A while back I posted about relationships. Wondering how you could know the type of love you're feeling. True love vs lust. I thought at that time that I had a pretty good idea the difference and yeah maybe I kinda did. But now I'm sure I know. I know because I finally felt it. That kick in the gut. It's weird though because it didn't truly hit me until my relationship had fallen in the shitter. Until the cheating came to light. I wish I knew why it took him cheating to realize how in love I really was. Now as far as that goes...I wanted to elaborate. Not disclose any more details than I already have but the feelings that a person feels when it happens to them. Especially, someone, that deals with mental illness as much as I do. I'm not sure about anyone else but with my situation, it just doesn't seem real.
Before I found out the thought of anyone else even touching my man made me sick. Literally, the thought was nauseating. He was mine end of the story and I refuse to share. I earned that and no one else. It drove me crazy him even talking to other women as he did. In my eyes, I should be the only woman he shares his heart and his bed with. Every minute he spends giving another female attention are minutes that are being taken from me. And we won't even get into how jealous of a person I am. My favorite motto and words to live by are to "never trust a bitch" and it's never let me down. I've had experiences with past friends who have made passes and/or slept with my men, hence why I get so jealous. Another thing too is that my illness causes all my emotions to be greater than someone not suffering. And that folks would be bipolar. I get angrier than a should and sadder than expected. And my bounce back rate is like how fast a turtle goes in a race. This latest situation in my life has caused my serotonin levels to ping pong the same way that two-year-olds act after drinking mountain dew. Like a damn yo-yo. I've really been surprised at how different I've been feeling, comparable to how I've felt when someone close to me has passed. When I sit back and analyze myself I can honestly say that I am going through the five stages of grief. Right now I'm still in the fourth stage, depression, and it's still going strong. I feel like a fool. Taken advantage of and used. And angry when he acts like it didn't even happen or that I should be over it already. I don't know how long it takes a person who loves someone as much as I loved him to be ok again. When do the knives dissipate from your heart and it's able to heal? For the life of me, I don't get it. Since day one I've been warned of his ways and told I could do better. Hell the first time I met his father he called him a gigolo. Should have acknowledged that red flag smack dab in front of my face. But I didn't. I was too mesmerized and proud that a two hundred and fifty-pound crazy woman could get such a gorgeous creature. Dummy, I am I tell ya. If I would have listened to the dozens of people advising and warning me to run the hell away then one could only hope that I wouldn't be questioning myself right now.
Before I found out the thought of anyone else even touching my man made me sick. Literally, the thought was nauseating. He was mine end of the story and I refuse to share. I earned that and no one else. It drove me crazy him even talking to other women as he did. In my eyes, I should be the only woman he shares his heart and his bed with. Every minute he spends giving another female attention are minutes that are being taken from me. And we won't even get into how jealous of a person I am. My favorite motto and words to live by are to "never trust a bitch" and it's never let me down. I've had experiences with past friends who have made passes and/or slept with my men, hence why I get so jealous. Another thing too is that my illness causes all my emotions to be greater than someone not suffering. And that folks would be bipolar. I get angrier than a should and sadder than expected. And my bounce back rate is like how fast a turtle goes in a race. This latest situation in my life has caused my serotonin levels to ping pong the same way that two-year-olds act after drinking mountain dew. Like a damn yo-yo. I've really been surprised at how different I've been feeling, comparable to how I've felt when someone close to me has passed. When I sit back and analyze myself I can honestly say that I am going through the five stages of grief. Right now I'm still in the fourth stage, depression, and it's still going strong. I feel like a fool. Taken advantage of and used. And angry when he acts like it didn't even happen or that I should be over it already. I don't know how long it takes a person who loves someone as much as I loved him to be ok again. When do the knives dissipate from your heart and it's able to heal? For the life of me, I don't get it. Since day one I've been warned of his ways and told I could do better. Hell the first time I met his father he called him a gigolo. Should have acknowledged that red flag smack dab in front of my face. But I didn't. I was too mesmerized and proud that a two hundred and fifty-pound crazy woman could get such a gorgeous creature. Dummy, I am I tell ya. If I would have listened to the dozens of people advising and warning me to run the hell away then one could only hope that I wouldn't be questioning myself right now.