Five years ago today I re-met The Ex and decided to go on a journey with him. A journey that lasted more than four miserable, self-loathing, disgusting, hateful years.
I won’t lie. That re-meet in the parking lot of a grocery store near my parent’s place in my hometown? It was amazing, blood-pumping, so intense I could have cried, beautiful, romantic, and everything any girl would have dreamed of. I knew that night, at that moment, that we were meant to be and it was fate, all of it was.
But then, a couple months later, before we moved in together, I got up to get some water and as I was walking by the counter, his phone buzzed, I looked over at it out of habit, and there was a vagina looking back at me. It was his ex and she was ready to fuck. Could she come over?
That was the night I learned that women routinely send nude photos and sex invitations just because, and they are not encouraged to do so, and they mean absolutely nothing, it happens ALL. THE. TIME. Didn’t I know that? Oh, and I’m just paranoid and crazy. I wouldn’t believe that shit, so I got pissed. Then, his grandfather passed away and suddenly I was “doing this to him” when I should be comforting him, and by the way, I should stop acting crazy and obviously I don’t love him.
I talked myself into believing that I was being paranoid and he was just so awesome that women threw themselves at him, and wasn’t I lucky to have him?, and I gave my 30-day notice at my apartment and starting packing my stuff to move in with him. Not surprisingly, there would be more vaginas (unsolicited, of course), more “I miss you” texts (again, totally unsolicited) and more discussions about my mental state aka, feeling that the vagina texts might be a little more telling than he was admitting to.
Our first year anniversary Christmas Eve was sad and I cried like a baby at how wonderful it had been and how I thought it would be, to how it was currently. On the second anniversary, I did the same thing, but maybe not as much. On the third anniversary I felt melancholy. And on the fourth, I was numb and angry.
This year, I’m starting my Christmas Eve with a group run because I need to celebrate where I am in my fitness and health vs. where I was while I was with him. Then, I’m going to take my dog to the dog park because I can, and when I do, I won’t be accused of doing something I’m not doing. Afterall, what is more innocent than taking your dog to play with his dog friends? After the dog park and a little bit of grocery shopping, I’m going to have my BFF over and we’re going to eat, laugh, watch a movie, laugh, and then laugh some more.
No crying for me this year. No vaginas (well, exept for mine). No pity-parties. Just me and my happiness.