He was supposed to be my forever love, my happily ever after, the Noah to my Allie. It was supposed to be a great love story of the ages that would go on through several future generations of our family. It was supposed to be all these wonderful things. How could it not be? After all, if it wasn't meant to be, why would we have been brought together again six years later after first meeting (at a time when we couldn't be together)? Although this sounds like the stuff of chick flicks and romance novels, all unrealistic and dreamer-like, I do know that a lot of hard work goes into creating successful relationships. I'm not a quitter, running away at the first sign of trouble (despite early examples to the contrary which were part of the learning curve for me). He certainly had his hands full -- there aren't many 27-year-old virgins (yeah, I said it and put it out there) with dating experience that is virtually non-existent with the exception of one three week long "relationship."
It's been six months since the relationship ended (side note: I don't recommend ending a relationship the day before your birthday; it is singularly the best and absolutely the worst gift you can give yourself). For those who believe that the dumper has it easier than the dumpee, I strongly beg to differ. Or maybe it's just simply that I was in the dumper position and I know how much I'm still trying to work through things. Why after six months am I still "processing"? I am the champion at avoidance. But the pain and hurt and sadness flare up annoyingly at unexpected times. Oh, I know that I did the right thing. I also know that I should have done it sooner. No matter how much you believe that someone will get their shit together, you cannot will this into reality. And you get tired of waiting. Yes, most people's patience level is significantly shorter than six years, but like I said, I'm not a quitter. I believe that people can do anything with support and love. What I failed to acknowledge was that the other person has to want to do the hard work and be dedicated to making changes. We human beings really don't like going out of our comfort zones. We stay in impossibly unhealthy situations because it's familiar and predictable. We settle for being less because it's easier.
I should have known better. Oh hell, if I'm being honest, I did know better. But I wanted to believe that we could have the happy love story and that we would make it despite the obstacles. We were meant to be together. We had first met at a time when we weren't ready for each other: he was in a committed relationship and I was going back to university two and a half hours away in less than a year. We had an instant chemistry and an instant attraction. While we never acted on it, we did flirt in a playful way (passing notes, which were not flirtatious, while on the phones at the call centre). Of all the people who I could have trained, he was the one who sat next to me. That was fate.
I don't take enough credit for success and I internalize failure entirely too much. When I started counselling, I stated that I wanted to learn from my mistakes, which was met with a quizzical look and "What mistakes do you think you made?" Surely I made several, seeing as how my relationship went head first into a muddy ditch. It was D.O.A. when we stepped into the counsellor's office the first (and only) time.
I desperately do not want to make the same mistakes again. I made too many compromises and sacrificed too much of myself. Which has been my most difficult struggle: figuring out who I am now and getting back to that person. Time does heal, and I've made some progress. I have a along way to go though.
I hate that I lost myself so badly. I never wanted to be that girl. And it was so subtle that I had no idea, even though those around me could see it ever so clearly: the sparkle in my eyes dulled, my perky and upbeat nature chipped away by stress and frustration to the point where I was robotically going through the motions. In the aftermath of the break-up, I realized what had happened: I had lost myself and felt like a mere shell of the person I used to be. No wonder I rarely looked in the mirror anymore; I didn't recognize the person staring back and didn't particularly like her either.
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