There are few things more difficult than cutting the last remaining gnarly and frayed threads of a relationship. Perhaps in the Great Rules of the Universe, not yet doing so is my biggest offense and the reason that I’m still single.
“I don’t love you. But I always will.”
He and I were together for 3 years. We lived together for 2 of those. Ours was the type of love that bruised the heart with the extent of the extreme highs and lows. We were two entities who caused ultimate destruction when brought together. Clashing, but drawn back repeatedly, smashing into each other until we broke. I just happened to be the one who acknowledged the pieces first.
It ended in a blaze of my typical temper – a horribly public fight. After co-existing in silence and anger for three days, neither of us refusing to budge, I told him it was over asked him to move out. He was dumbfounded and protested that he had nowhere to go. “Make it happen.”, was my cold response. About three weeks later, I had returned from a family visit in the South to find that he and every trace of our 3 years together was gone. No note, no warning. Just holes in the closets where his clothes used to be. Bookshelves now awkwardly half-filled. Naked sections of wall space where framed pictures of us once lived. Except this, which I had bought as a gift for him, left sitting on top of the bed we shared. Even worse, it was Valentine’s Day. I sank to the floor next to my luggage and cried my eyes empty.
We didn’t speak for 3 months, and then tried to connect again as friends. That was a big fat failure and we wound up in a bizarre on/off pseudo-thing for almost the next year. When I wanted to see him, I did. But it was on my terms only. Is this healthy in ANY WAY? No!!! I KNOW, DON’T YELL AT ME!!! And then I made the decision to move back South. Alone. Needless to say, he did not take the news very well. Now he is 1000 miles away.
There has been ZERO contact with him since October 14th, 2011. No calls, no texts, no emails. Nothing. Silence. From BOTH of us.
Since I moved South I have moved on and dated, duh, as you’ve seen in my stories. I have done my part in upholding the no-contact end of the ex situation. This past 1.5 months, I’ve been focused on my own personal journey in living healthy and kicking much ass with that. Yet still, I think of him sometimes. Maybe I’m just not ready to fall in love again if I can’t bring myself to let go entirely.
But lately, there have been the dreams. Three so far, all of which left me shaken and emotionally raw for the entirety of the next day. In one, he leans in close enough that I can smell the cologne he wore. He tenderly kisses both my cheeks, and then my forehead, and then ever so sweetly, brushes my lips with his. I can feel the soft scrape of his facial hair as he does. Then he whispers softly in my ear, “Don’t give up on me yet.”, before he turns and walks away. I woke up and I was crying.
JESUS. I wanna kick my subconscious in the crotch and tell it to BACK THE FUCK OFF.
In the other two dreams, I confront him about the person I see him with in pictures on Facebook. I assume this his now/new girlfriend. Isn’t it just lovely that I happened to be the one who introduced the two of them last fall? Well done, Peach!
But wait…did you catch that ugly word in there? Yes. Facebook. I’m still friends with him on Facebook. In my defense, I did “hide” him from my feed, and later created a Restricted List which prevents him or any of our mutual friends from seeing my wall, pictures or updates. But he. was. still. there. I could still search his name and see what he was doing. I didn’t succumb often, but sometimes a girl is just… well, shit. I still miss him sometimes. This doesn’t mean that I want him back. I know the distinction well.
The last ex dream was so raw and hurtful that I of course, continued the self-torture by looking him up on Facebook. There were new pictures up. Pictures of him with her. Pictures with him and her in places he used to take me. Pictures with her and all his family. Pictures of the two of them leaning in for a kiss. And a statement from him to someone else that his favorite bottle of Cabernet is [“our” Cab].
And I started to cry. When I was finished, I got angry. And with the moral support of a friend cheering me on via instant message with LOTS OF SHOUTY CAPITALS, I finally hit the “unfriend” button. Are you sure you want to unfriend this person? YES. This person has been removed from your friends list. OKAY. And then I immediately followed up with the “block this person” button. Blocking means you won’t be able to see or contact each other on Facebook. GOD! I KNOW!!! CONFIRM. And for good measure, I also bit the bullet and unfriended about 15-20 other people, all from our circle of mutual friends. None of whom, for the record, have made ANY effort to stay in touch with me since I moved. To that I say,
Here’s a snippet from the IM session with my friend, in the moments of/after the BIG STEP:
me: ok, doing it
me: not crying.
Her: ryan gosling would make out with you now if he just knew how awesome you just were
Her: out of sight
out of mind!!!
me: that would be nice. I deserve a gerard butler and vin diesel threeway for that
Her: i prefer clive, myself
me: him too
hmmm, possible but ouch
i’m going to eat a cookie now.
just thought you’d like to know
me: i want one.
Yep, that’s how my friends and I roll. Laughing through the pain.
So, it is done. I can no longer be an emotional cutter. The last thread is snipped. It’s time for Peach to fly.