College / Relationships / The Other Woman

Another “The Other Woman” post

I need to officially move on. Moving on is the only way that I know that I’ll find what I am looking for. If he’s happy, fine. I want him to be happy. But his actions and words don’t make him come off as a happily married man. I’ve put my life on hold for him for a long time. Yeah, I’ve had other relationships. It’s not that I haven’t “moved on” but, any time I was dating, he walked back into my life and crushed it all. It’s the Ultimate Carrie and Big relationship. You know, that line in the finale when she says to Big, “What do you have some kind of radar, Carrie might be happy it’s time to swoop in and shit all over it??” That’s exactly how this works. Just when I get my life back on track and I’m focused again and doing well, he texts or calls. I know I’m partly to blame for this continuing for so long, but I’m not the one calling him asking him personal questions and if he misses me. He’s the one that initiates it all. I’m the one who falls for it.

Monday is his birthday. The last time he and I talked, I was telling him I had to think of something good to celebrate. That was two and a half months ago. Every time I start thinking about him and all the conversations we had, I shame myself all over again. How could I be so stupid? How did I let myself fall all over again into his trap? I guess that every time I talked to him, I hoped that this was the time all of him cared and all of him loved me; that I wouldn’t get just half his love anymore.

He said he would be in town the last two weeks of May. One week down, I guess. When I’m driving around town running errands or heading off to class, sometimes I think I see his face in the other cars. Sometimes I wonder if I’ll run into him and I imagine what I’ll do if that happens. Right now all I want to do is slap him hard across the face for leading me on and telling me he loves me. Lately Sunny Sweeney’s song “From a Table Away” has been on repeat. It’s not that I’m feeling sorry for myself… okay, maybe I am.. but I feel like in some way I’m mourning the “what might have been.” When that song plays in my car, I turn it up loud ,and I yell the lyrics out. Then I think about all the conversations he and I had, all the intimate things we said to each other, and I feel stupid all over again and I get angry all over again.

Oh jeez, how did I get myself in this position. I mean, I could technically say I have “dibs” on him because I saw him and met him first. I could say I was his girlfriend first and that we never fought about anything while we were together like you two do. I could say I wasn’t the one who cheated on him (twice) while he was overseas. I could say I wasn’t the one who, again while he was overseas, spent all his money on shoes, of all things. (BTW, what kind of person does that to their Army husband? They’re already going through a lot; they’re helpless in a relationship from all the way over there.) In my mind, I compare myself to her and I know I’m the better choice. It just sucks to be the one to know that everything would work perfectly between us if he gave it a chance. But I’m not going to ask him to do that. I’ve finally realized that he needs to be the one to do that on his own; to realize he’s unhappy enough to want/need to change things. Of course, the last thousand times we talked, he said “it’s different this time.” (Cue hating myself all over again in 3…2…1.) What girl hasn’t heard that line before?

The other night at dinner, Lori told me that by obsessing over what he’s doing, I’m missing out on any other potential boyfriends. She then proceeded to tell me that our waiter was pretty cute. I know she’s right, but it’s hard to “look around” when I’m feeling so crappy about myself. It’s hard not to take anything he does as a symbol of my own self worth. Half of me thinks, okay, I’m not worth a divorce. The other half of me, the logical me, says no, this is his problem.

But you know, it just really sucks. Facing the realizations sucks.

On the plus side, I’m getting a lot of work done early at school and through my internship.

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