I shot some random footage of my trip with Christine. We saw a lot of really awesome places and had a great time. She did an excellent job planning our trip, from our hotel to the nearby train station.We took a ten-minute train ride from Secaucus, New Jersey to NYC’s Penn Station every day.
On the first night of my NYC trip I got some surprising news; Brandon proposed to his girlfriend, and she said yes. He sent me a text letting me know, which was a nice gesture except it sounds like he texted the majority of his phone’s contacts around the same time.
The person I spent five years with is marrying someone who isn’t me. Obviously I knew this would happen some day, but I have to admit I was a little shocked to realize it would be now. We broke up in February and now he is engaged. While the old me may have indignantly shrugged off anyone’s attempts to ask my feelings on this, the new me is not too proud to admit I am a little upset. I’ve had a lot of good conversations with friends and family about this and, while they may just be humoring me, they agree I have at least a little room to be feeling not great about all this.
Before you say anything, let me explain: It’s not that I am feeling regret or wondering if I made the right decision– I know I did, and really, he knows I did. I knew it the moment it was made, as horrible as I may have felt at the time. I have said before and stand by the belief that I want nothing but happiness for him, and I knew with everything I have that he would find it without me. We would be better off, even if it took a long time to believe.
Well, it turns out it took about six months for him to find just how better off he was. I didn’t want to marry him, but he found someone who wants nothing more. Trust me, this is a good thing. It’s just a shock, that’s all. I’ve never really had an ex-boyfriend get married before, and it’s a little jarring. Especially when, in this case, it’s someone who was a part of my life for so long.
I loved him; he’s the only person I ever loved. And I can’t tell you when I stopped loving him. All I know is that I did, and that it terrified me. It’s scary to think we can just wake up and not love someone anymore, especially if it happens before they’re done being in love with us. I loved him for the person he was, but I knew I didn’t feel the way about him I should have. The way my friends felt about their husbands and partners. I wanted it to come back so badly and it took me a long time to accept it simply wasn’t going to. I don’t want that to ever happen again, and I am hoping I am through the worst and the best is yet to come. Or some kind of cliche like that.
I wish him the best, and still believe he’d wish the same for me. I’ve been on my own for eight months now, which is the longest I’ve been single since I was 16. It was hard at first, but it got easier. And for the last several months I haven’t bothered looking because I knew I was on my way out the door. Who knows who’s in Chicago, but hopefully I’ll find someone for me there. And someday I hope I’ll know what I didn’t know then, and feel what I’m supposed to. Whatever that is. The timing of all this just really makes me feel stronger about this being the perfect time to get out of this city, this state. I don’t mean any offense to any of my friends or family; you have all really been there for me this year when I needed you. It just really feels like I’m due for a fresh start.