Just because something was, does not mean it always will be. Sometimes, the things we think we know, are far from the truth.
I know I was happy, but I also know now that I thought I was a lot happier than I really was. By, my points of reference – at the time – I was in a great relationship. But, as it turns out, that’s not what I wanted forever.
It is easy to look in from the outside, to see the smiling photos, times with friends and family. But not all things are what they seem. As with all good things, so comes the bad.
While I never really saw myself with anyone else, I’d be lying if I told you I never wondered if there was.
The exact moments I fell into and out of love with him are hazy. For the life of me, I don’t remember our first I love yous. I do remember the moment I knew I loved him and decided he was the guy I wanted to marry. (Honesty, I think all the weddings had me wanting to get married – for the party and celebration…)
We had been together for four years. Our black Friday “tradition” had been replaced by drinks with friends. Who knows how many cranberry and vodkas later this was, but on our venture home – after great times with our new friends, I hurled. Vomit. Mexican pizza. It was in between my legs, in my lap, slam dunked into my purse and sprayed over the front seat of my car. I was a mess.
That night, he took care of me. I don’t remember getting inside, washed up or to bed. But, the next morning I woke up clean. Laid out to dry were the contents of my purse. My vomit stained clothes were no where to be found. The full chunks of Mexican pizza were no longer regurgitated on the floor of my car. He had taken care of me.
The next five years had there ups and downs. We had some great adventures and fun times. But, I was reaching a point where I was bitter and didn’t even know it. I was mad all the time, but not. Continually fustrated with no solid reason why.
A combination of things brought us to our final chapter.
It was my birthday – drinks, friends, the bar and dancing were all in order. That may have been the turning point.
A mist all of the fun and festivities, he approached me to say goodbye. He was leaving my party early, to head home, and told me he hoped I had a great night. I did.
My night ended early, when all the drinks decided not to stay down and, well, I made a mess of the restroom at the bar. Carried out, shortly after I too was on my way home.
Once I was dropped off at home, I remember becoming a blubbering mess of “I’m sorrys” riddled with tears. I remember being put into the shower and begging to just be left there.
The next day, I woke up physically feeling older than I had the day before. My body ached. When I finally gathered my feet, planted beneath my body, I found my things scattered. I was told cleaning them up would be good for me, that I needed to be up and moving. So I did.
I got up and cleaned the vomit off my jeans. I scrapped the dry vomit chunks from my tank into the trash, cleaning it with a stain remover. I dropped to the ground, towels and scrubs in hand, to take the laces off my new shoes and attempt to take the vomit stains off them.
He said he took care of me that night.
I thought I knew what love was. I thought I knew what a relationship should be. I thought I knew what it was to be happy. But, in the end, it turns out I didn’t. It turns out I was getting ready to learn the way things should be.