There was a night where my ex (we’ll call him Brett) invited me to hang out with him and his male friends during the Superbowl. Super fun right? As an 18-year-old, senior in high school, dating a junior in college this DID sound amazing. I rushed over to the frat boy apartment, expecting a great Sunday filled with Budlight, pretending to give a shit about football and a fantastic Beyonce halftime show. I got all three of my wishes and was thoroughly happy, but when the guys decided to order a stripper at 9pm I figured it was time to leave.
After easily being convinced to stay (I was convinced to stay out late and drink more? Shocker) I chugged beer, anxiously picked at my split ends and I watched a girl get naked in a cliché college apartment.
*I know you can picture the apartment now. You know, the one that consists of two couches that don’t remotely match, empty cans of draft beer that had been there for weeks and a poster of Kate Upton half naked? That one. ….. Actually, it sounds a lot like where I lived in college too*
Regardless I was panicking. Hear me out, I wasn’t anxious because we were looking at a beautiful women’s perfectly sized breasts, I was anxious because I knew who I was dating.. and the person I was dating was not a very nice human.
To make an already long story short, there were 5 men, 1 stripper and one flat chested me. Brett was loving every second of this while the rest of the SINGLE men had collectively decided that this was an odd situation and didn’t engage. If I were a single man, I probably would’ve been a Brett but who am I to judge. It only took 30 minutes for Brett to go into his room with her essentially forgetting I was there. There isn’t anything worse than that knot in your throat, having to pretend everything is “chill” but begging yourself not to cry. One would’ve thought I had enough self-respect to get up and excuse myself for the night, but not my insecure ass. After around 5 minutes (what can I say, Brett didn’t tend to last long) of pure panic and listening to the lovely moans coming from his room, he came out with his mouth in a smile and his eyes on me.
Everyone left and Brett decided to tell me the details of their orgasms. “You can’t possibly be mad, we were all just having fun!” I wanted to be the “cool” girlfriend; I’ll drink a beer with your friends, watch sports and let you cum with other girls while I wait. Sounds like a dream I’m sure but frankly, if that’s what you’re wanting your dream girl to let you do, date your best friend. I felt completely empty. If I hadn’t felt ugly and useless before I had at this point and I was letting a guy who couldn’t find my clit dictate that. This is where the relationship was damaged for good but don’t worry, we dated for 2 years after.
Now I’m not the best girlfriend in the world, don’t worry I haven’t forgotten that. I will make you watch movies you don’t want to watch, I cry way too often, I will pout for an hour if you say the wrong thing and I won’t let you fuck other girls while you date me. I have extreme self-hatred issues and it fucking shows, (especially when I ask “do I look okay?” for a third time). The difference is because of that, I don’t date. I’m not the biggest saint in the world but no one deserves to be cheated on.
That night I was extremely weak, I still am weak..but that isn’t the point of this specific post, the point is that I missed him for a long LONG time. Why? Because nostalgia is a lying bitch. It’s like a bad cold; You may think it’s gone and you’ve finally gotten rid of it but suddenly, you’ll cough. Weeks after we broke up, my first real heartbreak, I found myself missing a man that I hadn’t even met. I thought about the 3 good days we had in our entire relationship and It made no sense. I completely forgot about this story and the numerous other horrible ones that made me feel like my skin was crawling. My heart would hurt when thinking about moments he made me feel good and all the cute romantic times we had. The absolutely adorable part about this (please note my sarcasm) was that there were none. I mean that’s why we decided to end it, right?
Why do our heads do that? Make us believe something was a lot better than it was. Make us want to go back into time and relive situations that we clearly wanted to get out of. I find this damaging and I also find it to be the reason why couples tend to get back together after a 3rd break up. This is the type of nostalgia that says “it was better then” and it’s the type that makes you want to go back to somewhere with someone that wasn’t very nice. I’m writing this so I can read it again if I ever miss him, because it will happen. Brett was a bitch but this bitch named Nostalgia is the bigger bitch that tells me otherwise. I say nostalgia can go to hell because I know the respect I deserve and frankly, I should have at least have been invited to join Brett and the stripper.
trying to be someone i read about 