Kids, a year after Jet seemingly broke me with his rejection and I plunged into the deepest depression I’d ever known up to that point, I was finally over it. And him.
Sure, it had taken me longer than expected – between his overbearing stalking and constant need to force his way into my personal space for six months and my occasional breakdowns during the national lockdown – but finally, it happened. Much like this:
I’d run the gauntlet of emotions over 12 long months: being devastated, being numb, being so fucking angry I wanted to smash his stupid face every chance I got, being so sad I could feel my heart breaking, being mad again, being hopeful he’d changed his mind when he wouldn’t leave me alone, being pissed as fuck that he was still messing with my feelings, being annoyed, being indifferent, being raw with missing him etc until I just felt… nothing.
2020 was its own special kind of fucked up hell but October 2019 had taught me some very real, very horrible lessons about letting the thing you thought was killing you, break you and remould you into someone stronger.
I missed the carefree (or as much as I was able to be) girl who adored and was adored by a young, handsome, kind, funny, awkward young man as he appeared to be at the time. She was never coming back but here I was, a wizened woman ,born from the hours and hours of crying on my couch, from the long, dark sleepless nights and from the constant love and support of the people who truly loved me, and I was still standing.
To quote Cher:
Fuck it …NEXT!