Mr. Wishy Washy

I recently had a relationship end. One that I really didn't blog much about here, mostly because I could only imagine what a trainwreck it would appear to be from the outside looking in. Of course, that thought process in itself proves that this was not a healthy relationship. Hell, it barely qualified as a relationship.

One of these days, I will learn.

I can't recall being in a long-term relationship that truly made me happy. My first serious boyfriend was in college, and I loved that boy more than I could ever put into words. We were on again/off again for a couple of years. No matter how horrible he was to me, I kept coming back for more. I knew that if I waited around long enough, he would realize how much I loved him. It never happened.

Then I met my now ex-husband. He popped up out of the woodwork only a few months after things went south with the boyfriend. He showered me with attention, flowers, time. All the things that my last relationship lacked. I thought to myself, "ahhhh...this is how it's supposed to be." And so I went for it; I jumped in feet first. But I could only stay afloat for so long. This man that I thought was The One really wasn't. He didn't want me any more than the first guy did. And I knew that if I waited around long enough, he would realize how much I loved him. It never happened. Only this time, there was more at stake, so it took me longer to accept it.

I guess I'm just a sucker for punishment, because I dated around a little (a lot) after my divorce, and then I promptly marched out and found someone else who was guaranteed to make me pine away for him. God, I fell hard. You know, in that way that I swore I would never allow to happen again. We had a blast whenever we were together, we talked for hours every day. He understood me. For the first time in forever, I felt like maybe I wasn't completely unloveable after all. But then there were all of those times he left me hanging, the dates that he blew off, the times that he made me feel unimportant. And being in the midst of it, I made excuses for him. He gave me just enough to know there could be something wonderful, but never what I needed when I needed it. Still, I didn't want to give up. I knew that if I waited around long enough, he would realize how much I loved him. It never happened.

You can imagine where this story ends. It isn't exactly in my favor.

There is nothing worse than going from having a handful of something to finding yourself with nothing. You get used to those late night phone calls, and then you're suddenly staring at a quiet phone. Someone says something that reminds you of something that he said, and it stings a little. No matter how stupid everyone else may have thought you to be for sticking it out, you knew you had to try. Because at least you knew that you weren't left with the what-ifs. Those are the worst. It's worse than being rejected.

Now I have to wait for my heart to heal. I wake up in the morning, and the first thing I remember is that things are different. It's like cold water being thrown on you. Suddenly, reality is different, and it blows. The worst part is starting over, knowing that the next person I date is going to have to learn me. My quirks, the things that I'm afraid of, the skeletons in my closet. And there is that possibility of being rejected again, and it makes me skittish. I tread lightly when dating is concerned, because I don't trust anyone. Too many people have hurt me, especially lately. It's enough to make me completely gun shy. I don't do this hurt thing well. I don't want to go through this anymore.

Yuck.