Testaments - Fifteen

(Today's Testament is by Jessica from Everyday Adventures of Me in the City. It's a sad story of finding the one you love, losing them to someone else and learning how to pick up the pieces afterwards. Side note: I'm running low on Testaments, so if anyone is interested in participating in this series, like Jessica, please e-mail me! With that said, enjoy today's post!)

I've mentioned my ex-boyfriend Peter once before on my blog - he was the one who was a bit shy on "leading" when we would make out. Anyhow, I met Peter when I was 19 and a freshman in college. I was finally out of high school and could leave the person I was there behind. I was on my own, making new friends and finally living a new life.

When I first met Peter, I didn't really think anything of him. He was nice and tall and interesting. He was well-read, enjoyed movies and books and loved pop culture, like me. It didn't take long for me to develop a crush on him and then that turned into me thinking about him pretty much all the time. After a few rough starts, we started officially dating and I thought he was the "cheese to my macaroni." We would laugh and tell each other everything and even though I saw him a lot during the day between classes, there was always something new I wanted to share with him. I always wanted to hug him and kiss him and tell him I loved him and he was the same. I thought this was the guy for me and that after we dated through college, we would get married and have a family. At the time, admitting this was a huge step for me because I come from an a messy divorced family, which pretty much turned me off to marriage and on to “commonlaw marriage.”

Also around the time we started dating, I started contributing to our school’s literary journal and I found myself writing about our relationship and how much I loved this man and saw this entire life ahead of us, together. Now, looking back at those stories, I am shocked at how naive and in love I really was with him. Sometimes I can barely believe it was me who wrote that sappy shit.

Moving on, no matter how much I loved Peter, our relationship was never easy. There were constant struggles, stemming from the fact that he came from a happy, divorced family who was financially comfortable and the fact that he was smart, handsome and secure in who he is. At this time in my life, I was none of those things, but I thought that being around someone who was the opposite of me, would cause that security to rub off on me – which is misguided, I know. Before this period I’m about to talk about, we had broken up and worked things out once already and I knew when we got back together this time, that we would never be apart again – or so I thought.
After about six months of dating (for the second time), I became horribly insecure about a girl he worked with at school. They always hung out together, laughed together, did errands together and I knew in my heart that something was going on. He denied it but I didn't let it go. I was 19-years-old and so in love with someone for the first time that I didn't want to lose him even though he was slipping away right in front of me. Self-esteem has always been an issue for me too so I took it personally that I wasn’t enough for him because I loved him so much and he felt the need to “look elsewhere.”

Just before he left for a weekend retreat with his campus job, including the girl I was jealous of, he told me we should take a few days apart to see if we still belonged together. We were fighting all the time and at this point and I was having doubts about our relationship too so I agreed. When he came back on the following Sunday, I knew I wanted to still try to make this work. I went to tell him this and he told me he wanted to break up. Devastated, I asked why and he couldn't give me a straight answer. So I asked if something happened with this girl and when he still couldn't answer me, I knew the truth.

To no surprise, the next few weeks were awful. I cried and didn't call my parents because I felt like a failure. My dad, who was always suspicious of Peter to begin with, actually called my college to make sure I was still attending classes because I wouldn’t call him back. How could I? I felt awful because my dad was right and I couldn’t let myself admit that Peter was a jerk. Infidelity is another big issue for me – basically being that I can’t forgive it. I was cheated on and I felt like it was my fault. After we split, Peter and this girl continued to hang out but eventually that fizzled out too. Apparently despite their "weekend fun," when they came back, it never amounted to much more. Not long after I heard that his fling was over, he started coming around again, asking if we could be "friends," which always ended up with us kissing. Bad, I know!

Now, it kills me to say this, but I thought I could forgive him for the whole “other girl” thing. My dad and very close friends told me it was a mistake but I didn't believe them. Looking back, I didn't believe them because I was terrified deep down that if I lost Peter forever, I'd never find someone like him again and I would never love someone like that ever again either. I waited 19 years for this, did I want to gamble on waiting another 19 years? Hell no!

Of course, I never saw coming what happened next. Like it was never on the radar, but it should have been. Before the "metrosexual" trend was really defined, Peter definitely fit that mold. He was fun, well styled, loved shopping and I could talk to him about anything. No need for red flags, even if something he said in passing definitely should have been one.

So Peter and I were finally getting back on track, we're pseudo dating again (for the third time) and everything is great, I got my man! And I really thought I could get past the whole “other girl” incident. He apologized and he came back to me, I was lucky. Then he announced he was going to study overseas for a semester and I romantically started dreaming of visiting him in Paris, shopping, sightseeing, everything. Then two weeks before he left for Paris, Peter left me again but for good after meeting with another group of students who were also taking part in this study abroad program. This time when he left, he told me he wasn't in love with me anymore, he likely was never in love with me and that he didn't see me as the woman he loved anymore. Again, total devastation, like near soul-crushing.

So he left for Paris, I stayed behind and tried to pick up the pieces of my pride and self worth. My friends were dying to say “I told you so” and the rumors around our small college about me being a doormat to this guy three times were swirling. A few months after he left and I finally felt semi-normal again, my sorority sister delivered the final, crushing blow to our relationship. Turns out when he met up with his study abroad group just before he left me for good, he took a serious liking to someone in the program. The person Peter moved on with and who he met before we finally split was a...man. Suddenly, everything came into clear focus and I became the butt-end of a lot of additional teasing, which trust me, doesn't make a girl feel better. Not only was I a doormat but I was dating a guy who was gay, “OMG what a loser? Who doesn’t know that?”

As I mentioned, the signs were there, but I loved him so much that I didn’t put it together or didn’t see the red flags waving so proudly in my face.

When I heard that he and his boyfriend were coming back from France, I chickened out of having to see them right away and decided to study overseas myself for a semester, arranging it so that I wouldn't see him for a year. After Germany, I came back to the small school I started and met Peter at and when I saw him again, fortunately I felt nothing. And honestly, I haven't really felt anything for a guy since. It felt like when Peter left me for the final time, whatever I felt left with him. He is the only guy to this day I've ever loved and hopefully he won't be the last.

So that the story of how I met the supposed "love of my life" and was left twice, once for a woman and finally for a man. It’s been hard to write about this again, picking at a scab that I don’t talk about often but still burns below the surface. It’s probably pathetic to blame Peter for my current relationship status and my fear of being close to someone again. I was 19, in love and got my heart shattered by the same person three times, time to move on right? I guess I’m just too soft at heart and after all the whispers and “I told you so’s” I just shut down and never opened up again. Now, I'm much stronger than I was then and skeptical too, but deep down, I still believe that that flutter will come back some day, just like it did when Peter was around.