15 years

*disclaimer* this is painful. damn painful. I’ve had a damn painful year and a half and this week has taken the icing on the cake. I’m not one to typically wallow in self pity. I’m not asking for pity. I’m damn sure not asking for advice. I guess this is one of those times where I just need to get something off my chest. For those who know me personally, I’ve not published this on facebook for a reason. Please respect that. While the internet is a very open place, my little blog here is a little less known about than that is within my personal circle. And if anything on my blog is personal, this is.*

15 years ago was half my lifetime ago. It seems like so long in the past and in reality it is. I was taken back 15 years this week to one of the hardest things I’ve ever experienced when dejavu struck and it happened again. 15 years ago I was 15 years old and I met this boy, not an uncommon thing to do. He was funny, he was smart, he was kind, he was thoughtful, he was super cute, and he looked at me the same way I looked at him. We struck up a relationship as teenagers do. There was some on and off, as teenagers do, but it was good. It was sweet, it was innocent. It was based in an amazing and beautiful friendship. It was clear from the get go that this boy was different and what was between us was different. And then it ended. He had to go back to his childhood love he told me. I was 17 when it ended and was devastated. I still remember the feeling. But every teenager has to go through this, I suppose. There was a traumatic moment for me later on when I knew for sure that any possibility of a romantic future between us was done, but eventually even that pain subsided. We remained very close friends however. He was best friend, and I was his. I told you, this.boy.was.different.

I moved on. I met the most awesomest of awesome fellows. I eventually married this fellow, and it was great. We had a very happy marriage. I lost touch with that first boy. It always pained me to not have him in my life anymore. My husband knew of my close relationship with him and knew I was hurt to not have contact with him. But I focused on my marriage. We had a lot of fun. My husband was an amazing guy. He was sweet, romantic, thoughtful, handsome. Anything any girl could want. Notice the use of the past tense? Our marriage ended a little over a year ago. It was no one’s fault. It just was what it was. I think we both felt the tension rising. We remain good friends and share joint custody of our dog. I have no hard feelings and I hope he doesn’t either.

Along comes this little voice on the other end of the phone one little afternoon. I kid you not that my heart skipped a beat. It was that boy. That boy from 15 years ago. Over 7 years had passed since we last spoke. We spent hours on the phone catching up. Hours in single phone calls. Our first reunion visit lasted way too long while we laughed and sobbed over things that happened between us that we both needed to get out in the air. I felt like I was seeing and hearing a ghost. A funny, smart, kind, thoughtful, and still cute as a button ghost. You know you are best friends with someone when you can go 7 years without speaking and then pick things up right where you left off.

Over the last year that boy and I have done a lot of talking and some visiting. My heart crept back up. Could this really be real this time? We hashed and hashed. I held my heart tight to me for a long time until I felt satisfied that things might really work out. We talked about long term plans. Nothing quickly, but eventually. He came to visit with my parents again for the first time in 15 years. We had planned a little vacation over the Thanksgiving weekend to celebrate my birthday. I was the happiest I had been in a long time.

And then this week that came crashing down with a severe case of dejavu. Once again I was 17 years old and hearing the “it’s not you, it’s me” speech, except this time it’s about his son. He says he has to make another shot at a relationship with his ex for the sake of his son because the only way he can be with him is to be with her. That’s not love that’s blackmail. And believe me I told him that. I doesn’t really matter what I said or say. It’s a repeat of my teenage years all over again. But just like a bone that has been broken, my heart was weaker in that spot marked with his name and it broke easier and more deeply. I let myself be taken in. I allowed this to happen.

Where does this leave me? Less than a week before my 30th birthday with a canceled hotel reservation and very puffy eyes. I am once again picking up the pieces of a life that I have cracked.