The man I love, who has strolled in & out of my life for four years, turned up recently after a nine month absence. I had mixed emotions – it had been the longest we had been apart & I was doing OK; I was by no means over him but I was in the best place I had been for a very long time. So when I received that text, I did have to think about my next step… I thought for about all of thirty seconds. That is the problem, I have no power to resist him. It always ends up the same way, he will be in my life for a week or two then off he goes back to his own life, and I am left to pick up the pieces of myself he has shattered once more. But yes, I did reply and the next morning we had breakfast. However, this time I decided not to jump straight into bed with him and see how things panned out. Things were wonderful, flirty texts, endless kissing, a bouquet of flowers and those nervous butterflies in my stomach took over from the wrenching pain of heartache I had felt ever since we had officially split three years ago. Things felt different. Had he finally realised that we were meant for each other & that he had been a total asshole the whole time?!
No. Had he fuck.
After several weeks of wonderfulness, I chose to let him have his wicked way. The sex was phenomenal (as it always had been) & I felt totally satisfied, both physically & emotionally. We spoke the next day, though he seemed cagey about making plans to meet up. I could feel those doubts creeping into my mind as they had done so many times before. ‘But this time it was different… Wasn’t it?!’ After four days, the texts stopped completely, he didn’t answer his phone – the usual story. This had happened before, but I was still never prepared for the effect it had on me. The crying into my pillow at night, the sadness turning to anger, the physical pain in your chest from having your heart ripped out & shit on….
But this time it was different.
After the initial few days of being slightly pissed off with him, I felt nothing, No ager, no sadness, no resentment, no self-hatred. Nothing. I was confused, in the words of Carrie Bradshaw “Maybe you’re only allotted a certain amount of tears per man; and I’ve used mine up.” Was that the reason? Instead of feeling used & useless; I felt empowered by my own nothingness. Had I finally cracked it? Could I have a physical relationship with him without letting my emotions get the better of me? Was I over him? Had the love that existed within my bones evaporated? After much thought I came to this conclusion: I do still love him with every ounce of my being but I have become immune to his treatment of me that I have learned to accept it. That may sound like a terrible predicament but it really isn’t. My heart still belongs to him, but I am no longer possessed by him mentally. I have detached myself from his unreliable nature, therefore I rely on myself to pull up my knickers & get on with things once he has left. I still feel disappointed, sure, but I am no longer disappointed in myself – I am disappointed in him. I find myself pitying him, he obviously still needs me to validate him. So maybe I am not the crazy ex who is still in love… I am the ex who chooses to be his validation without devaluing myself. And I feel pretty darn good about it.