Alright, that's enough. I'm not here to verbally fellate my ex; you get the idea.
When we were together, it was like this, almost all the time:
Honest. Our friends were always complaining about how cute we were together. We had plans to retire into a retirement community and participate in water aerobics. We named our future dog. A sizable list of vacation destinations. Knew where we were going to look for our first house. Even at the end of three years, we were still holding hands, giving back rubs, and kissing hello and goodbye. I loved him more than anything.
Not to say we didn't have our issues. He had his, I had mine, and we both wore blinders. I had no idea how unhappy our relationship was making me, and if he was unhappy, he never expressed it. So we got engaged, and shit got real. I started really thinking on what it would be like to be together forever, tried and failed to address some things, and we broke up.
For the greater part of six months, I was DEVASTATED. Yes, even though I ultimately made the decision, I regretted it so intensely that I hated myself for making it. I thought about him every day and was miserable being alone after being coupled for so long. It was a legitimate, DSM-IV-TR defined depressive episode, including change in weight, change in appetite, change in sleep patterns, depressed mood, and loss of pleasure in activities that were previously enjoyable.
I didn't even notice when I started writing again. Or started making plans with friends again. Or started enjoying driving alone in the car, singing at the top of my lungs. I didn't drink as much. I did things on my own. I started trying new things that I had previously written off. I bought clothing that I thought was cute, regardless of whether someone else might like them or not. My self-confidence came back. I flirted with whomever I wanted to flirt. I started going on dates. I did what I wanted, when I wanted, how I wanted, and there was no anxiety or loneliness or need to check in or desire to be with someone.
Suddenly, being single felt more like this:
I didn't have to worry about anyone but myself. I did whatever made me happy, and it was okay to be 100% selfish all the time. No sharing the TV, no arguing over what to have for dinner, no obligations for someone else, no stress. Life on easy street!
Over time, without me even noticing, everything had transformed. Being single went from an extreme loss to an incredibly profound sense of freedom. We all know that relationships are a lot of work, but when you spend three years doing all of the work by yourself to try and keep things going, ending it really untangles you from some unbelievably heavy chains, and find yourself feeling lighter than a feather.
Dr. Viktor Frankel, one of the most amazing men to ever grace this earth, said that despair can be defined as an equation: D = s - m. Despair is suffering without meaning. Sort of like suffering through a relationship that, despite your partner being a great person, should've ended a long time ago. After a while, there is no meaning to it, nothing to learn, and nothing productive to be gained from keeping it going.
I still love my ex, very much, but I very much regret ignoring our problems for so long and continuing on just because my logic told me he was a great guy and no one would treat me better. Unfortunately, I needed things from him that he wasn't willing -- or perhaps, even capable -- of giving. It put me in a very dark place, but even that, I am grateful for, because now I can recognize it for what it is and get out of a situation before I ever get there again. I wasn't myself, and I didn't even know it.
But now, I've accepted who I am, and have realized that if anyone else doesn't, fuck 'em! If we don't connect, we don't connect -- it's no one's fault, it just happens. And if we DO connect, well, that's a story for another day... (dun dun DUNNNN, foreshadowing)
