Big Love My Dating Life 

Big Love Got in Touch …

5-minute read

Content Warning: Discussing suicide

I read my horoscopes the other day and it said that an old flame would get in touch. I’m not really a big believer of horoscopes, to be honest, but I did wonder at the time if The Fireman would contact me again after turning me down so spectacularly the other night. It turns out an ex did get in touch, just like that horoscope predicted, but it wasn’t The Fireman. It was someone I absolutely wasn’t expecting: Big Love. I’m still reeling …

“Hi, I just thought I should probably let you know that our tattoo artist killed himself.”

The news made me cry. I wasn’t particularly close to our tattoo artist, but I had grown to know him quite well. I even went through a little patch, somewhere around the start of my second tattoo with him, that I had a bit of a crush on him. We spent a fair bit of time together too. Big Love was piercing and tattoo-less when we met, but I “converted him”. [His words.] He was actually really anti-body modification when we first starting dating, making a point of letting me know how much he didn’t like them on his ex-wife. It wasn’t long before the ink started flowing though, starting with a massive one across his back. That’s the kind of man he was: never half-way. There was no way he’d have a teeny-tiny tat for his first one. It had to be something big and bold.

I wondered why he’d chosen to tell me, though. And so quickly, before any announcements or sympathies were sent on Facebook. It was as though he found out and immediately rushed to tell me before anyone else. But why? I’m not even sure the tattoo artist and I are friends on Facebook. It’s not like I’m ever going to go back to him to have my tattoos finished. I don’t mind travelling for a good artist, but travelling for two whole days to the other side of the world seems a bit excessive. I immediately text my Best Gal Pal from the other side of the world to tell her what happened and even she agreed that it was weird that he would pop up in my inbox like that. Our first conversation in eight months. Our first real conversation, anyway.

I wasn’t really sure how to respond to him, to be honest, so I just sent the regular stuff you’d send when you find out someone has died: sorry for your loss, I hope you’re okay, remember the good times, etc. I wasn’t even aware that they (the tattoo artist and Big Love) were even that close, but he seemed really cut up about it so I tried to be as supportive as possible. I didn’t want to be supportive, though. I wanted to ask him why he hadn’t asked me to get back together yet, and why he’d bother messaging me when he wasn’t telling me the news I wanted to hear.

Because now he’s in my head.

That one simple message that means virtually nothing now means everything. Absolutely everything. Trying to remove him from my heart and my mind was easier when I didn’t have to face him, and since I’d moved back to my side of the world to get away from him, there was little chance of us ever bumping into each other. I can’t stop thinking about the things I should have said, that I wanted to say. It’s like my grief has been restarted, back to the sadness and depression I felt when I first left.

I wish I could get him out of my head.

In fact, I wish he’d never gotten in touch with me at all. 

Featured image by Lucas Lenzi on Unsplash

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