19 January, 2010

bert loses his ernie

Life's funny, isn't it?

One minute you're celebrating recent professional successes, looking forward to Christmas and a promising New Year with your dear friends, family, and the love of your life. A month later, your relationship is over. The man you thought was the love of your life has fallen out of love with you and, before he's had the guts to properly end things with you, has started a new romance with a guy he met on Twitter.

Well, that's the short version anyway.

The long version is very long. It's a lot fairer to him, and a lot more honest about me. He didn't ditch me for a better prospect – it's much more complicated than that. And I wasn't the perfect boyfriend – but who is? Anyway, Byron and I are over. None of this was my choice, and I feel he went about ending it in a way that hurt me far more than was necessary. He was going through a lot, that led him to make the choices he did. He's still going through a lot now. But none of that is my story to tell. I can only offer my perspective, and that is to say that I don't think I was treated the way I deserve to be, and I'm incredibly fucking sad and angry about it.

Nothing can take away how important he's been in my life. Byron has made me happier and sadder, angrier and prouder than any single person in my life before. We are going to stay friends, even if there are moments when that isn't easy.

So now I'm trying to retrain my head, and my heart. I need to accept that all our conversations now will have shadows hanging over them, accept that (although I hope the entire world hears him sing some day) I'll never hear him sing for me the way he once did, accept that we're not going to hang out or kiss or fuck or watch TV or stupidly repeat nonsense words at the top of our lungs while laughing 'til we cry, in the way that we used to, anymore. And I need to accept that while I'm reminiscing about doing those things with him, he's probably already imagining doing them with someone else.

And that's hard. Because right now, even after being hurt so badly, I still miss what we had. I miss it like crazy.

So this, as it turns out, is the shape of my life in the final stretch to age thirty. Single (and, for my mental health, likely to remain that way for some time). Overweight (but ten kilos less than I was three months ago). Kicking goals for my career (most of the time). And surrounded by the most wonderful family and friends I could possibly hope for.

I'll be okay. Like I always am. I'm feeling pretty positive about the future, even if it isn't going to be the one I expected, or hoped for.

Onward and upward.