That song, by Jason Mraz, was “our” song. The Big Love and I, I mean. It was our song. My Best Girlfriend on the other side of the world showed me this song when I was at a point of determination that our relationship was going to work, and I wasn’t going to let his drug problem get the better of us. At the time, I don’t think I realized the significance of the song, which is funny because I don’t think he would ever have realized that this would end up becoming “our” song either. To this day, it has become a song significant in our breakup – me being determined to carry on, and him determining to give up. Just one beat from this song is enough to have my heart feel as if it were being crushed.
That song wasn’t that big when I left the other side of the world; not that many people had heard it. Over here, however, back on MY side of the world, it is EVERYWHERE I fucking go! The contestants on X Factor are singing it every five minutes, and it’s on every TV commercial I seem to hear. I quietly flick through YouTube and BAM! There it is again! So what happens from here? Well, when I am reminded of anything about him, including this damn song that I once used to love; I get into this fury-bred Facebook stalking session of him. And so it begins…
She’s still leaving all these gay messages on his wall, and he’s not responding to them nearly as much as he should being her boyfriend and all. I think they must have broken up a while ago as well, as there were some posts by her removed, and it would seem that she was removed from his Facebook relationship status for a while. And, according to her shitty little comment on a photo he shared, they are “getting a house soon”. You will know if you have read some of my other posts, (He’s Buying a House) that the fact they are even thinking about house buying, grips my heart with an iron fist and causes me to go into a mini breakdown. Guess this means they are back together again now. I’m trying to ignore that comment. Clearly it was for me to see – no person in their right mind would randomly post that on a picture he had shared without meaning for it to be seen by somebody. My crazy lady side is determined that this was for my benefit. My crazy lady side is also adamant that this relationship is doomed and will fall apart. Clearly they’ve broken up once, and they have only been dating since around March time, so about 8 months. That’s not a good start, that’s for sure. Secondly, he’s an emotional fucktard and he WILL fuck it up. Thirdly – why would I even care? He’s not my fucking problem anymore!
These Big Love rants are really starting to piss me off, and I’m actually concerned that I’m no longer a grieving ex-girlfriend that’s having a meltdown a few months too late; I’m the crazy bunny boiler that all the guys talk about. I’m concerned that I’m the girl that finds a new level of crazy.
In two days, it would have been our three year anniversary. I would advise you stay away from my blog at these points – it’s going to get snotty, that’s for sure. I’m already struggling. Our two year anniversary was a massive one for us. When we first started to have our problems in the relationship, around June last year, we made a pact – if things hadn’t improved by our two year anniversary; six months later, we would part ways. We desperately made changes to the relationship, and the only drawback was we weren’t making the same efforts at the same time. I’d get in from work and be grumpy and pissed off and he’d be cooking dinner, dancing and singing around the house. I tried to explain to him that when I got home from work, I need half an hour just to drink my cup of tea, get all my anger out, and calm down. I worked for very demanding people. He didn’t get it.
I’d get up early in the morning to make his food for him to take to work, and he’d be as miserable as sin. I’d be horny, he’d be grumpy, I’d be up, he’d be down… Can you see the pattern here? We just weren’t “synced” within our relationship anymore. A few times he threatened to give up before our two year anniversary, but I managed to persuade him we should give it a shot. And vice versa when I was adamant we were over. We did try I guess… Just not good enough. We didn’t learn enough about each other again to give it a good enough shot. We had already destroyed it, and were incapable of getting it back together again. Imagine if we had given it one more chance. Imagine if I hadn’t have gotten on those flights and came home. Would things be any different? Did we just need to give “us” longer to settle back down again? Naaaah. Things would have been the same – we would have gone around in the same coke-induced life circles we always did. As much as I miss the guy, even I’m not stupid enough to think that we ever would have been able to make it work the second time around. Our relationship wasn’t a “real” one from the start – we met in a war zone, I was still with my husband, then I was back home and he was still out there, then he came to me for two months, then we travelled to the other side of the world. It was when we moved into our own little crib that things started to really fall apart, if we are being totally honest.
Nothing about our relationship was “real” or “normal” from the start – it was a whirlwind, fantasy style relationship that was clearly rebounding for both of us, and it never should have lasted as long as it did. I loved him, I still love him, but it was the situation we really fell in love with; not each other.
He loved the fact I was British, I loved the fact he was from the other side of the world. I loved that we met in a war zone; he loved that I could do all the things that he did, and more. He loved that I was innocent to his way of life; I loved the new life he was offering me. See the pattern here – we fell in love with the situation, not each other at all. Don’t get me wrong; I don’t regret any of it for an instant. The thing I do regret is falling so deeply in love with him. When we met, he really was my knight in shining armor and he saved me from a life that I was struggling to survive in. Again – I fell in love with what he could offer me, not necessarily for who he was.
Still doesn’t make it hurt any less though, does it?
Not So Sex in My City! 