I feel like Ross from Friends.
In the past three days I’ve actually calculated in my mind how many times Peter Pan and I had sex. In the past three days I’ve drank 5 bottles of wine and started the break up diet. In the past three days, I’ve cried every time a sappy song came on or when I saw a semi truck (he used to drive one). In the past three days I’ve been more upset about the ending of a purely sexual relationship than I think I would be if my current relationship ended.
There will be no more Tuesday night rendevous, there will be no funny texts between the two of us. There will be…nothing.
I know in all technical aspects, this should be a good thing. It wasn’t ever going to go anywhere, no matter how hard I tried to trick myself into thinking that a touch here, or a comment here really meant something.
A couple of weeks ago I had myself tricked into thinking that when I gave him the silly boyfriend quiz from facebook just to see how well he knows me he really meant it when he said that he didn’t want to live without me.
Who the fuck was I kidding?
Now, here I sit heart broken and trying to figure out who I am. Having a “relationship” in any way, shape or form with someone for FOUR years can really alter who you are.
He is the first man that I exposed ALL of me to. All the messed up PTSD pieces, every. single. piece of me.
Life is funny isn’t it?
You just grab on to someone and hold on for dear life hoping it’ll stick, when at the end of the day, it could end in a single text message.