still healing wounds and battle scars.

My head was screaming at me: "leave! Get out and never look back!" but my heart was stuck on love. He was my First love.

He was my poison. I knew it, but I found it easier to be in the relationship if neither of us spoke of the obvious. Not out loud, and definitely not to each other. It got to a point where we even had a fighting routine. On Monday He did something stupid. I got angry. We exchanged nasty remarks. He would not speak to me for 24hrs. He would buy me something nice. I accepted. He apologized. I melted. By Sunday we were good again. But sure enough, Monday would be back, and the process would start all over again. My friends told me it wasn't healthy, and I’m sure his friends said the same things, but I could not bring myself to leave. My head was screaming at me: "leave! Get out and never look back!" but my heart was stuck on love. He was my First love. And until now, I thought that was what love was supposed to look and feel like. At times it would hurt, and at times it wouldn't.

It took three years for what I had convinced myself was a "loving" relationship to result in me and my first EX. One night, our anniversary to be exact, we were to meet at the restaurant where we had our first date to celebrate three years of a relationship, tumultuous as it was. I arrived early, went there straight after work, took a seat at our reserved table and ordered a glass of red wine to pass time as I awaited his arrival. 4 glasses later, my waiter came to me and asked me if I would like to move to the bar, it has been a couple of hours and they have to seat more guests. I looked at him as he spoke and never answered. Even if I wanted to, I could not say a word. It felt like everything came up to my throat and then got stuck there. Perhaps he saw it on my face, or felt sorry for me, or saw a tear run down my cheek, but after a few minutes of silence, my waiter simply touched my shoulder and said, "I'll give you some more time". Soon after he walked away, I picked up my clutch, left money on the table, and exited the restaurant. I think, at that moment, my brain finally got through to my heart. Or maybe, my heart was to broken to fight the facts. But, I finally repeated the dreadful words out loud and into his voice mail; "this is no longer healthy for you or me. I can't do this anymore. We’re done."

I wish the breakup was simple, quick and easy, but it wasn't. After a nasty argument and senseless excuses, he cried and I cried and we swore to never speak to each other. The pain was unbearable. There were days I though I would not make it. My lungs were not taking in enough oxygen and each breath was heavy and calculated. For weeks I walked around feeling this large butcher knife in my chest and it was no one's fault but my own that it rested there. I should have known better. I had all the signs and signals. I was blinded by something that was not even real. Alas, as time continued to progress, as it surely does, the knife got loose and eventually fell out. And I begun to sew together the two broken pieces left behind. Somehow I was able to live in a world that was now home to me and my first ex.


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