It was like being sucker punched. The air left the room, and I was in free fall. Over the past several months I have been trying, without success, to be friends with an ex. I’ve devoted my past few blogs to the experience. I thought that if I could overcome the issues of the past, resolve my latent feelings, that we’d get to turn back the clock to before he solidified his place on the ex-list.
I had convinced myself each time that it would be different, that he had changed. Over half a decade had passed since we were involved. We’d both, on the surface, moved on with our lives. And yet, we found ourselves still enamored. Rather, I can only speak for myself. He still had a pull over me. I fell back into old habits, my walls and guard were down. With him, it always was. Easy. I was naive and trusting. I thought nothing of his actions in the past that had led to our initial parting of ways. He’d caused a fracture in my life that took me some time to overcome. And yet, all these years later I mistakenly thought that I was strong enough to endure an attempt at being friends.
It’s hard not to be jaded, to feel stupid and humiliated. I placed my trust in the wrong person and was callously exited from the friendship with little more than a “yep” when I asked him if he was sure. I used that as the opportunity, albeit completely unexpected given his consistent contact, to get off of the roller coaster once and for all. I had again felt like prey. He toyed with me until he grew weary of his game. I’d been sucked into his Machiavellian charade. What disappoints me most is that I had trusted him again, I’d finally believed that we could friends, that we could break free from the shackles and the mistakes of the past. And thus, my lament. Broken-hearted and tired, watching as time washes over the initial acuteness of pain.