For as long as I can remember, I used to make up stories in my head. As I got older, most of them revolved around a romance, something I didn't have. I would create detailed stories of romantic trips to far off places; happenstance meetings of a famous musician and how they would fall in love with me; being chosen to be in a Oscar-winning movie and make the main actor fall head over heels. In fact, sometimes, I would imagine how it would be around my friends and family and such. I honestly think I used this crutch to be okay with not dating till I was much older.
When I got into my first relationship, I realized the fantasy relationships stopped. But then I realized they didn't stop they morphed. I could try to defend him and excuse him from the tears and the pain and the hurt heart, but I won't. While in the midst of those things, my mind would build imaginary stories of a perfect relationship with him. Ones in which he spent time with me; ones where he cherished our time; ones where he would laugh and hold me and tell me things I longed to hear. He didn't. I left. My mind was too tired to create anything.
When I got into my second relationship, I was too caught up to see that my survival mode was turned on. I was always trying to force someone to be okay with my relationship. It would be a while before I noticed the subtle hints of someone who was seeking elsewhere. The stories became those of complete attention toward me. I was not fighting his social (fake) life for a look or a gesture. The nice things that he did towards me and for me were (in my mind) because of love and not obligation. He cheated. I left. My mind was destroyed.
When the third came back into my life, my mind went wild. Anything and everything I could imagine and hope for was playing over and over in my head. A fantastic life of pleasure and security was what I mentally wove together. It was beautiful. And I held it tight so no one could see. I remember a few short times when he would help me weave those stories that I would give glimpses to those who would cherish them with me. The fantasy life I built for me and him was one of epic proportions. What I didn't know was that he was building on sand. He tore them down. I left. My heart was so bruised.
Then he came along, and the stories stopped. I thought perhaps my heart and mind were too hurt to make up stories that would never come true. But all there was...was silence. I realized with him I couldn't find anything to fix. I couldn't make up a fantastical relationship that was better than the reality I was living. It was a first. It was a shock. And for the last year, I look back and realize that I have been living the fantastical relationship that I always wanted. While in the midst of the pain from a broken fantasy, my mother once said, "If it hurts this bad, it's not worth having." J and I have had our moments. Some that had me ready to hang my head and kiss him goodbye. But I was used to leaving relationships that held a partner who didn't want to make it work. This one won't let the tapestry we have created together unwind. I am blessed, and my fantasy has finally become a reality.
When I got into my first relationship, I realized the fantasy relationships stopped. But then I realized they didn't stop they morphed. I could try to defend him and excuse him from the tears and the pain and the hurt heart, but I won't. While in the midst of those things, my mind would build imaginary stories of a perfect relationship with him. Ones in which he spent time with me; ones where he cherished our time; ones where he would laugh and hold me and tell me things I longed to hear. He didn't. I left. My mind was too tired to create anything.
When I got into my second relationship, I was too caught up to see that my survival mode was turned on. I was always trying to force someone to be okay with my relationship. It would be a while before I noticed the subtle hints of someone who was seeking elsewhere. The stories became those of complete attention toward me. I was not fighting his social (fake) life for a look or a gesture. The nice things that he did towards me and for me were (in my mind) because of love and not obligation. He cheated. I left. My mind was destroyed.
When the third came back into my life, my mind went wild. Anything and everything I could imagine and hope for was playing over and over in my head. A fantastic life of pleasure and security was what I mentally wove together. It was beautiful. And I held it tight so no one could see. I remember a few short times when he would help me weave those stories that I would give glimpses to those who would cherish them with me. The fantasy life I built for me and him was one of epic proportions. What I didn't know was that he was building on sand. He tore them down. I left. My heart was so bruised.
Then he came along, and the stories stopped. I thought perhaps my heart and mind were too hurt to make up stories that would never come true. But all there was...was silence. I realized with him I couldn't find anything to fix. I couldn't make up a fantastical relationship that was better than the reality I was living. It was a first. It was a shock. And for the last year, I look back and realize that I have been living the fantastical relationship that I always wanted. While in the midst of the pain from a broken fantasy, my mother once said, "If it hurts this bad, it's not worth having." J and I have had our moments. Some that had me ready to hang my head and kiss him goodbye. But I was used to leaving relationships that held a partner who didn't want to make it work. This one won't let the tapestry we have created together unwind. I am blessed, and my fantasy has finally become a reality.
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