Breaking up with someone felt a lot like firing someone from a job, except this time I was firing my boyfriend. It’s kind of sad that that’s how I describe it – that that’s the best analogy I could think of but it’s really just the nature of what I call my life. I have already fired 3 people from my work by the age of 20. At that time, I have never even kissed a guy, let alone break up with one. I have worked every Friday, Saturday, and Sunday nights since I was 16, do you honestly think I have a social life? So forgive me if my simile for breaking up sounds too… lady boss? I guess I don’t really feel bad about that. I like the reputation of being Alpha Female. It’s the reputation that I gained thanks to Mr. Darcy – because he was the alpha male and he valued my thoughts and made sure the world knew that I was his female counterpart. As I said before, he was  great for ego boost.

I had originally planned to write my relationship with T on here as the relationship progressed but one thing led to another and the next thing I knew, I was single again. So I’ll try to summarize it by only recounting the important and relevant parts. Most importantly, about what I have learned about myself and relationships as a whole.

I met T on September 4, 2016. I had originally hit him up on Tinder and he seemed approachable enough so we started talking. My first reaction to him was that he was a dork. Like major dork. But I didn’t want to judge someone based on that, so I responded to his every message and though the full attraction wasn’t there, I jumped on it and agreed on a date. I guess in retrospect, our entire relationship was like that.

I never felt ANY real attraction to him. Not once. In fact, I very often was annoyed of him. Dating him wasn’t my proudest moment for a lot of reasons. He simply wasn’t the type of man that I wanted my parents to meet, in other words, I wasn’t proud OF him. I also didn’t want to meet anyone in his life. Every time he invited me to a friend’s party I would decline by saying that I was busy with work (a safe excuse, worked like a charm every time). It sounds very bitchy of me but every time I talked to him, I felt like I was downgrading myself. The longer I stayed in that relationship, the more I left like a shitty person. I felt like I was using him, I was leading him on. I couldn’t deny it. I knew since week 2 that the best thing for me to do was break up with him.

But I just couldn’t do it. In my head, I didn’t want to hurt someone. I tried to convince myself that it was only because I have placed Mr. Darcy on a pedestal — like I built it for him, as tall as Mount Everest, and placed him at the very top, hot glued him in place so that no one could move him from the spot.

How was anyone going to amount to that? Of course it would be hard and it wouldn’t happen right away. So I told myself to keep T because eventually, little by little, I can tear down Mr. Darcy’s pedestal and I would finally be able to love someone else. T was that potential someone else. But it never happened.

T is probably one of the most understanding people I have ever met, but I think that was part of the problem. He “understood” everything. Every time I gave a bullshit excuse, he would say he understood. I could have literally asked him to jump off a bridge and he would have done it. And that was not at all attractive to me. In fact, I found myself constantly comparing him to Mr. Darcy and Mr. Darcy repeatedly won. Mount Everest had officially turned into Mount Olympus — he became Zeus and had become unaccessible to me. I got depressed. I cursed relationships, I cursed love, I spent Christmas day crying over a guy who was not my boyfriend. And I didn’t know how to move because Mount Everest was something I could climb but Mount Olympus was a place I can never travel. I was no longer able to stand beside Mr. Darcy because I had fallen that low(heh, maybe that’s why I call myself Persephone). And I knew it. And I panicked. And I shut down. My bulimia paid me a visit.

At this point, Mr. Darcy had already deleted me on every social media outlet, he was no longer talking to me, and quite obviously didn’t want anything to do with me. I honestly do not know why, but it’s what happened.

When I realized that I had stopped caring about myself, about my job, my future, and that I’ve been eating Wendy’s everyday for lunch and starving myself to death for dinner and starving myself even more for breakfast when the scale showed an extra pound that wasn’t there the day prior, I knew that T had to go ASAP. It wasn’t his fault, it was a fault of my own, of my unbelievably high standards, of my budding low self-esteem, and of Mount Olympus.

So I withdrew from him, saw him twice in December, and a few days before New Year, I avoided his kiss. I didn’t mean to but I think my body was so tired of pretending that it just did it automatically.

I dated T for over 3 months, but we never really talked because I really hated his voice and his jokes. So every time he talked, I’d just kiss him… made him shut up because unwanted sex was better than hearing him say something. I’m horrible, I know. I don’t deny it. I can’t. When I finally broke up with him, I felt so relieved and though I knew his heart broke, I felt great that I finally did something kind towards him.

I felt shitty for a few days, guilty even, but I never yearned for him. I learned that for me, relationships aren’t just about the romance. T was a romantic guy but I still couldn’t get butterflies while being with him. I realized that for me, friendship was the most important thing. I needed the playfulness and the comfort of a friendship before any real relationship could emerge. I also realized that I was dangerously in love with Mr. Darcy and that I shouldn’t jump into a new relationship until I’ve finally let him go. That should have been obvious but I’m dense as fuck.