Even The Strongest Girls Can Get Their Hearts Broken

I remember how we first met. We kissed on the light up floor and you told me that I was going home with you and your flatmate laughed because I was so young. I was so taken by you. You showed me pictures of your cat and I told you about my family. You drove me home and I told you how excited I was, because my mother had just sent me cookies. You know what came next.

There was that one night, when we told each other’s secrets. I think you were going to ask me to be your girlfriend, but you didn’t. I was so scared that you wouldn’t want to be with a broken girl like me. Eventually you did ask, and I was so excited that I ran out and told your friends, and my friends, and my mother at 2 in the morning.

Then we were drinking with your friends, and I couldn’t keep up. We fought because you thought I was mad that you weren’t paying attention to me. I shouted at you that I loved you, and you said it back with tears in your eyes. You swore you loved me more.

Time went on. At the ball we were drunk on nasty wine, we were golden, we ran around telling people that one day we’d get married. Your friends thought I was such a good girl for letting you do your own thing, and not harassing you with my presence. How dare I behave like a girlfriend. That night, we talked about Julia and Cooper, and where we would raise them, and how perfect our life was going to be.

Summer came and broke my heart. I cried so hard at the thought of leaving you behind while I went home. You cried too, into my hair, and we held each other, swearing that we were so in love and nothing would break us apart. I was so sure that one day I’d be telling you “I do”. We lay on the beach looking into each other’s eyes and I had never felt anything so incredible before.

We made it through, and I came back. Things felt different. Your grandma died and I held you for hours. Did my hand cut your cheek as I wiped away your tears, my love? Because I can’t get my head around how you could call me your rock and then leave.

I would spend hours making myself into the perfect girl for you and you could barely even look at me. You stopped paying attention. You wouldn’t laugh at my jokes anymore – you’d shake your head and tell me to shut up. You were embarrassed when I was dancing and singing along.

I did everything you asked. I kept your secrets, even that one that ate me up inside. You didn’t like that I would want to see you at parties, so I stopped going. I’d lay in bed waiting for you so I could make you food and warm you up when you got home. I offered your friends a place to stay. I was dying inside, yet for your friends I put on the Perfect Girlfriend show and tried desperately to make them like me. I was so desperate for them to like me.

I even lay on that table for you, and had rods slipped into my arm. It will make sex better, you said. I opened my legs and my lips and my cheeks for you. You touched me in my most private places – you know the ones. You said I was such a strong girl. Do you know what happens when you take a strong girl and throw all that she is, back in her face?

I tried to tell you what was going on with me. You didn’t listen, it was all about you and how I ruined your night. I guess I knew it was over when I was stuck out of town and you didn’t care. But still, I tried harder. You left anyway – three times, you left me crying in my bed. And of course, at the end of it all, I’m the nasty girl who made you feel guilty. Stupid me. Why should you feel guilty for leaving me on the day that I told you I thought I was depressed?

It’s a strange feeling, to hate someone as much as I hate you while simultaneously loving them. Don’t get me wrong, sweetheart; I don’t hate you for leaving me. I just hate you for leaving me hanging on. I hate you for coming back and sleeping with me again. I hate you for the way you spoke to me when I saw you that one day. I hate you for the look you gave me when you saw me kiss another man. I hate you for pushing me on the dance floor – that same light up floor where we first kissed. I hate you for coming to my house that night and sleeping with me again. I remember how you slapped my face and told me that she was prettier than me, and I loathe you with all of my soul for that. I hate you for doing it yet again the next morning and then leaving me there to cry, as if I’m some clingy Tinderella you picked up off the street. I hate you for acting like you don’t care. I hate that you were so hung up on your rotten ex, but you don’t give a damn about me. I hate that you still walk around with that watch on your wrist. I hate that I still love you – strong girls don’t cry over boys like you.

I guess I should thank you. Thank you for the good times, the singing competitions, the walks, for making me feel so loved, even if it was only for a little while. The next time I’m lying on a beach, it won’t be your eyes I’m looking into. And it won’t be you I will one day say “I do” to. I’ll be raising Julia and Cooper with some other guy, and my life will be perfect. You’re right, I am a strong girl. To the boy who broke my heart; thank you for showing me that.