Back when I was another person, I briefly loved this guy who was a half a world away. I actually had a thing for him throughout the second half of freshman year, but it wasn’t really a relationship until like 2008? Anyway, I was all mentally messed up from Dave and I wasn’t fully a person yet. I was struggling with being an addict who wasn’t in a relationship that could sustain me in a symbiotic way, and it was really hard. I had just failed out of college after having essentially what amounts to a nervous breakdown and I’d also suffered a pretty brutal sexual assault, and I wasn’t really… emotionally well.
I somehow ended up with this lovely guy who made me happier, despite all that bullshit, and I liked him a lot but it wasn’t enough. Nothing really was.
And being long distance was hard.
So I fucked some other guy because I was miserably unhappy and filled with a renewed sense of self loathing– I was in need of sexual and physical validation, and I tried to justify my shitty, fucked up decision by leaving a great guy for one who turned out to be a compulsive liar.
I lived with Kyle for 8 months before figuring it out. I don’t regret that relationship because it taught me how to be a fucking grown up and how to function in the real world, but I always regretted how it started because I hurt someone I cared for deeply, who cared for me, and by the time I was in a position to try and make it up to him, he had moved on. I threw myself at him years later and he rejected me, and I deserved it. I was humiliated and ashamed and hurt, and I deserved all of that. We decided to just be friends. I probably didn’t even deserve his friendship, but I accepted it.
I think I always hoped, I always thought that at some unknown point in time in the future, that if it was meant to be, I’d get a do-over. I know that’s such a stupid thing to think. People aren’t college courses. You can’t just retake them. But I thought he might give me another chance maybe– maybe he would forgive me, and I could make it up to him. I could be good to him. You know, less of a self-destructive, thoughtless, inconsiderate, self-absorbed cunt.
I really haven’t thought about it in years. I knew he had a girlfriend. I knew they got a place together. I was happy for him. I just kind of trusted in the universe and hoped things would work out for the best someday, and maybe the have. He just told me he’s getting married. He wants to mail me an invitation, but doesn’t expect me to fly across the world to attend. I should be happy for him. I should be. A good person would be happy that he’s found happiness.