Another day...
I spent most of today at the gym with John. He and I have been gym buddies on and off since med school started, a guy who I rely on to provide testosterone-shaded insight on all topics of discussion. Now that 3rd year is behind us and our applications are in, we've hit the gym regularly in order to augment our sexiness and emotionally unload between sets of bench press and bicep curls.
He asked me how things were going between the two of us, and I told him how I had started having doubts, particularly in my previously rock-solid belief that there was no romantic future between me and my ex. He told me what everyone else had been saying: that I hadn't gotten over her during the past couple months but had just temporarily removed a person who I was a huge part of my life from my mind, that now was my time to actually come to grips with happened so I can move on, that I need time to heal and a hobby to keep my over-active imagination from making my life miserable. He admitted that he still thinks about his first girlfriend from time to time, that she will always occupy a particular "What If" section in his mind, and that he still sometimes imagines what would've happened if things had worked out. It was an admission that I hadn't been expecting, since I never really thought much of his sensitive side. And while I felt somewhat reassured that I really had done the right thing and I just needed time to move on, I couldn't help but wish that she and I were right for each other and that she could complete my life instead of remaining as a permanently bittersweet corner of my mind.
The brain has an incredible ability to alter your perception of the world. Specifically, during the drive back home, I found that every single song I listened to brought my thoughts back to her. Turning off the radio and suffering the silence was equally painful; I turned to 50-second furniture commercials for solace. By the time I got home, I was ready to punch holes through my walls in frustration.
Talking to her is both the easiest and the worst thing I can do. I'm no longer afraid of talking to her because I worry about getting back together; on the contrary, that is now something that I almost wish would happen. Now that I've gotten comfortable interacting with her again, I find myself slipping back into the roles I led when we were together, except for the one glaring difference between then and now. She is the most beautiful and wonderful drug, one that I'm trying to find the right amount to limit myself while preserving my sanity.
I'm starting to wonder when my pathetic state will eventually be too much for my ego to take and self-loathing will set in.
He asked me how things were going between the two of us, and I told him how I had started having doubts, particularly in my previously rock-solid belief that there was no romantic future between me and my ex. He told me what everyone else had been saying: that I hadn't gotten over her during the past couple months but had just temporarily removed a person who I was a huge part of my life from my mind, that now was my time to actually come to grips with happened so I can move on, that I need time to heal and a hobby to keep my over-active imagination from making my life miserable. He admitted that he still thinks about his first girlfriend from time to time, that she will always occupy a particular "What If" section in his mind, and that he still sometimes imagines what would've happened if things had worked out. It was an admission that I hadn't been expecting, since I never really thought much of his sensitive side. And while I felt somewhat reassured that I really had done the right thing and I just needed time to move on, I couldn't help but wish that she and I were right for each other and that she could complete my life instead of remaining as a permanently bittersweet corner of my mind.
The brain has an incredible ability to alter your perception of the world. Specifically, during the drive back home, I found that every single song I listened to brought my thoughts back to her. Turning off the radio and suffering the silence was equally painful; I turned to 50-second furniture commercials for solace. By the time I got home, I was ready to punch holes through my walls in frustration.
Talking to her is both the easiest and the worst thing I can do. I'm no longer afraid of talking to her because I worry about getting back together; on the contrary, that is now something that I almost wish would happen. Now that I've gotten comfortable interacting with her again, I find myself slipping back into the roles I led when we were together, except for the one glaring difference between then and now. She is the most beautiful and wonderful drug, one that I'm trying to find the right amount to limit myself while preserving my sanity.
I'm starting to wonder when my pathetic state will eventually be too much for my ego to take and self-loathing will set in.