I got dumped. Unceremoniously. We had just finished off a carefully-prepared breakfast by Mr. B consisting of BLTs (mine did look suspiciously smaller than previous iterations), and he went off to take a long shower. When he came back, smelling all fresh and clean, he sat me down on the couch, looked me straight in the eyes and he told me he had just lost that good ol’ loving feeling.
Well, let’s back it up a bit.
Mr. B and I met at a wedding. It was love at first sight. Kind of. To be perfectly honest I was eyeing the tall French guy standing next to him on the groomsmen podium, but once my wing woman snagged my trombone-playing hottie, I noticed Mr. B from across the room. Not my usual type – a bit too scruffy – but easy on the eyes when he smiled. Damn, that smile.
We danced the night away. The drinks were flowing, the conversation was easy, and Mr. B dazzled his way into my heart (and my pants). Three days of passionate love making, intense conversations and magical moments carried me off into a state of intoxication over this man. I felt like I finally knew what people spoke about when they gushed about just knowing he’s “the one.” So, away I gushed. I let my guard down. I told everyone I could I was in love. I was sure of it. If someone had handed me a megaphone during our initial courtship, I would have stood on a street and swore up and down on my mother’s life that this was the kind of love that Nicholas Sparks could pump out another best-selling, shitty romance novel about.
Alas, as all good things and perfect moments must inevitably come to an end, he was off back to the States before embarking upon a Master’s program in the UK, and I was staying in Toronto. I drove him to the airport, and we locked in a passionate kiss, him promising that I was the one for him and things would never change. Love letters were sent (please note: this man was a goddamn wordsmith, nobody could write a love letter like Mr. B). Care packages meticulously crafted. Gifts exchanged. I spent hours perusing the internet on articles of how to make long distance relationships last. Armed with the knowledge of countless wikihow articles and four days of knowing each other, how could this possibly fail? This was my happy ending.
Fast forward to four months later. Me, sitting on the couch looking up at the man who I thought loved me, dumping me with a look of relief on his face. “The distance is too much…” he stated. “I can’t do this anymore.”
To my own satisfaction, I made him say the words: “Tell me you don’t feel the same way about me anymore.”
After some half-assed attempts at blaming it on the distance, he finally uttered the words. I have never experienced emotional pain transcending into physical pain. As I sat on my bathroom floor wanting to die, waiting for him to leave, it felt like someone had punched through my chest and was squeezing my heart in quick methodical (and cruel) bursts.
This story doesn’t have a happy ending (yet). I’m on Day 2 of the grieving process. Sorry, folks.
I’ve started this blog in hopes that I will somehow become a stronger person because of this. That I can use writing and reflection as a way of figuring out what has been missing in my life, and why this person was able to fill the empty spots inside of me so completely, that I feel like I’m now a walking, deflated, joke of a balloon without him.
…woe is me.