It’s one of those days where I don’t give an absolute shit that I broke up with my partner. Actually, I’m happy about it. Actually, I’m angry about it. Actually, I’m angry at myself I let it go on for so long. Actually, not giving a shit is more my style. He was an anchor on my life pulling me into the shadowy abyss of missionary sex and the same meal at the same restaurant that I used to like once. I could see the darkness swallowing me down and for several months I accepted that because despite deeply, deeply loathing him I also loved him. I loved how he humoured my childishness and loved how he loved my cat. Unfortunately that wasn’t enough. Once I would have settled for the person he was but I’ve grown and since grown to want more. That is natural. But he couldn’t give this to me. This wasn’t his fault.

Only a few times in my life have I been hugged with such strength that the very air leaves my lungs and has trouble getting back in. These have all been by men. For much of my life I was very scared of women touching me and didn’t know why. Now I know, though I’ll explain that soon. It’s these hugs that I never got from him, an embrace so strong with physical or emotional want that it leaves you in utter tears. These are hugs I desire, even for one, memorable night. They remind me why we’re alive and how important it is to stay that way for as long as we can. Passion never came to us as a couple. We were married before we’d even been engaged, sleeping by nine and waking on opposite sides of the bed. I think back and loathe myself for chaining myself to that bed, believing it was all my fault that sex was simply bad and that the solution had to come solely from me. The answer could not however come from both of us when one of us was too shy to talk about it. I hope he gets over that one day.

Around the end of the relationship I told him I was a bisexual. I lied when I said I didn’t have any sexual attractions to females. I lied when  I said I wouldn’t leave him for a woman. I couldn’t help but lie. It stemmed from fear and frustration. My sexuality is something I consider unimportant in my everyday life, a mere detail that is something you find out in mid-conversation rather than right off the bat. I’ve known I am sexually attracted to women for five years though when I bother to look back at my past I see the seeds of it already shooting through, creating cracks that I still remember distinctly. I don’t know why I reacted the way I did when I was younger. Had I not I would’ve been a much friendlier, more affectionate person to my female friends. I wish I had simply known instead of avoiding deep relationships with women, not hugging my closest girl friends, being so doting on potential boyfriends and my male friends, and being incredibly insecure about myself for no real reason. There was a reason, it just wouldn’t surface until 2012 when I went cross-eyed for a girl and simply came to realise ‘well I guess this is happening now’.

There is so much I could say about these topics and perhaps one day I will. Only when I get it together does it become clear how much I have learnt. Breaking away from my boyfriend might have made me stronger but what it has done for sure is made me happier. I don’t need to burn his photos or destroy his memory; in my eyes it ended badly and that’s fine with me. I feel the freedom like sunlight on my skin and I revel in it. I do want to be in another relationship one day but to know this sensation will remind me that I never need to sink with someone who causes me so much bitterness, even if love is still there. It’s okay to break away and find yourself elsewhere, in a different sex or a different country or a different mindset. Sounds like I’m a selfish bitch. And you know what? I am.