When It Happened

So. I’m sitting here, on my bed, looking out of my window, and it’s less than 2 minutes since the person that I loved told me that they didn’t want to be with me anymore. It’s odd, but through the tears and the devastation, I feel a certain calm. A relief, almost. Like I knew it was coming, and like I knew it was right.

We had a wonderful year together. He made me laugh until my body hurt and my ribs ached; I couldn’t stop smiling. He made me think of myself as someone who could do anything and achieve anything. I opened him up emotionally, and showed him that it was okay to talk about feelings and, in the first place, okay to feel. Okay to cry. Which incidentally, he just did - a great deal. He even said, 

“You have to be a real arsehole to break up with someone and cry more than them when you do it.”

I get where he’s coming from, but for me, that’s not true. It meant that he cared about me, and about us.

It’s an amazing relationship and an amazing man that I’m letting go, but I know it’s okay. He couldn’t be what I needed, and I couldn’t be with him for much longer without hating myself. We were on two different levels of communication; two different levels of emotion. He was my everything but I just wasn’t his. I was for a while, but he was too scared to let that continue – to fully let me in.

Long distance relationships are hard. They’re draining, and they’re a money suck, and sometimes they feel absolutely heart-wrenchingly impossible. The gap between you, though only physical, can sometimes feel un-traversable. Especially if the other person doesn’t understand how to emote, doesn’t enjoy texting, and wants to live their separate life without worrying about hurting someone else’s feelings.

I get it. It’s fucking horrible, but I get it. It’s not meant to be right now. We care for each other so much, but it’s just not going to work right now. My anxiety was at an all-time high, the way I felt about myself was just off-the-scale unhealthy, and my self-worth had plummeted. Now, I can fix that.

I don’t need to worry anymore about whether he loves me. I know the answer, and while it hurts so much, I also know that it doesn’t define me. I can, and will, love and be loved again. I can, and will, be happy and make someone else happy again. 

The idea of being single is incredibly daunting, but it’s okay. I can focus on myself now. I can focus on my writing. I can go to sleep without worrying about his love. I can let doors open for me without worrying whether our relationship will allow me to pass through them. I can envision anything for my future – move anywhere in the world – without needing to factor in someone else. I can write. I can throw myself into the things that make me me, fully and unapologetically.

I am me. I am beautiful. And I am enough.