After learning about how the boy felt, he asked if I wanted to still be in a relationship. I love him, and I’m secretly an optimist, so I told him that I did, if he did, and that he should think about whether that was something he wanted.
Then, I waited.
I didn’t hear from him for a couple days. I waited, hoping. Hoping he would choose me. Hoping he would realize he loved me. Hoping and waiting. On him.
On the second day, he sent me a message. Unrelated to “us” just a general chatty message. I asked him if that meant he wanted to be friends while he figured out how he felt, and that led to a whole long discussion and I had an epiphany.
I realized, while we were talking, that I didn’t want to be in a relationship with him. I love him, and the thought of being in a relationship with someone I love, but who doesn’t love me and is just keeping me around because he doesn’t NOT want to be in a relationship, that suddenly sounded harder than letting him go.
So I did. I broke things off with him. It hurt. It hurt so much. There were a lot of tears. It felt simultaneously empowering and crushing.
This is the first time I broke up with someone not out of fear, but because I chose to because it was the right thing for me. The first time I didn’t stay with someone out of fear. The first time my relationship decision was thought through and honest and healthy. Ever.
It’s surreal. It hurts. Yet it feels good at the same time.
So last night it really hit me, the impact of the knowledge that the whole time we were together, he didn’t feel anything for me. The deception, the way I feel so used, all our interactions that in hind sight make so much sense given this new information. And I lost it.
I spent a good 8 hours, maybe more, probably closer to 10, binging and purging. It was grueling.
I’ve been too apathetic and depressed lately to do anything. I mean, anything. Even getting out of bed was difficult. Just a little, my binge/purge spree jogged me out of that.