Written by Oh Lovely Whit,
You are a hot mess. Like that time you dropped a slice of pepperoni pizza on your new cotton pants. Right. In. The. Crotch. (Holy hell that was hot! And messy!) That is you right now: your pants covered in red sauce with mild burns on your sensitive parts.
Hot. Mess.
You never thought you would end up in this situation. In your heart of hearts, you believed that Aaron was “the one,” the “love of your life,” your “soul mate,” and partner for all eternity.
Now it’s obvious that you were living in an alternate reality. Some scientists believe that there are infinitely many universes co-existing alongside this one. Maybe in one of those other universes, you and Aaron end up with the fairytale relationship with 2.5 kids and the big house with very high-paying jobs.
Unfortunately, that is not this universe.
Aaron keeps hurting you; you keep hurting him. It is a terrible cycle. Both of you are trying to protect yourselves and in order to do that, you are hurting each other. It feels like all of the love, caring, and kindness from the past two and a half years has disappeared. What has happened to you both? This isn’t you, Whit. You don’t act like this, yelling and screaming in the middle of the hallway at Aaron. Who is that person? You don’t even recognise yourself anymore.
Granted, Aaron did try to bring his new girlfriend over to our house. Without telling you. We are still living together for fuckssake! No wonder you erupted in the hallway like Mount Vesuvius. You two broke up a month ago and he already has a new girlfriend who he is madly in love with.
“She understands me like you never did.”
“She is so similar to me, we have so much in common.”
“I can talk to her about anything.”
And the one that made you spew like the fiery, tempestuous, civilization-ending volcano:
“I love her. I want to show her my world.”
Excuse me? Your world? This is OUR world! OUR house with OUR cats and OUR furniture. No, you cannot bring her into our house. No, she can’t meet our cats. No, you can’t cook dinner with her. WHAT? She’s waiting outside in the car and wants to come inside?! No, I bloody damn don’t want to meet her!
Never before in my life have I had to fight so hard for myself, to protect myself from a new girlfriend invader. And it was not pretty. (There was no kind-hearted, generous Robin Hood here; I channeled my inner King Leonidas from 300, screaming “This is Sparta!” and then jump kicked that girl into a bottomless pit of nothingness. Booyah.)
You are a good woman, Whit. But, it is amazing how people can act when they are in pain. It’s sad. It makes you sad to think that this is what it has come to. You need to accept that he is never going to move out of the house because he is incapable of taking initiative on his own. (Remember the poor dating habits you started early on? They are now biting you in the ass.) So, it is up to you to make it happen. You need to move out and move on. He needs it, too. You both need to be free to heal and grow from this experience. You can’t keep pulling each other back into the past; it’s not fair on either one of you.
You loved him so deeply for so long. And now it’s over.
You are better than this. Better than the yelling and the pain and the hurt.
You can be better.
You deserve better.
It will get better.
Be. Better.
Whit Munroe 