No man I met ever measured up. Not really anyway.
I constantly compared them to the characters in my books. Is asking for a man who would burn the world down for the woman he loved really that much of an ask? Reality, in comparison, was always an anticlimactic let down.
I blame my grandmother for that.
I’ve been in plenty of relationships, or rather, plenty oflessons, that's what she would've called them.
There were the ones who were alwaystoo nice, the men who agreed with everything I said, who bent over backwards with no spine of their own.Doormats,we called them. Instant turn-off.
And then, there were the others.
The ones who knew exactly how to play the game. Who saw girls who wanted love, who wanted to believe in something real, and used it against them.
In case you didn’t pick up on that, it’s me.I'm that girl.
Things always started out perfect. They pull you in with the whole nice-and-sweet routine, sprinkled with just enough of that bad-boy edge to keep you intrigued. They make you feel special. Chosen. And by the time their mask slips, by the time you see the cracks, it’s already too late.
You’re hooked.
By then, you’re knee-deep in feelings and shit, with no clear direction.
Who shit in my Cheerios, you ask?
My Ex. That’s who.
And look, I'll never claim to be perfect, but at least I’m working on it. Obviously.
This last year has been brutal, to say the least. Losing my grandfather was hard enough. Losing myself in the aftermath? Worse. Add a breakup on top of it, and you’ve got yourself the perfect recipe for disaster.
But here I am, fresh out of the slammer, so to speak. Or at least, that’s what it feels like. I just clawed my way out of the worst relationship in the history of relationships.
It’s like I have some twisted savior complex I never asked for and sure as hell didn’t sign up for.
But now I’m indifferent. Grateful, even. Consider that lesson learned.And then some.
I never want to feel that small, that lost, or that unseen again.
Ever.
I had to crawl my way out of that hole. Piece by piece, I put myself back together because I finally realized that no one was coming to save me.
This trip is one of those pieces. A way to take something back for myself. A way to breathe again.
Somewhere along the way, I realized that I clearly have a pattern.
I fall for guys who seem perfect at first. They’re nice, charming, and say all the right things, but the second I'm no longer useful, I'm discarded or tossed aside.
It took weeks to find my footing again after Chance and I broke up. I’d wanted out of our relationship for a long time, but every time I tried, the douche canoe had a way of twisting things to make me feel like I was the problem. He made me believe that if I just tried harder, gave more, or fixed whatever was broken in me, then maybe I’d finally be enough.
That’s never happening again.
The relationship finally ended the day I found out he was cheating on me. While I was at his house, scrubbing the counters, and making us a romantic dinner, no less.
Long day at work, my ass.
Turns out “working late” meant screwing the girl next door. It wasn’t a total loss, though. At least our two-year circus of a relationship was finally over.
I could go into all the details, but honestly? That’s an entire library full of unsolved mysteries mankind will never crack. Which is why I now have a closet full of trauma I have zero intention of unpacking.
