Six months ago, I broke up with my ex; our relationship lasted two years. We had met while working for a ski company in the northern hemisphere. The tall European had the biggest, friendly smile id ever seen. He was easy to talk to and had a gentle nature about him. There wasn’t one person who met him that could say a bad word about him.
When we first met, I was amazed at how quickly I got the oots in my stomach. You know the ones you get when you have a school girl (or boy) crush on someone. We chatted and hung out often, and as the flirting picked up, our feelings continued to grow and on New Year’s Eve he managed to pluck up the courage to make his move. A blockbuster clique coming- we locked lips as the clock struck twelve.
In the ski industry you live, work and play (ski) with each other, this consequently, fast tracks any relationship. Three months of dating in the ski industry are equivalent to 12 months in the real world. So our love, or what I had thought was love, blossomed rather quickly and so had our decision to continue the relationship into our next season. We were officially together.
Over the next two years, we travelled the world together, lived together, bought cars together, got a joint account and even were starting the process of partnership visas. However, something over the whole two years was bugging me. A little voice, my sub-conscience maybe, was not fully invested. A few things were bugging me about him. The way he could never make a decision, the way he just agreed with everything and no matter what I said he had also had that same thought or repeated what I said not long after. It started to feel like I was dating myself or a parrot the way he used to repeat everything I said. The more time we spent together, the more tedious and frustratingly dull the BF was becoming.
It was around the eight-month mark, that I found I couldn’t stop thinking about my ex (the same ex from story 2). It was almost like the more I became frustrated with the current European BF, the more my ex’s qualities became enduring. These two men could not have been any more different; I went from one extreme to another, but I was missing the qualities of the ex so much.
As the frustration continued to build in our relationship, I struggled for outlets. The BF dependancy on me was becoming intoxicating. He could not figure out what he wanted for dinner, what he wanted to do in the afternoons or what he wanted to do with his time off from work. He was always hanging around, waiting for me to step in and decide. He would leave the house and do something, as long as I had planned it. If I organised a night with the girls he would come along; if I went to the store, he would find the need to go, if I sat in our room for some space he would appear so we could sit together. I could never get a moment to myself. I’m sure by now you are wondering why the hell I didn’t say something, and my answer is, I’m a nice person. I didn’t want to hurt his feelings by telling him to always go away or that I just wanted to be left alone to be by myself and do my own thing, though lord knows I tried. It’s hard to kick a baby bird out of the nest, you know.
My outlet became alcohol and a lot of it. On nights out I drank, at a casual dinner with friends I drank, any excuse I drank, and I drank a lot. Enough to mask the frustration and make him more interesting. I also drank because the more this relationship was falling apart, the more I realised how much I missed the old one. There was more passion, more depth, more undeniable chemistry and a hell of a lot more independence. I couldn’t stop thinking about how I let that one slip between the cracks. Even my dreams wouldn’t let me forget my ex. Every night while I laid by my current BF, I dreamt of my ex. The crappier my relationship was getting, the more vivid the dreams were getting, if you know what I mean- Don’t judge; I had no control over that.
When I finally realised that I wasn’t put on this earth to be the baby sitter of a grown-ass man, I ended it, flew home and started again. This next sentance is going to sound harsh, and I’m only saying it in the spirit of honesty for this blog. The day we broke up was the day I started to look at the world with humour, fun and joy in the world again- that’s saying something.
Looking back, my relationship with the European took off like a North American X-15 aircraft. The relationship grew so fast so quick that I guess once it was up and at full altitude, it could only go down.
I do feel bad for a few things that happened over the two years, and I wish to apologise for them now.
To my ex, I’m sorry in those last few months things were undeniably awkward and tense. I wish I were better at expressing my feelings instead of bottling them up and giving you the silent treatment. I am sorry that my coping mechanism was turning to alcohol. I know there were multiple nights where I drank too much, blacked out and you had to take my sorry ass home. I’m sure there were countless times I embarrassed you with my drunken behaviour, was even rude and horrible to you. I’m sorry that by the six-month mark of our relationship, I knew we were never meant to be. I should have been honest to you and myself instead of keeping the charade going. I’m sure that didn’t help with my growing frustration. I’m sorry that for close to a year I dreamt of another man while I slept next to you. I’m sorry, it didn’t work out.