October Seventh, Twenty Thirteen

I have come to a very hefty realization recently. Oprah would call it an “aha! moment.” I call it a “Welcome to the Reality Party. We’ve been expecting you” moment.

As Freddy Mercury says in We Are The Champions, “…and bad mistakes, I’ve made a few…” I’ve been contemplating my last year of life frequently. I’ve had an extremely interesting go of things. Let’s recap, shall we?

I met the man I ended up moving to Texas for around this time last year. Our first encounter and progression (or digression) into couple status was quick. Too quick, if I may be blunt for a moment, but hindsight is 20/20. I sit here and recall with great clarity of mind a few times I should have trusted my gut. I’m a fairly intuitive person to an extent, and why I chose to ignore myself pisses me off terribly, but whatever.

I was smitten quickly. If I may psychoanalyze myself for a moment, this is because when a man shows interest in me, I grab onto that and refuse to let go. He was wickedly charming and was saying the nicest things about me, including how beautiful he thought I was. That, I admit with no small amount of shame, got me. My point is, he was smooth.

Okay, let’s set up a time frame reference here to show exactly how fucking fast all this shit happened: met him mid-October 2012. He told me over the telephone in the first part of November he loved me (oh sweet fancy Christ…). Drove down to Austin in November to first meet him (oh goddddddd…what the FUCK, Erin?!). Discussed moving to Austin the next few weeks of November. Gave my notice at my job of 5 years December 2012. Packed up my car and drove to Texas New Years Eve day. Arrived in Austin, Texas, January 1, 2013. We broke up a few days after Valentine’s Day. I moved back to Nebraska the end of May. Alright, just reading this is making me ridiculously anxious.

Let me continue being hard on myself, though, because it’s part of the story.

As you can see, speed was the main theme in this relationship. A few weeks after first contacting me, he said he loved me. Now, let’s just take a moment to let this sink in. Sure, I can be fairly awesome, but profess your love for me after knowing of me less than a month awesome? No. But, again, I fell for it. I’m a romantic. That shit made me melt. Nicholas Sparks would totally  jerk off to our story, I think.

Moving along. I said the three words back. I mean, why not?

But here’s my realization: I didn’t love him. I loved the idea of being in love again, because I haven’t loved a man since my ex-husband. I was due, right? I deserved to be in love again, so I convinced myself I loved this man. I was fooling myself. I think this is why I decided to move, to further convince myself I loved him.

But I didn’t.

Now, I’m thinking of what a horrible cunt of a woman I am for admitting this to you all. How careless I am with other people! I’ve been called cold, uncaring, and heartless–by this guy, coincidentally–and maybe he’s right. Maybe I have shut myself off from other people more than I realized because while I know my divorce fucked me up, maybe it did so with more tenacity than I give it credit for. BUT, please allow me to share a bit of his past before y’all start rallying the masses to burn me at the stake for being a bitch. He was married for 13 years and when he met me, he had just recently become separated from his wife, so…what? Who the shit is ready to tell someone they are in love with you like, 4 months after you left your freaking wife? And who the shit falls for it like I did? Oh my god, this was just fucked from the very beginning…and the shit of it is, I knew it was, too! I’m serious. There were many nights where I’d lie awake at night, contemplating the situation and I thought countless times I should just call things off because it’s not going to work, but I’m stubborn and was all “ah hell, let’s give this a whirl.”

Emotions are silly. We let ourselves get so wrapped up in them sometimes, and that makes us do foolish things. I’m the goddamn poster girl for that statement.

I know I’ve written about him a lot lately, and it’s not because I harbor hidden feelings or anything like that. I’m trying to come to terms with things. I’m sitting at a coffee shop on a Monday afternoon because I don’t have a job because I gave up the one I had because I was delusional. I gave up things I shouldn’t have because I had a wild hair up my ass. I’m not advocating never taking a risk because I’m not saying that at all. I don’t really know what I’m trying to say, really. Shocking. 

If I believed in that saying of “everything happens for a reason,” I’d be eagerly awaiting my validation of the last year, but so far, I got nothin’. Maybe this little lesson is to show me what a cunt I really am, which is a stupid lesson because I’m very acutely aware of what a terrible wench I am, so joke’s on you, my life. 

I suppose the moral of this story is just be careful with using the “L” word.

As usual, thanks for reading. I love you guys. And I mean it this time.

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