Earlier today, I started a post with the intent of explaining how and why dating has been difficult for me. As I continued to write it out, so to speak, I kept finding myself beating around the bush. I don’t believe that I owe anyone an explanation or anything, but I’m not the way I am for no reason.
Before he passed, we had just both graduated college. I left my life behind in my college town. I was having a hard time adjusting to my new life after graduation. I found myself to be depressed and unmotivated. I went from doing something all day, every day, to then just going to work and going home. My social life revolved around his. On his side of things, his job kept him super busy and he actually came back home to his social life, that he had prior to college.
Naturally, our life style differences took a toll on our relationship. One night, several months post graduation, we broke up in his car. I’m unfortunately, very reactive and I make choices that I can’t always take back. The first thing I decided to do, was delete all our pictures and change my facebook status. I was HURTING. Looking back on it, I wish I would’ve taken more time to process the situation, my feelings, and then have made more thoughtful decisions. That didn’t happen.
The days that followed included intense feelings of anxiety, sadness, and heartache. Our communication never ceased. Instead, we decided that we just needed a break. We agreed that we wouldn’t date anyone else. We had rules. Even within our break, we still did everything a couple would do. We went to the fair, we took an out of town trip together to see The Weeknd, and I used MY whole savings to buy us BOTH tickets to Europe. We were that kind of couple, who had that trust. Or so I thought.
I trusted him with my life, with my family. We would help each other with bills, I knew all his passwords, and I was comfortable spending the night at his mom’s house, even when he wasn’t there. I was wifey. In my mind, I had already settled down.
Then he died. While out with another woman. Who claimed to be his girlfriend (she definitely was not).
Not only did I wake up one morning to find out that my life had been forever changed, but to also find out that I had been lied to. I was betrayed and I was crushed.
Time felt as if it had been frozen. I was mindless. I could only eat, breathe, and cry. Eat, breathe and cry.
I was in a frustrating position. He still had pictures of me on his page. His status still said he was in a relationship (just didn’t say with who). Our families were still intertwined. How could someone claim such falsehood? How could someone put their reputation before someone else’s heartache?
Within those first couple of days and weeks, I found myself on the defense. There were some choices that I made within the days that followed his death that I wish I could take back. I found myself fighting to protect what was left of my relationship. I wanted to hold onto everything that I could. I was just an adolescent, trying to make sense of the situation around me. Trying to preserve what I had left.
I couldn’t find it in me to believe what happened. I couldn’t accept it. I couldn’t be angry. I was only heartbroken. When it came to his death, I couldn’t be mad at him. When it came to his betrayal, his deceit, I couldn’t muster up any anger. Regardless of what had happened, or whatever he did, I just wanted him back.
I wasn’t in denial of his death. Instead, I rejected the situation. I’m not sure if I refused to believe what he did, or the circumstances I was left with.
I was never left angry with him. I was angry at myself for not being more intrusive. I had a feeling that something was going on, but I was trying to be a better girlfriend. I wanted to respect his space. I wanted to let my guard down. I was angry at myself for not creating a more open space for him. It bothered me that I had been so anxious and dependent on him. I couldn’t help but wonder what I could’ve done better. Perhaps my reliance on him for my happiness became a burden. Maybe it was me, along with all my emotional trauma and baggage, that led to this.
Even if I wasn’t the direct cause, it wasn’t his fault. He had been focused on school his whole life. He never got to have the “crazy” college experience. He was a good boy. He always worked and even occasionally worked two jobs. He always put others before himself. He was an amazing human bean. He deserved a pat on the back, he deserved to make a mistake here and there.
But, he didn’t deserve to die.
A part of me wants to be mad. I wish I had it in me to tear a room apart. I can’t. I know there’s anger, deep inside me, being harbored away. I refute it.
I haven’t had the chance to “heal”. I’ve gotten better. My anxiety has become more manageable. I’m starting to take care of my body again. I’m regaining my confidence. Even then, I’ve been left insecure.
I’ve been left with the constant feeling of wanting to do better, wanting to do more for my future partners, wanting to be perfect. I find myself giving and giving in one sided relationships.
I’m apprehensive, I’m guarded, I’m cold, I’m anxious, and I need reassurance and security.
Can you blame me?