I am dumb as a fucking brick. That’s why I did it. I did it because I felt ridiculous loving someone who didn’t love me back. He knew I loved him and I was embarrassed. I managed to integrate it into my life–this man I work with, that I love, with whom I have a close if not entirely healthy friendship, who is monogamous and has a girlfriend. I accepted it but I was embarrassed. But as soon as he told me he was still interested, that he was tempted beyond belief, that he loved me too, I abandoned my dignified embarrassment.

I told him I wouldn’t help him self-destruct, that I wouldn’t help him go behind his girlfriend’s back, that he should call me if he’s ever single again. And then I crumbled like a castle in the sand because I thought feeling his love would make me feel better.

All it did was make me hold my breath for when he’d pull the plug. All it did was give him control of my heart strings. I did not get any power or pride back because I am a fool wrapped around his finger. Before I may have felt embarrassed and pathetic, but now I feel both of those, plus guilt and shame too.

The heartbreak I feel is almost boring. I haven’t earned the right to wallow in self pity because I brought it on myself. I don’t deserve the breakdowns at work. Chick flicks won’t console me because they aren’t meant to placate  the “other woman.” I want to skip the sad songs and the alternately starving myself and binge eating–forgo the long, hard runs through the rain.

This isn’t a breakup, this is stupidity on steroids. I get it now. I understand my motivations. But although I deserve to hurt, I haven’t earned the right to wallow. I brought it on myself.

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