Chapter 1…or 100. I don’t actually know

Just like any other day, I felt like things weren’t working out. I also thought that maybe it was my fault that it wasn’t working out. To combat this ugly feeling, I got on my phone and sent the text that would change things for me. Maybe for the better, maybe not. Who knows.

Because I’m generally a supportive person who can sometimes just be a little selfish, I wanted to offer my heart, my patience, and of course my support to him on his new journey. Little did I know, or maybe I did, that it would spark the conversation of “this isn’t working”, “I’m lonely, and I know you are too, and it isn’t fair to you for me to be feeling this way without you knowing”, and “I think we need to take a break”. Oof. Three years, several moves (none of which were actually together), and a lot of me fighting for a relationship, seeing a future, and being so excited for it, all led to this moment.

It also led to me sitting on the floor of the gym in an area where no one goes besides a few stragglers, crying and trying to understand what went wrong, or how this whole thing happened.

Anger and sadness crept in simultaneously, per usual, as I can imagine that it should, given a situation like this.

Our conversation went back and forth between me telling him he was foolish, how I truly have felt, and asking a question that I honestly thought I already knew the answer to: “are you in love with me?” Maybe I shouldn’t have asked, who knows. The sad part is…he said, “yes…I think so?” like he was questioning himself.

Damn. That stung. Like a slap in the face you couldn’t see, it actually happened. Something I think I’ve known for a while, but have never really been able to admit to myself. I’m not sure which is worse. If I think about it, it’s almost pathetic. No one likes to admit that someone isn’t in love with them. Even when that’s all they wanted. Especially when that’s all they wanted.

Not giving an answer, I kept arguing, told him not to talk to me, and ended the phone call–after an hour sitting on the floor, which I didn’t have to do. That was dumb– I walked to my car, got in, and per usual, cried. I told him I didn’t want to talk, spent the rest of the night not sleeping, and went to my friend’s the next day.

It wasn’t until later that day that I finally just got pissed off enough to tell him to take his goddamn break, but I didn’t want to talk to him all weekend. Too many emotions were in the way for me to have a conversation.


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