I remember how hard it was for me to get through the day, the pain eating me up inside, my OCD only making it worse. I had yet again been abandoned by a man that i had thought would be a major part of my life forever, and one that I was deeply and truly in love with. The night of the break up I laid in bed and wailed and cried and thrashed, my mother and my sister by my side comforting me as best they could; my mother stroking my hair after turning the lights out like she used to do when i was a little girl. I felt like my heart had been shattered and thrown to the winds.
Work was so hard as well. Having to keep it together, pretending that nothing was wrong when so many people could see right through me, but chose to say nothing. Which was a good thing, because me cracking at work, especially with that was not a good idea. There were a few moments when I had to stuff my hand in my mouth and hold myself to keep from screaming.
Slowly it got easier, for the most part. It wouldn't hurt as much to think of him, to look at his profile or our photos together. But then he needed to bring a few things to me and i just HAD to touch him and to breath him in... one last time. And GOD did it hurt, did it bring the hurt right back, to have him so close, but to not be able to kiss him like i wanted, to have to settle for my nose buried in his neck one last time.
But with the help of friends, family, and yes a therapist, things got better day by day. I could listen to the aforementioned song and remember the good times, and not want to curl up in a dark corner and hide for the rest of the day. I could look at our pictures, and remember the good times goofing off in the UC at FAU, ballroom, spending the weekend with him at his apt or his parents' house. The arrepas Saturday mornings made by his mother fresh off the skillet with meat and cheese and coffee con leche...
Aaannd there it is. Such a beautiful song. I think it personifies perfectly how Jose "told" me how much he cared for me. It's a bittersweet tale to tell now, but it's probably the sweetest way any of my relationships have started.
It was the end of a semester (or something) and i had to return some books to the bookstore, and the person that i was essentially rebounding off of wasn't around, and i didn't want to go alone. So Jose took his chance and offered to walk me. Such an awkward man he was, unsure of how to really tell me. But he told me in no uncertain terms that he cared for me, a LOT. I was taken aback at first, but flattered. Looking back I really kicked myself when i realized how i was missing the obvious. They way he looked at me and interacted with me. One of the biggest things that i missed was when i was listening to this one song on my MP3 player that i loved, and the way he smiled as he watched me dance like a loon to it.
Tanget sorry... anyways back to the story.
We went into the bookstore and come to find out I was missing my ID or something and i had to go back to get it. As we walked back I had been goofy and ran ahead but slowed to catch my breath. My back was to him and all of a sudden i hear something along the lines of "Oh fuck it," and he came up behind me, turned me around and kissed me square on the lips. And something in my stomach just clenched, and it felt like a key had been turned. The Universe telling me "Here is the one that you need to be with right now." We walked arm in arm back to the UC, stealing kisses before walking back into the UC and cuddled on the couch, everyone not so secretly relieved that he had finally bucked up the courage to tell me how he felt.
And the rest, as one would say, is history.
He was one of the first people on the scene of my car accident a few years ago, along with my father, my mother being the first. I clung to him when he came, sticking my nose in the V of his shirt, drawing strength and comfort from his presence. For six months after he put up with me as i went through mood swings and anxiety attacks and OCD attacks that had me isolating myself and crying hysterically holding my head afraid that if i let go my head would explode in a million pieces. He held me in the darkness of his room when the depression overtook me and i couldn't stand being in the same room as his room mate and his GF as we all watched TV. Held me as i raged and cried, cursing my father, cursing the accident, anything that had gone wrong that day.
He brought me back from the extreme so many times, had me thinking things out logically, step by step until i had calmed down and was able to think clearly. Gently, patiently, as frustrating as i know it was for him, he did it, and helped me through some rough shit. And for that I will always be grateful.
And the question that I'm sure a lot of you are thinking.
"Do you still love him?"
The answer simply, is "Yes".
But it needs clarification.
I love him as a very dear friend. I remember the romantic times we had together with fondness and a smile, because that was one of the better times of my life. Through all the hell that i was going through at home, i knew that i had a safe place to go wherever he was. He was the logic to my eccentricity, the calm in my storm. And for that i am thankful.
He is a rare gift, and I hope that the woman who captured his heart for the rest of his life treasures the gift that he is.
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