I’m not sure I really know what it means to be alone1. A dear friend of mine2 told me after the Irish boy broke my heart and moved back to Dublin that I should try being alone for once. Well, it’s five years later and it looks like I’m finally ready to follow his advice.
My method of coping after a breakup was to lean on someone1, and in hindsight, it only ever ended up hurting the other person. I’m ok with the fact that this is the one breakup that has forced me to change my ways. I’ve accepted that he made that large of an impact in my life in such a short time. Yes, it is a little sad but it doesn’t have to be. I’m sure the bad guy I’ve painted him out to be in my head, isn’t as bad as he really is – though I really can’t think of another explanation for everything.
When I’m out, I find myself trying to catch the eye of a good looking someone only to find a girl right beside him. It’s as if the universe is constantly reminding me of this decision I made not to date. It doesn’t make me bitter, but it does scare me a little3. To hear acquaintances tell me, “I’m sure you won’t have a problem finding a date”, doesn’t make me feel any better because it isn’t about finding a date – it’s about finding someone you like who likes you back just as much. And even harder still, someone who you know you can trust with your life; with your heart.
It’s strange to have felt such a level of comfort with someone and yet know that nothing they ever told you was true; or at least to not be able to distinguish the difference because the truths he told were only ‘mostly true’. I’m not sure I can believe that his intentions were honourable either – or I wouldn’t have had to take the same bout of antibiotics three times in the last 6 months4. And for what? For some of the best poetry I’ve ever written? For some of the best inspiration I’ve ever experienced?
When I look at those things, I can say that maybe it was worth it – but this knowledge that I can be so comfortable with someone who could not have been seeing the real me5 is not something I can help but regret. And I’ve talked about regret before… it’s not something I like living with. So I’m trying to live without it by cutting him out of my life. He doesn’t understand. He doesn’t see the betrayal. He doesn’t get it. But it’s not my job to show him. It’s not my responsibility.
The comfort I felt was the kind of comfort I would’ve changed my beliefs for. But at the end of the day, I am not the one he wants. I think I need to be alone to be ok with that; to accept that sometimes you find what your soul thinks is its mate… but it’s so very wrong.