When I woke up today, I had a surge of determination. I guess you could say I felt my old self kick me in the face, urging me to snap out of it. This pathetic creature waking up crying is not me. Who the heck was this chick? Who the hell was he? He cheated on you! You are young, he is old, graying hair, fledgling health, body beyond his years. What are you doing crying over him?!!!! He should be crying over ME!
I was sick of being sad. I was sick of crying and feeling so helpless. So out of control. Self-esteem kicked in, beating the depression down into the depths of the self it came from and this determined, strong, resolve had replaced it. Say it with me ladies: FUCK HIM.
I had friends coming over to take me out, share some war stories, dance a little and just have fun. And that is what we did. For a while, I was actually having fun. He was texting me, telling me he is thinking of me, asking me what I am doing. So I sent him a picture of a fat girl with, "thinking of your future," attached to it. Yes, not my proudest moment. In fact, I am downright ashamed with myself. That is not me. But like I said, that monster rearing its head, was slowly resembling me.
He eventually wrote back that he loves me and that he understands I am mad and that he will always love me no matter what. I was ignoring his texts, just trying to do my own thing, replying with stoic one word answers and such. I don't even know why I was replying. I guess having some connection to him is better than none. I hate this separation. I hate having him and not having him.
We stumble home, back from the bars, making late night snacks, answering late night calls. The word has spread, I am single and the suitors are lining my voicemail with requests, suggestions to get out, offers for dinner, a friend to talk with, a shoulder to cry on, all saying the same thing to me: you are weak, vulnerable, sad and maybe I can do something nice and you will have sex with me. I am not dumb. I am not even flattered. In fact, this disgusts me and reminds me of the canine status of their species and am sickened by their relentless efforts. But, foggy, drunk, pathetic and lonely, I answered a call and allowed one to come over.
It must be noted that I shared a life with this person for well over a year and had a monogamous relationship with this person at one point so it wasn't as random as it seemed. Robotic, I went through the motions and just did what I thought I was supposed to do. The piece of the puzzle that is part of the healing and moving on process. It was all mechanical. I felt like a hooker, just doing her job, shut off to emotion, waiting for it to be over. Except I would collect a band aid, not money, and it was going to mend my heart. But, in reality, it was a knife, shoved in my chest, opening me to all my pain and opened a floodgate of regret.
I went to the bathroom and cried. It was not right. It wasn't supposed to be this man. His hands not belonging, the weight of his body, his chiseled muscles and perfect body were out of place. He was not the one who was supposed to be touching me. I felt crushed. I felt like I was cheating on myself. I felt like I betrayed my own heart. Will it always be like this? Will I always feel freakishly guilty? Of all the days and emotions I have felt in my post-breakup life, this was the worst feeling ever.
There were days that went by when my boyfriend would not touch me. I began to feel lust in my heart for other men. It got so bad that at one point, I even shared this with him. I told him our lack of a sex life has me noticing other men at the gym, the grocery store, on the street and I have been finding myself thinking what it would be like to be with them. Not even sexually. But wonder what shows they like, what kind of man would they be to me. And, okay, what it would be like to be with them physically. I felt SO guilty that I had to share this with my man. Having these feelings is so foreign to me and I felt so bad actually thinking those things. I felt like I was being calling my loyalty into question. But still, I had those feelings of lust and there was no denying them.
Now, acting on that lust, sharing my bed with a man I used to love, who's body is the sexiest thing I have ever seen in real life, and I was repulsed by the entire thing?! HOW CAN THAT BE?! I felt worse than I ever had and I was scared that it was always going to be like this. That I was always going to long for him. If this perfect specimen of a man could not do it for me, what will? I knew the answer: him. Right now, all I want is him.
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