It’s not love

Somewhere between having my head down the toilet and getting home at 3:00am I managed to unblock my ex on Whatsapp, declare my love for him and then invite him to my house. I don’t remember anything after being thrown out of the club, but apparently told my friend in the taxi home that I wanted to be with him again and the only thing stopping me from being with him is the fear of what other people will think.

When my ex arrived at my house I spent 10-15minutes just crying in his arms. I asked him why he hurt me; told him that I couldn’t find happiness anymore and that I was tired of trying. Then I threw up all over the floor and passed out in my bed. He was still here when I woke up, holding my hand and watching me with concern. We slept together, but when he said ‘I love you’ I had to stop. I couldn’t say it back. Suddenly I was realizing that sex is all it was. There was no sense of intimacy, no familiarity in it, I could close my eyes and picture any others mans face but his.

I’ve spent the day trying to make sense of the events of last night. How did I get drunk so quickly? Why did I contact my ex? Am I so damaged that I can only seek comfort in the source of the pain?

It’s amazing that even, after our history, at 3:00am he came to my side. I like the idea of being with him, but the reality of it isn’t as shiny. The truth is he hurt me beyond repair and I am afraid of him – not of what everyone else will think. Yes, there are aspects of my life where I could be happier but I am not crippled by the pain. I have so much to work through, including figuring out my feelings for him.

What a mess.

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