An ex is an ex for a reason.
It seems as though every six months I have to burn the same bridge down again. Somehow he or we have managed to rebuild it and it always takes me a while to understand again why it was burnt down in the beginning, as well as over and over again, and once more last night.
It’s impossible to lay all of one’s problems on one human being, to blame him for everything, but it’s just as impossible to attempt to say that neither his actions or words did anything to contribute to them. Even though symptoms proceeded his involvement in my life, the aftermath left them grander than they ever had been before.
After years of promises, and just months before I was planning on uprooting my life to move to Chicago, and commute with him every now and then with him to New York. Just months before we were planning on taking over the world, he calls and says he’s met someone new. For years we loved and fought, he cheated and lied, and I was stupid enough to fall for it. His actions took a toll on my psyche that I don’t think he will ever truly comprehend.
Only in the last year have I been able to pin point the origin of my struggle with self esteem: my self worth is inextricably linked to my attractiveness, worthiness, as determined by men. It’s a horrible way to live, and only recently have I been able to recognize it and start working through it.
He made me feel as though I wasn’t good enough. I wasn’t thin enough, smart enough, cute enough. In retrospect: I was fucking awesome and adorable. The issue with his reoccurring presence in my life is the fact that i return to being this fragile little waif, somehow hoping to gain his approval along side some grand gesture.
I’d rather have someone who enjoys the curve of my hip, the bite of my whit, my curious and clumsy personality.
I love me.