heartbreak: better than atkins

I’ve been absent, readers. I’ve been absent because I haven’t been committed. Let me make that clear. I haven’t been committed to me.  I’ve been committed to other things. Like a boy. After months of dating slime, I met a boy who was kind to me. Wonderful things would fall out of his mouth, like “That was the best kiss I’ve ever had”, “I’ve been waiting for you”. And silly things fell out too. Silly nicknames, silly games. And so I fell hard. I introduced him to my friends, I gave him sweet cards, I cooked him dinner, I adored him. I can’t say I was in love. But I was hopeful. And then overnight Mr. Right turned into Mr. Wrong. He visited his family back home for a week and I barely heard from him, he was defensive about changing his facebook status to “in a relationship”, and then one lovely friday afternoon, he stood me up. You know when the end is near? You get ridiculously obsessed with your iPhone, your stomach is in knots, and all you can think about is the end of “us”. I knew it was coming. There were too many red flags, too soon in the relationship. For a while, I’d neatly tuck them away in my pocket. But there’s only so much room those pockets can hold before they bust the seams.

I’d thought of just breaking it off a couple of times. But hope! Hope held my hand into foolery. Yesterday, I left him a message saying, We need to talk. I’d rather do it in person. Was I going to break it off? I wasn’t sure. My heart said no, but my gut said yes. And in he waltzed, with my things in his hands. It was over. “I wasn’t feeling it. We didn’t seem into eachother. I haven’t even been in your car.” What type of break up is that? I cannot grasp the idea that he wasn’t feeling it. I can’t even fathom why. It’s so polar opposite from the vibe he’d given. And what does my car have to do with anything? How ridiculous (and yes, I’m laughing out loud at the silliness of this argument)! I own a tiny Honda Civic. The man was 6’3. Surely he could have done the math. I am crushed. I don’t know if I’ve ever wanted something to work so badly. And I frankly don’t know why it didn’t.

So here I am. Single. I should be used to the status but I’m frightened. I can’t eat. I’m sleeping a lot. I’m afraid to be alone.

What I refuse to do: eat myself into oblivion or drink like a fish. I gained five pounds being with this guy. I’ve already lost three in the break up process. I’m going to be kind to myself. I may not be destined for love. I have never had it. I can only dream of what that is and envy everyone in the world for having experienced it (in a “I’m happy for you” kind of way). I’ve let go of hope’s hand. She has only led me to danger. I think it’s time, again, for me. I have 27 pounds to shed. I’m tired of being the girl who nearly finishes things. It’s time to pluck up the courage to cross the finishing line.

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