The Breakup Blues
It's quite rare for me to write a full post about my personal life. I try to give snippets here and then just to prove I'm not a robot or anything. But besides that,
I'd rather not bore you with the mundane details of my life. Who really wants to take precious time out of their busy day to read some chick whining about stupid shit? We're all in the same boat, trying to do our best to stay afloat. But I feel that my story is relevant. And something that we all kind of go through, once, twice, maybe even more times than we ever thought we would.
So, here it goes.
October 17, 2015, it was one of those perfect LA evenings right in the middle of fall. The kind you can wear a cute black dress paired with a leather jacket and not be too cold. It was a Saturday, and during that time of my life, it called for a night out on the town.
So, I'm a strange human being. In the sense, I find pure joy in going out to nightclubs and dancing alone. By myself, with no care in the world or anyone to be responsible for, other than myself. Absolutely no one to bother me. It sounds bitchy, but it's how I like to blow off steam. I can get lost in my own thoughts, enjoy the music, and "do me." It also helps get my creative juices flowing. The downside to all of this, I become anti-social. Typically the moment someone tries to talk to me, I either run away or ignore them. I know, bitchy. But can a girl just dance?
This particular evening, I decided to spice things up and attempt at making a friend or two. Completely out of character. I was waiting online to see Lace 8 perform at Exchange (a popular nightclub located downtown Los Angeles) when I made my very first friend of the evening. He's one of those bubbly people, who is super happy and wants to have a good time. How can you not gravitate towards energy like that? And to this very day, we are still friends. As we stood online waiting to get it, we chitchatted for a bit. The moment he learned I was alone, he invited me to join him and his friends. They were already inside dancing away. Seeing this was a time to be social, I tagged along.
I followed him through the crowd until I tripped over someone's foot. It was a tad bit dramatic and wound up losing my balance. As I regained my composure, I saw that I lost my new friend in the sea of dancing people. I tried to be polite and apologize for tripping over this person's foot. But the moment I looked up, I completely lost my words. For he was easily the most beautiful human being I had ever seen. So instead of apologizing, I did one of those super awkward double takes. Of course, he watched me do the entire thing.
Cool. Not only did I just trip over this man. But did a double take, to top it all off. Can we talk about embarrassing? At this point, I stood there completely dumbfounded, without a clue on what to do next. Do I stand there? Do I run away? Do I try to find my new friend? Just when my thoughts began to race through my head, he said hello.
We talked, or at least did the best we could given the fact we were in a nightclub. Though I can't exactly recall the entire conversation, I remember he made me laugh. A lot.
As soon as the closing DJ came on, his friends then approached him to leave. They were hungry and wanted pizza. Despite all my embarrassing moves, he must have enjoyed my presence a little bit, seeing he invited me to join. And in the season of being social, I decided to follow, again.
I've gotta leave the next part of the story blank, mainly out of respect for him. He would be forever horrified if he knew this story ever made it onto the internet. And I try not to be too much of an asshole, so I'll respect him. Also, you'd probably wonder why I would have wanted to see him again after that, anyway. He made a weird comment relating to hot dogs. It was not in any way aggressive, or mean, or misogynistic. That kind of jokes "boys" make to be funny, but also slightly uncomfortable. But I had just met him and did not know whether it was appropriate to laugh hysterically, or freak out and run away. So, I politely excused myself and shuffled on home. He won the most embarrassing moment of the night. Hands down.
Later, I learned this is all apart of his dry humor.
He must have entered a state of "WTF, did I just say." Because not even two minutes later he was texting me to see if I had gotten home okay. Mind you; I literally lived right around the corner from the club. My walk was not that far. I was already home preparing for a shower when I received it. It was cute. And I decided to give him a pass. Afterall, I did trip over him first.
Our texting continued. It became one of those conversations that flowed and eventually turned into good banter; it was so refreshing. And to my surprise never really fizzled out. Through our texting, we learned that we both happened to have tickets to an upcoming show. He invited me to meet him and his friends before the show for a few drinks. At a local bar that was super close to the venue. That would have been all good and dandy. Except I had come down with a case of laryngitis. Doctors orders had advised me against talking at all to allow my larynx to heal. When I explained all this to him, his response went something along the lines of "that's okay, my friends don't speak English."
Um, okay. So why on Earth would you want me to join? Are you planning on playing translator? What is going on here?
Stupidly, I agreed.
That night, I went to the bar and ordered myself a tequila and pineapple. One drink later, they were nowhere to be found and running far behind. Seeing I hate waiting for anyone, I scurried to the show. I figured, no big deal, these things happen. And in LA, everyone is late to everything. As a New Yorker, it drives me bananas. Didn't want to waste my energy on it.
