What It Is to Burn

A few weeks ago, I wrote about cherophobia and how every time I feel happy, things come crashing down soon thereafter. (Read the blog post here.) Well, that time has come.

Like fucking clockwork, everything has come crashing down. Things at home have been incredibly stressful. I have been needing to drink more meds than usual. My productivity at work has been at an all-time low. I feel like I spend more time on hospital beds than my own. I have cut ties with friends I really thought were for keeps. I found out that the guy that I was seeing and was over-the-top in-like with actually has a girlfriend - plus other side chicks. And to top it all off, I discovered a lump that is currently being monitored.

But we'll get to the lump another time. Right now, I'd like to talk about the douchebag who broke my heart. Because yes, boost your ego if you must: you broke it.

I think the biggest reason why this fallout is hitting me so hard is because I never actually used to open up to guys. At all. Or even to people, in general. Even in long-term relationships and friendships, I have trouble talking about my problems - problems at home, problems at work, problems with friends, and most especially problems with mental health. But you made opening up feel so easy. And you gave the best advice.

As such, losing you makes me feel like I lost my therapist, my best friend, my lover, and my happy pill all at once. Honestly, no one has made me laugh as hard as you have - so hard that I'd find tears in my eyes and sometimes even clutch my stomach in mini-pain.

I still can't grasp how you do what you do - juggling several girls at once. Call me old-fashioned; but even when I'm not in a proper relationship and just in the landian stage, I can't bring myself to juggle several guys at once. And it's not even just about the morals. I mean, where do you find the time to do that?

How do you find the time to spend your days with someone, say good night to them, and then spend your late nights and early mornings on the phone with me? Because we'd talk for hours... until 4AM or 5AM, even. I was so tired (but happy) and always felt assured that you didn't have time for anyone else because of it.

And the effort that you put in? I haven't even had long-term boyfriends put in as much effort into our relationship as you have. Commuting for hours and really finding some sort of way to see me. Cancelling curfews, putting off family time, skipping work, ditching friends, waiting for me to get home from a night out before going to bed... Your consistent messages everyday from morning til night and the phone calls and video calls every single night...

You've met my freaking daughter, damn you! You've met my friends. And I've met yours. I've even talked to your workmates over the phone. Were they all in on it? Are they all horrible people? Will I forever have to semi-hate them the way I semi-hate you? Will I forever distrust people now? Because honestly, you seemed so sincere and kind and like one of the good guys. But they're right. You really shouldn't judge a book by its cover. I don't even know how to judge people anymore because of you.

You even told me you love me - several times! - and I thank God I never said it back. But still... how can you just throw around words like that as if they mean nothing? How can you play with women's feelings the way that you do? And I know for a fact that I wasn't your only side chick, either. I feel sorry for your girlfriend. I feel sorry for all of the other girls you're stringing along. And I feel sorry for you.

And as the spoiled cherry on top of an already fucked up sundae, you even asked me to stay despite finding out I was just one of your side chicks. As if all of our conversations about my morals and values meant absolutely nothing. As if you hadn't learn anything at all about what kind of person I now am (I say 'now' because I do admit to having made mistakes back in the day). As if everything I've ever said never fucking mattered.

Maybe you're still a child, after all. Despite all of our conversations about maturity, you've gone and proven to be everything I've hated in a person, and I hate myself for not having seen that sooner.

You got me good, I have to admit. You fooled me well. Just as you're fooling all of the other women that are still in your life. And I'm surprised that I didn't lash out on you or scream at you or at least slap you once across the face. I'm surprised that I feel less than I should be feeling. And I'm surprised that I'm bouncing back faster than I expected.

Maybe it's the fact that my heart is slowly turning to stone or maybe it's the fact that I'm realizing that the conversations aside, we really had nothing in common... and you were definitely lacking in one particular aspect that I usually hold to the highest regard.

While I admittedly had one night of weakness in which I tried to call you and another night of weakness riddled in things I thought I would never touch again; I am okay. I will be okay. And I will learn to trust someone again when the time comes. But for now, I will have to hate Red Horse, staycations, and Magic Mike for a while.