I was so in love with this guy,
that he clouded my vision. I just couldn’t look at other guys or even attempt
talking to one without thinking about the guy that broke my heart. I mean he
was a total dick, so why was I unable to move on? Fucking wack. Something in my
mind was (is) only able to remember all the good. My mom just tells me that’s
how it works though. Our mind refuses us the remembrance of any of the stupid
shit guys put us through, and we only remember the times they bring us flowers
and build us houses and stuff.
Yes,
I was very in love. I’ll give you a little background. My senior year of high
school I was in a really good place. I was skinny, athletic, had long, sexual
hair, was the star on the basketball team, was funny, blah blah.. you get it, I
was awesome. Anyways, I came home one day to my family, and immediately noticed
my brother had invited an EXTREMELY sexy young man over for dinner. He was
wearing a cowboy hat, and I wanted to kiss his big lips. Although he was so
tall, I wasn’t sure if I would be able to reach. Luscious, really. You
obviously get the point; we were sexy and made to be together.
While
eating an amazing dinner he helped my dad prepare (scoring points), I was sure
I wanted to kiss him. I sat next to him at the table (ballin’), and held his
sexy ass hand at dinner. I wanted his hand on my ass. He told jokes and I could
tell my family was already smitten. I didn’t say goodbye to him that night, but
excused myself. I walked with my sister to my room where we both screamed into
pillows. I immediately regretted it; he was GONE.
Naturally,
I couldn’t stop thinking about him. I was in church the next day, and while the
congregation sang “Lord I lift your name on high,” I sat daydreaming about
ManGuy. I got his number from my brother’s best friend, and immediately texted
him. So I KNOW it’s not the girls move, but I couldn’t stop myself.
Me: hey.. this is leslie from last night
Him: Oh hey.. why are you texting me
Immediately
thinking: Damn, he hates me...awesome.
Me: Oh sorry!
Him: Let me rephrase. Why are YOU texting ME. You are way
out of my league.
Immediately
thinking: FUCK YA BOYEEEEE
Me: No way… come over today? Lets go riding.
Him: Be there at 12:30
I had never been so happy in church before.
He
came over at 12:30, and I looked like a mess. He didn’t care. We ate lunch, and
walked to the barn across my ranch. We road horses, and I could feel myself
falling for him more and more as seconds passed.
We
spent the whole day together, and that night when I walked him out to hid truck
we embraced each other, and kissed the most passionate kiss I have ever
experienced or even witnessed for that matter. I definitely didn’t regret that.
I didn’t regret the days, weeks, and months that followed that, either. We
spent as much time together as humanly possible. He made me sing to him, and I
made him drive me in his big, diesel dumping, truck. We were hopelessly in
love. We were all that mattered to
each other.
For
those of you that know what I’m talking about when I say “HOLY SHIT THIS LOVE
IS THE MOST AMAZING THING AND NOTHING ELSE IN THE WORLD MATTERS,” then you get
why it was so special. You probably understand the difficulty in losing it,
too.
I
was about to go to Africa, and he freaked. He was saying things like “I feel
like our lives are going in different directions.” Awesome, that’s totally what
I want to hear. So, being a fucking idiot, I told him we should take a break a
couple days before I left for the summer.
In
Africa, I thought about him, emailed him, and wrote about him every.sing.day. I
just wanted him back. So I came back from Africa hoping things would be the
same. Nothing was the same. I had changed so much (for the worse). He had
changed so much (for the worse). WE were both super fucked up. We were both
super NEVER getting back together. We drug it on forever. We both hated it. But
sometimes, that’s just how it happens. When it does, you have to take it like a
mature adult, and move on. It’s rough, but it needs to happen.
So
I like to think I handled things as best as I could, having PTSD from a fucked
up, 3rd world country. Cut me some slack! He on the other hand, had
already begun hooking up with a real bitch, even while I was gone. I hated him
for it, but I loved him too much to let it bother me. I wanted him back too
much. I told him how I felt. He told me it made him so happy to hear. Yeah fuck
that, he didn’t change a damn thing. He kept fucking the whore, dating her, and
even started putting pictures on Facebook so I could see how happy they were.
How sweet J
He
then did things like text my family telling them he missed me, wished I was
her, etc, etc, etc. I wrote depressing songs that people liked, but made me
want to cry every time I sang them. He and I would go back with the “I miss you
texts,” but still…nothing changed. NOTHING EVER CHANGED.
I’m
not telling all of this to you so you feel BAD for me; I’m over it. It’s
just... I feel that a lot of women can relate to getting fucked over by ass
holes like him.
Finally
I told him that I didn’t want anything to do with him. I told him to leave my
entire family and me alone. He called me upset, but I told him I had nothing to
say. I wanted to say a lot… but if I had, I would make myself ill with
heartache. I decided it was time to move on.
So I tried and failed many times.
That’s what it’s all about though. You just need to take the first step. DECIDE
it’s time to make a better life for yourself, and you’ll begin to do it.