About an hour later, in the middle of my awkward dance moves, I felt a tap on my shoulder. I turned around and there he was, with his friends. He went onto apologize that he ran late because of his friends, blah blah blah. In the middle of his explanation, his friend's girlfriend approached me with "Hi my name is ___." She spoke slowly, but you could tell her English was perfect. I looked at him super confused. His response was gold, "I told them you were a Russian mute, so I didn't have to explain that you are sick." And he told me they couldn't speak English so I didn't feel obligated to talk.
Mind you; he said this all with a straight face. Like, who the fuck says this kind of shit? I have never met such a bizarre human being in my life. I seriously laughed so fucking hard. From that moment on, I was hooked. And what I believed to be the beginning of the greatest "love" story of all time.
But I guess not all "love" stories are meant to last forever.
We've had an interesting run, to say the least. The past two plus-ish years have consisted of a few ups, a lot of downs, and a lot of ignored red flags. Just to clarify, it wasn't the abusive kind; just the emotionally unavailable kind. The phrase often used was "don't have expectations." But I was stupid and hung onto the idea that "we had something special."
It was a lie, a fabricated figment of my imagination. And if I've learned anything from this trainwreck of a relationship (if you can even call it that), it would be two people can't have something, if only one person sees it.
I stopped ignoring the red flags on January 12, 2018, the day after my birthday. Turning 27 was a huge milestone for me. I had always believed, by this time, I would have the high paying job, with the beautiful house, driving around the fancy car. But life has taken me down a different path. One that includes entrepreneurship and going back to school for a degree lingerie design. It's kind of like starting all over again, to chase my dream job. And that was worth celebrating.
So I planned this whole soiree thing. Obviously, he was invited. But he decided to be a no-show and send one of those "I don't want to lead you on" texts.
LOL (because what else can you do at this point).
Happy birthday to me, right?
That was a hard one for me to swallow. Primarily, because I then had to put on the pretty face and pretend there was nothing wrong. But behind my smiling face was a girl who was secretly dying inside. Like, if I stopped to think about it for just a moment, the pain would take over. You know, the kind that hurts so bad you can't breathe? I felt beyond pathetic. All because I didn't want to accept the fact he didn't love me back.
The next day was a blur. I cried, and cried, and cried some more. Honestly, it was terrible. I thought all about our strange dynamic, the good times and the bad. I was determined to try and figure out where it all went wrong. Eventually, my conclusions lead to me. Thought, maybe if I were different he would have loved me. But the truth is, you can't force anyone to love you, especially, when they're not ready for it. Would you really want to force someone anyway? People should choose you because they want you, not because they have to.
Looking at pictures was the worst. Well, the three he actually let me take of us (major eye-roll). And I couldn't bring myself to delete them. Not just yet. Specifically, our pictures from the time we met up in Ibiza, which was basically one big moment from the Lizzie Macguire movie. Like we even had the moped and everything. It was fucking magical.
As I look back, none of it was magical. It was me holding onto something that never existed.
This is SO hard for me to write out. Because deep down, I know every warning sign was there. He even told me to my face. And I ignored it. So how can I be mad at him? I'm just mad at myself. Every day I strive to be the perfect independent woman who "don't need no man." But here I am, five months later, lingering onto this situation. Wondering if it will it ever get easier. Somedays, I hate myself for not seeing the truth from the very beginning. For wasting so much time on a boy who did not appreciate me from the start. I hate myself for changing, just to accommodate someone else in exchange for the minimal attention; he was willing to give. It's the girl I want to leave behind in the past, as I turn into the woman I want to become. All that I can say is, so much has been learned through this whole experience.
Heartbreak is a real fucking thing, people. Maybe you're already aware, but this is my very first. A time that has left me confused and changed to the very core. As cliche as this may sound, I don't think I'll ever be the same after this. That's apart of life though, right?
Not going to lie, I've completely isolated myself from the real world. My life has turned into nothing but blogging, watching Hart of Dixie and munching on nachos and guac. Hoping to find comfort through this uncomfortable time. Perhaps this is the real reason behind my weight gain. But I mean, what else is there to do after a heartbreak? Slowly but surely I am getting through this breakup blues. Getting into a place where I am okay and ready to take on life again, in full force. To get myself back into a healthy place, physically and mentally. With all my focus on things that make me a better human being.
So the entire month of May is going to be a fun challenge. I plan to stop drinking for one month, that will hopefully turn into two. Get back into the routine of eating healthy. Oh, and let's not forget my workout routine. This time last year, I was in the BEST shape of my life. I've never felt better. That's my goal, to get back to that happy place and to turn into the person I want to become.
I wrote this post for selfish reasons, mainly because I need to put him, and this situation behind me. To let go, to forgive, and to move the fuck on. To know, not everyone will love and appreciate you. To understand that not everyone is meant to stay in your life forever To stop holding onto this "one love" bullshit. And as a reminder to never make the same mistake twice.