I found that once Aaron and I had officially broken up several things happened. First, my friends started to avoid me for fear of having to be in the same room with my ex-boyfriend. Another thing that occurred (and this could be due to the sick nature of my brain) is that it became really imperative to me to maintain a friendship with my ex. Before people starting moaning, and rolling their eyes you have to understand the circumstances.
Aaron owed me money, a lot of it. He had been out of work for the better part of our relationship and I had paid rent, electricity, gas, water, sewage, and groceries all on a teacher’s salary. Supporting myself on this salary is tight, living expenses and student loans claim most of my paycheck—but I would have some extra money to do the things I loved … getting my hair done, buying makeup, clothing, and the occasional night out. However, supporting myself and Aaron on my salary was nigh impossible. The little savings I had disappeared and I found myself putting aside bills that could wait another month, just so I could buy food to eat. Hello Top Ramen.
I found myself now wanting to maintain a friendship now because I did genuinely care about Aaron, but also in hopes that he would feel a sense of responsibility to pay me back. I had stressed myself out, cried myself to sleep, bit my fingernails to the quick all to find ways to support us … now that we were broken up Aaron felt vindicated in the fact that my little savings was gone and bill collectors had started to harass me.
Hence the need to be on friendly terms, maybe, just maybe he’d feel the need to toss me a bone.
While Aaron is financial indebted to me, that isn’t the only reason I want to be friends. I admit it, I love him. While this is true, I know that to maintain a healthy sense of self I cannot and will not be with him. I can’t. Our relationship was toxic. Maybe that is why I am still drawn to him. Whatever the cause, I have to continually remind myself of how he treated me and that that isn’t what I deserve in a relationship—regardless of the insecurities that still weight heavily on my shoulders after my divorce—I am good enough, smart enough, pretty enough … I am good enough.
I close my eyes and say this over and over and over to myself. I am good enough. I am good enough. I am good enough. It’s like a mantra that I have to keep repeating to myself, just so that I will believe it.
I am, I am, I am, I am.
For now I am going to enjoy time with my friends. I don’t know if it’s necessarily good that I am using them as a distraction, but it’s what I need at this point and Delilah has invited me to a volleyball tournament. I don’t play, but it will be something fun to distract me from my recent heartbreak.