As I say goodbye to my last college apartment and prepare to transition back to living with my parents, I can’t seem to express the mix of sadness and excitement I feel.
I am excited that I hope I will never have random roommates again. That I will never room with someone I thought was my friend, but turned her back on me as soon as she got new friends and a weirdly old boyfriend that lives with us. That I will never have to see people using my dishes. Or the trash overflowing. And no one is judging me for singing as loud as I want in my own bedroom.
But still, this apartment holds so many memories for me. What I would call an iconic Halloween party. Sleepovers with my closest friends. But one memory stands out, the one that holds space in this apartment: my junior year of college relationship. Two days before I moved into my apartment, was when I started talking to him and three weeks before moving out he broke up with me. What started as something fun and flirty became late-night sleepovers and emergency phone calls. From when I had a stomach bug and was throwing up all night, he came over and held my hair. (Eventually, he even had to rescue my car from the side of the road; it is a long story.) To nights in cuddling and talking. When my grandma passed, I couldn’t sleep alone. He was here with me, in this apartment. It all became real.
It all goes back to my article I Made Him A Spotify Playlist…So Yeah, I’m Screwed and yeah, I was screwed. I fell hard and fast. And all those insecurities woven through that article would come back to haunt me. I once wrote that being emotional doesn’t make you weak, but it makes you real. I wish I still believed that. Instead, I learned that vulnerability hands people a weapon if they choose to use it, and he did. “I feel as if the people I look to never understand, instead, treat me like I am a burden.” I didn’t realize I was writing about my future self. That is what I became: his burden. My grief. My sadness. My emotions were always going to be too much for him to hold.
However, even though it feels inevitable to blame myself, I am trying not to. I know my own emotions are just connected to his own insecurities. I know he loved me. And let me say, I don’t hate him. Part of me wishes I could. But I don’t think I ever will. He showed me what love meant beyond that teenage fantasy. What building a life with somebody could look like. He cared about me. It sadly just wasn’t enough for him to stay.
The one thing my two ex-boyfriends had in common: I was both of their first girlfriends. And now I know I don’t want to be anybody else’s test trial. The girl they use to figure out what they do and don’t like. Both of my ex-boyfriends told me they would never want to be in a long distance relationship. They had never even given long distance a shot, but I wasn’t enough to try. I want to be the girl you would go long distance for. The girl you want to spend your vacations with. The girl who doesn’t have to beg for your attention. I no longer want to be the stepping stone to the girl of their dreams. I want to be the dream girl.
And so yeah, this time wasn’t different, and I did delete the playlist. But don’t worry, because my breakup one is even better.