with One Ball and I made the right choice. If he had really wanted me, he would have just said yes. That’s all there is to it, right?
So, back to the real world, and this time last year I was on my way back from the other side of the world. I was actually in the air on the second of my three very long and very painful flights. A whole year. I’ve been back a whole year. I really hoped that I would forget about this anniversary but unfortunately, I don’t have that much luck. As I was on the bus on the way home, it popped into my head. Today is the 4th of February. It is not only a relative’s birthday, but the day I began my journey to fly from one side of the world to the other.
It has begun already – I have started the recluse program. You must know the one by now – I reminisce about something that really fucking broke my heart and I get lost in a spiral of despair, smoking myself into a high that still doesn’t kill the heartache, and eating my own body weight in chocolate fingers for a few days. I am avoiding the texts sent by My Mr. Grey and One Ball. I am sat in my room staring at the computer screen, eating Malteasers as we speak. I’ve been home a year.
My year has been both good and bad, but man has it gone by so fast. We’re at the halfway point I talk about in “How Long Does it Take to get over someone?” Technically by now I should be over him. Am I?
I don’t think I think about him every day anymore. I reckon that’s a pretty good sign. I don’t stalk his Facebook so much anymore. Well, not as much as I used to anyway. I have recently come across some information whereby he couldn’t get the house he wanted to buy this year because he didn’t have enough money, and that filled my heart with glee. Does that mean that I’m NOT over him? Or just that I want him to get the Karma that he so deserves? I don’t think it hurts so much these days but I don’t know if that is because I have OB to occupy my mind or because I really am getting over him. I don’t miss his morning texts anymore because OB always sends me one. The same goes for the ones at the end of the day. I have OB to look forward to coming home and Skyping, not just getting high and going through my many email inboxes, waiting to see if he has emailed me. I think I’m on my way to getting over him. Closer than I’ve been in months. I also think that I have an awful long way to go. This guy seriously destroyed my heart. But I’m getting there.
As I take a deep breath, I flick over to my Facebook page and click on the year 2012. February. 4th February. Not So Sex in the City is with the Bestie from the other side of the word at the Airport. That Facebook tag killed me to create – I remember it now. I’m actually crying as I write this. I remember being in such a fluster over leaving that I accidentally packed my passport in my suitcase after I had to take out a bunch of shit as it was too heavy, and then sending my suitcase away to go on the plane. I tried to get through security but couldn’t find my passport. It was in my suitcase which had already gone through security. I was a mess that morning. It was 6am. I was leaving her. I was leaving her unborn baby. I was leaving my Big Love. My home. My favorite place in the whole world. I fell to my knees and broke down in that shitty little airport and she threw her arms around me. I will always love her. She became my best friend over there, and although we don’t talk that much anymore, she will always be my Square. And if she ever reads this, that will make sense to her.
I don’t know how I found the strength to get on that plane. Up until that point I had always assumed that he would have stopped me from leaving. He didn’t. The worst of it is I didn’t lose hope until just a few months ago that he would come and get me. I cried all the way on that first flight. The entire hour or so that I was in the plane, I had my head buried in my scarf, earphones in to protect me from the rest of the world, and I sobbed my little heart out. I’m sure the people around me thought I had some kind of mental disease. Or breakdown. They were probably right. The disease was unrequited love.
I was terrified. I didn’t know a life without him in it and although I do miss him dearly still, I know that I’m a much better person for leaving. It killed me then and it still kills me now. I miss him and her, and many other people from that place, more than I’ve ever missed my own family sometimes.
I’m not over him. I have come to the conclusion that The Big Love is someone I’m going to be grieving for, for a very long time. I have OB to help me, and my friends and family too. And as much as they annoy the hell out of me sometimes, I have no idea where I’d be without them. Especially The Lapdog. He’s not in my life anymore, and I miss him every day. He definitely got me through the first few months of being home. He was the one person that made that transition the easiest. He made me feel good about myself and I really want to text him and tell him that right now, but it would start a whole bunch of shit that I am not prepared to deal with right now.
As I sit here and listen to “Hey Lady” by Thriving Ivory, tears streaming down my face, I know coming home was the right decision. As heavy as my heart feels right now, it is nothing compared to the fear I felt every day for the last few months I was with him. He turned into such a bad guy and he really wasn’t the asshole that I make him out to be sometimes. He was a very kind man – he would do anything for anyone. He would give someone his last cent if they needed it. He would run out in the middle of the night in his bare feet to help someone in the snow. He was funny too. He always said the wrong thing at the wrong time but somehow, for him, it worked. He was goofy funny. He made me smile every day that I was with him. Not all day every day, but every day he made me smile for something.
I think what I feel for him is not “over”, but more “forgiveness”. Whatever that word may mean. I forgive him for changing. I wish he hadn’t but I won’t hold it against him. I do wish him happiness despite the fact that I would love for him to fall apart without me. I wish him the family that he craves; in the big house with the Husky puppy. I want him to get the fairytale ending… Just not before me. I forgive him for being a jerk, for taking drugs, for being a fucking asshole sometimes. I do – I forgive him. I don’t want him back but I don’t hate him anymore. I’m “blah” about him. Like it bugs me a little bit but not a lot. I think that’s progress.
So. That’s it. My first year back home and I survived it. It was touch and go for a little bit sometimes, but I made it through. And I’m doing alright.
Happy Anniversary Me ❤