April 16, 2013 | 8:46 pm
Posted by Ilana Angel
When a relationship ends it is humiliating. When you write about your relationship for the world to see, a break up takes on a whole other level of humiliation. I have spent the last year sharing my love with you. How we met, our dates, meeting kids, our first fight, our first trip together, going home to meet his family, all the way to the abrupt end to our love story.
I am embarrassed. Embarrassed that it ended, embarrassed that I could not save it, embarrassed that I care at all that I could not save it, and embarrassed that a month later I am still crying about it. I’m not crying because I am sad, although I am, I am crying because I am humiliated. I loved this man in a profound way and yet I could not make it work.
As I write I am thinking that I should not be writing this, but the thing is I feel like we are in this together. I get the best advice, support, and frankly kicks in the ass from all of you, so I am going to put it all out there. The painful truth is that even though I know there were things that needed to be sorted, I would not have given up on him, or us, the way he did.
A break up makes one reflect not only on the relationship, but on yourself. What is wrong with me? What could I have done differently? Could I have saved the relationship if I tried harder? Been more communicative? Taller? Thinner? Sexier? Dumber? In the end there was nothing I could have, or should have, done differently. I was lovely to him, and lovely with him.
He was also lovely to me, and lovely with me. He was a wonderful boyfriend and a best friend. Why do I put the burden of doubt on myself? Does he think he could have tried harder? Been more communicative? Taller? Thinner? Sexier? Dumber? In the end was there nothing more he could have done? Why do I make it about what I did wrong, and not what he did wrong?
I miss him. I miss talking to him everyday, getting funny texts from him, and knowing that I would see him. He was my friend, and I miss my friend. We are not speaking. Why would we? It is hard and I am feeling the loss. I find myself thinking about who he is dating and what she is like. Does he think about me, or compare me and us, to her and them? Not good.
I have stopped crying, stopped being angry, and am simply disappointed. My struggle is now in not talking to him. Something great happens, I want to call. Something bad happens, I want to call. When nothing is happening, I want to call. I miss my friend and the best thing I can do for myself is to remember that no matter how much I loved him, he hurt me deeply.
He ended our relationship in a cowardly way and it is unfortunate that when I think about this man, my friend, and a great love, the first thing that comes to mind is the hurt. That is sad for me, sad for him, and sad for the memory of our time together. Time heals and life goes on, but what a shame if I look back in time and can only remember the hurt and doubt.
I can’t forgive someone for being cruel, abusive, dismissive, or purposely mean, but I can forgive someone for being a schmuck. I deserve the relationship I want for myself, but no relationship is going to be perfect, and if the worse thing this man did was be a schmuck, couldn’t we have figured out a way to make it work? I am wasting my time thinking about it.
I feel like Adele wrote her albums about me. She gets it. Granted she is young and I am not, but a woman’s heart is the same no matter how old she is. My blogs are my songs, and this is a particularly sad one. I am lucky to have a place to share my stories, and blessed to have people who care enough to listen and share their stories in return. It is painful but cathartic.
I am fine. I am going to be fine. While I sort through the frogs, toads, convicted felons, and sociopaths, I hope he thinks kindly of me if he looks back. The truth is I just hope he thinks of me. I hope he knows that I really loved him and my heart is broken. I want him to feel bad about it. By feel bad of course I mean call me and beg me to take him back. Not really.
Maybe a little really, but not really, really. One could read this blog and think I am pathetic, but I don’t feel pathetic. I feel like a young girl who has never been through it before, rather than a grown woman who is going through it again. I will meet someone wonderful and I pray it will be before I give up because I am too scared to love again. Now I am pathetic.
Time is the only thing that can mend a broken heart. There is nothing anyone can do or say to make you feel better, but there is comfort to be found in someone understanding what you are feeling and thinking. You are certain you are the only one to ever hurt this way but sadly, and thankfully, you are not. The heartbreak of love is not new, and I am not alone.
I will regret this blog as soon as I post it. Then I will plan to take it down but decide to have a glass of wine first. Then I will get an email or a tweet from a woman somewhere in the world who knows exactly how I am feeling, and I will leave it up. Maybe he will read it, maybe he shouldn't, and that is the madness of love. I am having more wine, and keeping the faith.
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