restart
I’m single, again. By my own choosing, again. As always. I left him a bit over a month ago. We’d been together just over a year. I fell out of love, it was as simple as that. Yet I still tried for months to fix it, or at least tried to pretend that nothing was wrong. In the end the truth will come out. I couldn’t keep lying to myself, or to him.
So this time I wasn’t the one who moved out. He did. And now I’m living alone, in a foreign country – and I love it. We moved to New Zealand together five months ago, and I have learned more about myself in the last couple of months that I did in the past five years at home.
I’m learning who I am when I’m not attached to someone else. And that I should be proud of that. I’m learning that I can look after myself perfectly well without anyone’s help. But that if someone genuinely offers help, accepting it doesn’t make me weak. I’m learning that people actually like me as a person and want to be my friend. I’m learning that I don’t need a partner to feel complete. I’m learning that I can sleep alone in my flat at night and feel safe. I’m learning how to say no to people when I want to, instead of always doing what others want me to do.
I’m starting to finally work out what I want from life, instead of just going along with what the other person wants, or what other people tell me I should want. It feels good. It feels right.
I feel like I’m finally getting somewhere.
