I have been wanting to write this post since I created my blog, but I was too nervous to type what I felt until this past week. I just think that other twenty-somethings that have been through heartbreak should hear about my experience.
Let me start by saying this:
I have been the single girl.
I have been the girl in love.
I have been the girl who breaks the boy’s heart.
I have been the jealous ex girlfriend.
And somewhere along the way, I full-circled and became a single woman again.
We all have that person that makes our stomach twist and our hearts ache just at the sight of their name. I met him not long after my dad passed away, when my life started becoming difficult to live. I don’t know what it was, maybe his confidence, that placed him on this unrealistic pedestal in my mind. I didn’t care about the qualities I didn’t necessarily like. I cared about the way he made me feel. Alive. After being told that no one could ever love someone like me for such a long time, I had living proof that someone did. Someone who I was madly in love with, loved me back.
I often think that if I would have been older or the situation would have been slightly different, our relationship either wouldn’t have happened or wouldn’t have lasted. We had nothing in common, except for the fact that we loved each other. I didn’t know why I lied to myself. Maybe it was because he was the first person who made my heart skip a beat and the first person to take everything I had to offer. I didn’t think when I was with him, because he made my heart and my mind cloudy. I figured that was a good thing for those two and a half years, but now I think it was detrimental to my well being.
When we broke up, my world was much different. I became lost again, and that was no one’s fault but my own. I chose loneliness when I didn’t have to. I had friends to turn to, yet I turned to my dark bedroom instead.
I was telling my friend last week that first loves can often make you blind. Blind to what is happening around you and what is happening to yourself. You often don’t see the bad in the person you fall asleep next to, until its two years later and you’re wondering why you’re still lying next to them. My best friends at the time had more important issues that I should have been helping them cope with. Things that actually mattered, yet all I could manage to do was talk about myself and how horrible I felt.
The first year after him, I was sad. I was more than sad. I couldn’t even describe the feeling. I couldn’t get out of bed and I couldn’t give my mother a reason as to why I was crying every time I called her. The second year after him, I was mad. Once again, I was more than mad. I was so fucking pissed that I wasted so much time on this. I kept repeating in my head that I am better than groveling to someone I don’t have anything in common with.
Why did I want him so badly, you ask? Because I knew someone else was now lying next to him in bed. She probably isn’t wondering if there is someone better out there, because he is most likely her whole world. She could be the person that could give him all those sleepless nights playing video games and watching Anime when all I wanted to do was to go on a date and get out of the house. That jealous feeling chips away at your happiness until there is nothing left. Don’t get me wrong, I am a happy ball of sunshine, but for those two years… I didn’t recognize myself and neither did those around me. It is terrifying to be told that your friends don’t know who you are anymore. That they don’t want to hangout because all you do is talk about how you want him back. Sadness, anger, and jealousy consumed me for such a long time that I lost complete sight of myself.
The worst part about that situation was that I stopped caring that he didn’t love me anymore… What tore me apart through those years was that the person who built me up to be the confident individual I am today, tore me apart and made me a shell of a person. How is that fair? No one could give me an answer to that question except for “it isn’t”. What are you supposed to do when you have devoted so much time to feeling sorry for yourself and begging that person to give you that feeling again? I wanted my fucking time back.
The third year after him (now), I don’t think about him as often as I used to. Maybe if I see something that reminds me of him… maybe. But I am so damn happy nowadays. Instead of crying and feeling sorry for myself, I experience new things. I go on dates, I am always with friends, I try hard in school because I know I have an amazing future to look forward to. I am genuinely happy and I am now capable of having feelings for someone else. I’ve finally moved on.
Growth takes time. I have been told multiple times in the past few years that time heals all wounds and it has pissed me off every single time I hear it, but you know what? That is the truest statement I’ve ever heard.
If you ever lose hope that you won’t get over your first love, don’t. You will. The clouds will part and you will see the sun shine again, it just comes with a lot of time and perseverance. Don’t ever blame yourself for what’s happened, and don’t blame the other person either. Move on from it and grow as a person. Forgive and forget. Because guess what I feel again, 3 years later? Alive.