Ok so I'm not 100% sure whether I am happy to be a blogger or I have hit rock bottom. On the one side I am happy to have something to do. I am happy to finally verbalize my story, even though the right people will probably never read this. But then on the other side my life is just lonely and boring and this is the only thing I have to do with my time now.
Whatever the reason for my crap being aired to the world, hopefully someone will read this and feel some what enriched in having done so.
My story starts in a sickening cliche way. With, of course, a broken heart. Men are scum...the whole nine yards. I have only ever been in two serious relationships and in both situations my love was extremely one-sided. With the first I was cheated on and emotionally beat down on the regular. That one lasted about four years. The day I broke up with him was one of those rare days when the world feels like its at your feet. I remember driving in my car in late spring. The sun was shining and the clouds were smiling like my friends. I had no trouble unpacking my things and adjusting to my new apartment. Life had unfolded into a happy road of stress-free, me-loving existence.
During this time I lived all by my lonesome in a fourth story sprawling apartment in the semi-ghetto. I was an independent happy woman who only had to worry about myself. I slept around and partied every night with my best friend. I could use men easily because I held no affection for commitment after the nightmare of a relationship I had just left.
Then started to take guitar lessons with a man I'd known my whole life. I tried to stay out of a relationship but in the end I fell absolutely in love with him. I still absolutely love him. We got engaged sometime last year before I left to go to Italy. Then things happen...and before you know it I'm coming back from a trip to New York only to empty my things out of our mutual apartment.
I spent a long few weeks slowly unpacking the bags at my mother's house. And now here I am. 23, fresh out of college, alone, and living with my mother. I think about my ex fiancee at least twice a day. Trying to forget the way his smile looks, or the way he laughs. But that is neither here nor there. It is time to move on. Time to use this experience to become a better person. To grow and learn. If this had happened a couple of years ago I would have drowned myself in the affection of men. Using them and never calling them back. But this time will be different. So I propose this.... 90 days of celibacy. No sexual contact with men in any way shape or form. I need to get over my ex and find the love for myself again. And in order to do this I need to cut the temptation out all together.
It hasn't been easy so far. I've been known to be quite the wicked woman. My ex fiancee is the only man I've every truly behaved for effortlessly. I love him. But anyway, in my wilder days I was known to break a heart, or two (or three!). I've been misbehaving alot lately and that needs to end. I stay in contact with my first ex...which we will call Asshole....and we started hanging out again after my colossal break up with Mr. Perfect. Asshole assumed that it was destiny that I returned to him alone....puke....I think that deep down inside I just needed someone to tell me that I was great. And he is certainly good for that. If I can say nothing else about him I can say that he truly worships me. All the time I wish that Mr. Perfect would feel that way, not Asshole.
But anyway, a few weeks ago I slipped up huge and had sex with Asshole. Total, total mistake. I was lonely without Mr. Perfect. So then Asshole thought we were going to get back together and I didn't know how to tell him I was kinda using him. Ok and for this next part you cant judge me...so then I kind of asked out Assholes best friend. Witchy Woman!! I don't know what got into me!!! I guess I just have no qualms about getting what I want. But Asshole found out and now I feel really guilty about it. So now its 90 days our bust! I need to stay away from men if I'm gonna have any moral fiber left.
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