I keep seeing these articles about having “almost love”. An “almost relationship”. Something that either wasn’t felt by both people in the relationship or a relationship that wasn’t allowed to develop fully in some way. That’s what I gather from these phrases. I didn’t have an “almost love or relationship” I had the full package. Full blown, whirlwind, real love. We went half way across the world together and thrived in Bali and survived the outskirts of Kuala Lumpur, went on trips around England and one to his homeland of Northern Irelend. We did dinners, breakfasts, cinema, drinks, played ping pong, played pool, swam in the sea, swam in the most beautiful pools, stayed in many, many hotels. Walked, talked, saw comedy shows. I bought him a ticket to Bill Bailey, one of my favourite comedians and someone who’s work has gotten me though some times when I’ve uncomfortable and anxious at home for one reason or another.
This guy I was with meant a lot to me, he came into my world swept me off my feet and asked me to move in with him late last year. I wasn’t sure it was quite the right time but we both wanted to live independently and we were in love so we gave it a try. We actually got on very well living together overall, cooking for each other, binge watching tv series, him teaching me guitar, the snuggles and naps and sexy times of course. Towards the end I started to feel irritated by us no longer going out for dates (even very cheap ones) and his lack of pulling his weight in the flat with cleaning and also other things (I’ll omit these to save his modesty) and I started to feel like he was becoming very complacent and at times I felt like I was a bit of a doormat. I don’t think he did this on purpose but I think he was so caught up in himself and his needs that he didn’t notice the times he left mountains of washing up for me from me cooking us dinner the night before.
After all that I felt a bit ambivalent about our relationship, I knew I did not want to break up as I still loved him very much but I thought that perhaps it wasn’t the right time to live together. He’s a younger man who’s never lived away from his parents and had to look after himself entirely before and I thought that he’s needs to live on his own, on his own terms before he can live with a woman. It makes sense that some people need to do this and can’t just jump in the deeper end and float well (if he reads this he might get this in joke).
But then he broke up with me. I’m not going to go into the details to much but his reasons don’t really make sense, a big one being familial grief he’s getting for being with me as an older woman with previous mental health issues. Reasons that don’t really matter in the big scheme of things. Reasons that lack depth and real thought.
So here I am, I still love him and he still loves me and me still have such strong chemistry but he’s convinced himself he can’t be with me. We’re both living back at our homes now, sorting out the bills for our flat and me stuck with all of the loose ends.
That’s life sometimes I guess. Complicated, messy and a lot of the time it doesn’t make any sense whatsoever. We had the realest kind of love, a first love full of fireworks but it’s been thrown away like crumpled paper. In my ex-boyfriend’s often used words “oh well”. In my words, how very upsetting and frustrating. That’s my life right now but I’m working on achieving some of my dreams, travelling, my ambitious creative career and living independently again. Working on it for me and I’m already seeing small successes and more satisfaction in what I choose to do. It’s all for me now.