Happy Fucking Anniversary Baby

It would have been our three-year anniversary today. Mine and Big Love‘s anniversary, I mean. I’m hurting. A lot. Maybe I’m just being melodramatic?

My heart hurts. Physically hurts. It feels heavy. It still feels like there’s a big part of my life missing even though he hasn’t been in it for some time now. Some days, I wake up and it all feels like it happened a thousand years ago. Other days, though? It feels like it all just happened yesterday. Like I’m still in the thick of grieving. In reality, I think I am. When I first left him and came back to my side of the world I had to deal with everyone else’s shit. My family had a bunch of stuff going on, so I fully immersed myself in that to avoid thinking or feeling. And it worked. But now I don’t need to deal with so much of their shit because we’ve got it all figured out, and I’m just left feeling … empty.

I don’t think I’ve ever felt pain like this over leaving someone behind before. I never felt this way leaving The Hubby, although I did have Big Love already neatly lined up to help with the grieving process, that time. But in all my life, I’ve never gone through a breakup that hurt quite this bad. I knew I would feel bad; he was so important to me. So big. So influential. And I’m trying my hardest to move on with One Ball, but it’s not him I’m thinking about. He’s sexting me and I’m sexting back, but my head is wishing Big Love was on the receiving end of those messages. I half want One Ball to go away and shut up, to stop texting me. But it’s not his fault. He doesn’t know the importance of today. He doesn’t know it would have been our anniversary. He does know that something’s wrong though, and he keeps asking what he can do to make it better … which of course makes me feel even worse.

I can’t seem to think straight. I’ll watch some crappy show on TV and he’ll pop into my head. I’ll try and write or blog something and he’ll completely consume my thoughts. I’ll throw my laundry in the washer and — BOOM — there he is again. I hate him. No, of course I don’t hate him; I love him.

I don’t even remember what he looks like anymore. I have an image in my head, but it’s a fuzzy one. Just enough pieces to make out it’s him, but it could any number of men. He’s fading. Not just from my life, but from my memory too. Occasionally, I’ll come across photos of him when I’m looking for something else on my phone or laptop and I’ll remember just how good-looking I thought he was. Correction: I think he is. He’s still a very good-looking man to me. He probably always will be. I loved him when he was that “lanky streak of piss” at the beginning [his words] and I loved him when he was that steroid-taking gym-bunny at the end. He was hot, full stop.

I wonder if he has any idea just how much he rocked my world. He was awesome. Funny, too. Right at the beginning, I didn’t have a clue what he was saying to me half the time. I got lost in the smooth tones of his other-side-of-the-world accent, and I just found him funny. All of him. And then I got to know him and he became more than just the hot, awesome, funny guy. He became everything. The “Have a nice day!” messages from him in the morning would make my day and an absence of them was a sign of a bad day to come. It was like a sign. No message = bad day. It was our thing.

I’m really disappointed in myself for still letting him get to me as much as he is. I don’t understand why it’s happening either. I don’t know why it seems to be getting worse and more painful as time goes on, rather than better. I’m stronger than this, surely? Or has everyone got that one partner they just can’t get over? Have you got one? Are you still pining for someone?

I want to tell him that the fact he never said goodbye fucking broke my heart. I want to tell him that I still think he was “the one”. I want to ask him if he remembers our anniversary. I bet he does; he always remembered things like that. For our six month anniversary, we were on my side of the world. He waited for me to get home from work, naked on my bed, rose petals and candles everywhere, strawberries and squirty cream all over him. As I climbed the stairs to my room, I found a note carefully placed on each one. He’d written down reasons why he loved me and used them as a way to direct me to where he was. Sadly, I ruined the event. I’d been working with my sister for the day and it all went catastrophically wrong. There was a hospital trip, and a lot of waiting around for cars to be picked up and dropped off and by the time I got home, I was two and a half hours later than expected. He was so romantic right at the beginning. I think that was one of the first things to drop away when we started to fall apart.

Ugh. What a wanky day.

Happy fucking anniversary, eh?

𝕊𝕚𝕩𝕡𝕖𝕟𝕔𝕖 𝕟𝕠𝕟𝕖

🥞 D R I P P I N G 🥞 Started my Sunday off t

• A S H E S • I turned my Grandparents into a

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Photo by Volkan Olmez on Unsplash