Imagine a 12 year old breaking up with her crush.
Raising hand. Yeah…
Given my failure to complete the first break-up, I had to have a plan. I was clearly putty in his hands, so I needed to be sure it was a clean break. Done. No discussion.
I wanted to send it through Facebook, as it was late and he was likely to not see it till morning. So, I wrote up my perfect words. Simple. Straightforward.
Then I rewrote them a few times. I didn’t want to hate him or him to hate me. I thought eventually we could be friends again, but I needed to get over him.
So, I had Facebook opened for the message and then another window to unfriend and block him. I told ya, right off the edge of pathetic. I also needed to block his calls. But as I looked into that, I learned that his texts would say delivered on his end.
I couldn’t do that. But I also knew I couldn’t engage with him. Remember… putty. So, I was going to ignore the text I’d likely get, and then he would move on and I would move on. It was a perfect plan.
I hope you’re laughing, because that was a stupid fucking plan.
I turned my phone off that next morning and went for a hike with the dogs. A few hours later I turned the phone back on and saw a series of texts. I read them quickly and decided I should continue ignoring them. Just follow the plan.
In order stick to the plan, I should have NOT read his texts. Remember… putty. I started to feel bad for the whole thing. I just had no idea how else I could keep my resolve. So, I answered that one text and said it wasn’t him. Hoped that would be it.
Nope… another text that I felt compelled to respond to. But I was staying strong. Stick to the plan… stick to the plan. Don’t engage. Don’t make eye contact.
Friggin putty, man.
I finally asked him to just stop and he agreed. And in less than 5 minutes, I found myself completely unable to just leave it alone. And that really pissed me off. I had a plan. The plan was now toast. I was fine with leaving it how it was before, but now I had some stuff to say. And say it I did.
And he responded in kind. Meaning his text back had as many exclamation points, but oddly was still a pretty decent text.
But I liked the way he fought.
The number of texts and the real connection and effort was far more than we had in the last couple weeks combined. It was after this that I decided I was not going to end this again. There are still periods of distrust and confusion and fear on my part, but my overall feeling is that I need to just stick this out. If he ends it, which after a few days of no real contact is expected, it’s ok. But it’s not going to be me.
When I say it’s ok, I mean, I’ll not argue about it. I’ll just drag my broken heart into my bed with the dogs and whimper for a while.