writing as therapy, part 1

Not sure what's going on here? No worries. Catch up on the series introduction.


I started dating the guy in the midst of my sophomore to junior year summer. We had been somewhat of friends before he started to "like like" me. I'd been single and loving it for the first 15 years of my life, (as if you long for your other half at 5-years-old,) so I was hesitant. Or, actually, that's not quite true. I did date a boy for a year in 6th grade but we probably kissed about a dozen times a.k.a it was not that serious ;). Without counting that little girl relationship, I had turned down one date in elementary school, three potential boyfriends at the 6th grade dance (don't even ask me how that happened all at one time. I sometimes wish I still had that power, or maybe just that outfit...), and two Mr. Wrongs in my first two years of high school. In other words, I'd mastered being the rejector until one of the best guys at my high school admitted he had a crush on me. Oh well :). The relationship lasted four years--excluding the short 6 months when we first went away to college and tried to be logical and mature about our long distance reality--and for the most part it was wonderful. It probably should've ended a few months before it did (for personal reasons) but it lasted through thick and thin... until he found out.

You see, somewhere in between our four years of bliss, I met another guy. He was sweet and smart with the cutest Mississippi accent. We were friends. Honestly, we were just friends. We'd met at a summer program in Massachusetts, a college prep kind of program. Him and the other eight students from all over the United States had gone in conjunction with their parents requests. I had researched it myself and applied for financial aid so that it'd be possible. (I was always a nerd like that, but that's neither here nor there.) We'd immediately clicked in a "how were we not best friends before?" kind of way; And after our week of hard-core bonding, we kept in very close touch.  The guy I was dating got jealous a handful of times. His jealousy made me angry. Since when was it not okay for me to have male friends?! I denied that our friendship was anything but platonic and at that time it was true. Then, it wasn't. I'm not sure exactly what happened. I mean, I thought he was attractive, and there was some tension, but nothing ever, ever happened. Even after he admitted his feelings. I went to prom with him (in Mississippi I might add, my mom and I flew in for the weekend) and we didn't even kiss. Some of our correspondence about wanting to, however, was recorded. And almost two years later my high school sweetheart found out. No matter how irrelevant it may seem (and trust me, I tried that argument,) he couldn't forgive me, and our relationship ended.

Like I said, it probably should've ended before that. But, because our devastating breakup was a result of something I'd done felt, it wasn't just hard to get over, it was extra hard. After four years, my first real boyfriend had obviously become my very best friend.  And now I'd lost both. I should also mention that my Mississippi friend and I had amicably lost touch by this time. Not completely. But mostly.

I didn't tell anyone for 3 weeks. Literally no one. Although that may seem absurd, it's because I was embarrassed about how our relationship had ended, and I didn't want to admit that it was because of me. As an alternative, I became a complete witch (and/or b+itch) to live with. All of a sudden, I was more OCD and neurotic than usual and poured all my pain into keeping my apartment clean and neat. My roommates got passive-agressive post-it notes reminding them to put away their dishes, fold the couch blankets, and other various household chores. Can you say obnoxious? They nearly lasted a month before an intervention and that's when I finally broke down in tears and admitted my relationship failure.

I spent the next two months avoiding any kind of fun possible. I transformed into a straight-A student, in an unhealthy way. I'd become, in a word or two, completely anti-social. I also talked to him every few days or so which I do not recommend when it comes to healing a broken heart and getting over a broken relationship. Not ever. 

Then I got sick. Like, really, really sick. I had what the geniuses at our campus health center defined as "a mono-like virus." It hit me out of nowhere and made my entire body hurt. Three great things came out of it though. One: I wasn't sad. How could I have worried about being sad when I was sleeping 18 hours a day and lying in my bed like a zombie for the rest of it? Exactly. Two: my mom came to visit. I hadn't seen her since I'd left for my sophomore year at school nor since I told her that R and I had broken up. I should mention that she basically thought he was the best person in the world which made the latter a nearly impossible feat. She brought me soup, did my laundry, and took me out to dinner as I started to get some of my strength back. I talked to her about him briefly. She didn't hate me. Three: I started reading Eat Like Me on Self.com. It was a perfect blog for being sick because it updated three times a day. Plus, since I couldn't handle eating, I appreciated being able to look at it without any side effects.

In the following month, once I was finally better, I became addicted. I found Jenna at Eat, Live, Run and other healthy living bloggers. I bought nutrition and health books at Barnes & Noble. I turned into a regular at Karma Fitness. I registered for a Nutrition course in the spring semester. And all the while I broke through the walls I'd built between my friends and I, roommates included. 

I actively learned about what it took to live a healthy lifestyle in the physical sense, and I subconsciously honored my mental- and emotional-well being. 

By the end of the year I was in tip-top shape across the board. I even kissed a random boy at my friend's New Years Eve party, which was a pretty big exciting deal at the time. I'll have you know that I'm laughing as I recall how proud of myself I was for being so single. Ha...to be continued.