We’d been together for five years and three months.
He is (was) my first boyfriend, which I know is strange when you’re 21 – to not have had a boyfriend before. Or a shag. Or a kiss. So yes, he was my first everything. I suppose he always will be my first everything, although that’s a weird and hard thing to think.
We were together for five years and three months. We met online, we have four dates. We kissed in front of a hen party, and I remember having to go to the loo and tell myself that it was okay to have my first ever kiss in front of seven drunk women. We kissed and we stayed in that pub for an hour and then I went home (alone) and we saw each other twelve hours later.
So fast forward five years. And holy shit, FIVE YEARS is such a long amount of time. In that time, I’ve started to advance in my career. I’ve passed my driving test. I’ve bought a house. I’ve adopted my two beautiful fur babies. I’ve done those things off my own back, and largely alone – but more on that later.
I come from a friend group of very settled down twenty-somethings. Everyone has been with their partners for several years since they met either at college or uni. Some are married or engaged. Some are happy, some aren’t. And when you’re also somewhere within that demographic, that’s a smugly wonderful place to be. When you’re not, that’s a shittily sad place to be.
So, to the dumping itself. Four months ago we had an argument in a public place and he decided he saw me differently. Three months ago, we had a blissful holiday to celebrate our five years together. Two weeks ago, we had an argument that changed everything. One week ago, we had a discussion and agreed to try again. Today he dumped me.
I’m not a particularly emotional person. I feel quite numb sometimes, and I only tend to cry in confrontational situations, or at films. This was neither of those, and holy fuck did I cry. I cried so much, and it was like the depth of that sadness just kept going. And like I couldn’t allow myself to breathe, because whenever I did the sobbing would start again.
It’s painful to cry, both physically and emotionally. I don’t know how to handle the lack of control I had, and the lack of ability to move from my position on the floor while he moved a picture of us away from my eye line.
It was a picture from a distractingly happy time.
He was kind. He hugged me, and kissed my forehead. Once of his own volition, and once because I leaned up to his lips, because that’s what I would always do when he was leaving. Normally when he would leave a restaurant table to go to the loo, this time because he was leaving my house for potentially the last time.
We don’t live together, and we never have. Is that a blessing? Is that a sign that maybe we weren’t a real couple within the framework our friends provide, because we haven’t taken so many of the steps they have?
I asked him to leave his keys. As he attempted to remove the two keys from his key chain, it became too unbearable. That finality, that gesture that he would no longer be able to independently access my home which is filled with little pieces of him and our relationship.
I texted seven friends. I waited seven minutes and called my mother who came within two hours.
But he’d still left.
I intend to write this blog daily. I want to chart what I do from here, and how I feel and what my next steps are. I want a record of who I am day to day, and where I am. I want to look back at this one day, either when I’ve found my someone perfect, or when I’m next dumped, and know that I could and did succeed.
Well fuck, now I just need to do that.