Breaking Down

I’m going to be a little too honest today, if that’s okay. Of course it is–it’s the internet, and the person of interest today told me directly that he doesn’t have time to read my blog.

I’ve been breaking down every day for the last week, but it started . . . back in January? December, when my favorite band completely changed their style and I couldn’t complain about it with my best friend? October, when I failed to see the real problem? But I was distracted, so distracted by my own pride and needs and selfishness that I didn’t realize how broken I was underneath.

I was angry. I was so, so angry that my fiancé didn’t recognize how much stress I was under. I was angry that he didn’t understand how hard it was to go to school full time and work full time and try to plan a wedding that he essentially wanted nothing to do with. Then there was the wedding–and the complete lack of enthusiasm from our friends and family, excepting the folks who would be hosting the ceremony. Were we making a mistake? Did no one believe we were worth the effort? We had a rough past, but one where things got a little better every time we broke up and got back together. I’m ashamed to say that things got better because of his efforts, not mine.

I surrounded myself with people who have rather flippant attitudes toward dating and sex, and I allowed myself to fall into their thought patterns. I forgot myself, my personal beliefs, my history. That’s where last week became a turning point, where I started breaking down. It’s where I remembered spring 2011, and what I told Val: “I don’t think I’ll ever date anyone else again. I don’t think I can.”

Goddammit if it isn’t true.

I had three separate opportunities last week, and I turned every one of them down. I chose to go back to my room, to the empty king-sized bed, and mourn the fact that my favorite travel partner, my favorite adventurer, is in Chicago with his new girlfriend and his studies. And the thought makes me nauseous.

It shouldn’t have taken me 5 months to realize that breaking up wasn’t the answer. It shouldn’t have taken me 5 months to realize that what we needed was to push back the date of the wedding and seek counseling. We needed to disavow our farce of an anniversary date and start over. I needed to stop being selfish. I needed to be more conscious of communicating with him. Instead, I looked for validation of my pride outside of the relationship, and I destroyed it. Again. Again.

Now, I can’t tell him these things. He’s already said we can’t go back. He’s already said that this time, we have to be done for good. Every time, he’s always been the one to pull us back together. I’ve never been the one to make it work. And now it’s too late, and I don’t have the courage to tell him that it finally clicked. I’m terrified that anything I do will come off as manipulative or dishonest, because we’ve been down this road too many times. But this time, I’m finally the one on my knees, wanting him back.

Still, I can’t help but hope, pray, that if I asked him to meet me in Colorado, he’d say yes.

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