The end…

Every time a relationship ends, I’m stuck in a strange head space. In those next moments I’m convinced I’m going to die alone in someone’s rental property. (No pets, though. I don’t see 80 cats in my vision.) Dramatic, I know.

I’m devastated. But, it’s more because I lost. Don’t judge me; hear me out. I’m a great mate. (I struggled with using girlfriend in that sentence, but mate seemed more appropriate.) I am all in. I am the perfect woman for him. Whoever the him happens to be. I am engaging. I’m a nurturer. I make time for him. I make him important. I fit him into my life. I am a chameleon, and I conform to his needs.

So, how are you gonna leave me? I should have gotten tired of being the winds beneath your wings and left you! This isn’t fair.

Eventually, I pick myself up off the floor. Then I text all the people I love looking for compliments on how great I am. And then, I buy something ridiculous… During a break up in ’08, I acquired every peep toe patent leather Jessica Simpson pump. I still have them today, but I don’t remember his name.

Of course, there’s a follow up blog assessing how wrong ALL of my behaviors are. But, this one was only supposed to be about the end.

And, scene… XOXO

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