Yesterday, I made the decision to take a break from someone I truly love. Given everything we have been through (and we have been through more than what some married couples go through), we both needed breathing room and time to reflect, especially now that I am leaving for Nairobi in four days. The timing definitely was not the best but I felt that it was better to be honest than to give him false assumptions. We talked and ultimately, the decision was mutual.
Yet the mutuality of the decision did not make anything better. It was excruciatingly painful. His facial expressions. His tears. His final action of jerking away and stepping away from me when I wanted to say bye seared in my mind. We thought that maybe when I come back, everything will be more normal and we can continue the relationship. That’s the dream. That’s the hope. That’s the part I am clinging onto.
I passed out last night with him in my mind, and I woke up this morning thinking about him. And in my sleep, his face floated about. This is only day two of the “taking a break” and it already hurts worse than anything I have experienced, comparable to when I realized that I was sexually assaulted.
I hope we made the right decision. In a way, he is my first and only love, though I have dated guys before him. He is honestly the only person who loves (loved?) me for the weird and strange person I am. He was the one who accommodated my crazy lifestyle and traveling (no small feat for a 21-year-old). He was also the person who told me I could do anything and accepted my risky entrepreneurship future.
I won’t ever stop thinking about him. And maybe when I come back from Africa, we can go back: