It’s Called a Break-Up Because It’s Broken (Part 3)

Thank you to everyone for the great comments and support.  It's been a little emotional reliving some of these relationships, even though I haven't gone in to too much detail.  But it has certainly brought back a lot of memories - a lot of them not so great.  One thing I'm getting from this, though, is that it's shedding some light on to how I got to where I am in regards to my weight and where I am in regards to my relationship status.  I'm really hoping this will help to bring me some peace.

Read Part One Here
Read Part Two Here

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A few months after my relationship with A ended, I met K.  Oh, how I wish I could take that relationship back.  We were so wrong for each other.  But as you know, my self-esteem was at an all-time low, and it had all started because of J.  After my breakup with A, it went spiraling down.  I hated the empty feeling I had, and I hated how I felt sick to my stomach all the time.  I needed to fill that empty feeling somehow.  During the summers and winter breaks of college, I had gone home and worked at a local warehouse, where I had worked in the summers during high school. 

I’m sure everyone knows – there are some real winners working in those warehouses.  One in particular – K – seemed different.  At least at the time.  He was African American, which wasn’t much of a big deal to me (or at least to anyone my age – we seem to be one of the first generations that accepts interracial relationships), but it was a HUGE deal to my parents.  At the time, I was 19 or 20.  He was 32.  Ew.  But I kept telling myself that age didn’t matter – love conquers all, right??  But I sure as hell didn't tell my parents his real age.  I lied, and said he was 25.

I did fill that void that A had left.  There were many weekends where I would drive all the way from Mankato (where I was going to school) to Minneapolis (where he lived) to spend the weekend with him - it was about an hour and a half drive.  He didn’t have a car (ugh), so I did most all of the driving.  He didn’t have much money, so all we really did was hole up in his tiny bedroom he was renting. 

My parents were furious, and so disappointed in me.  They couldn’t figure out why I resorted to something that I was above.  I just kept telling them that I’m no better than anyone else, and that it’s not fair to judge people.  I kept telling them they were hypocrites, because they always had told me that everyone should be created equal.  But they knew I was deserving of so much more.  I didn’t believe them.  I believed that if someone, anyone, liked me, all would be okay in the world.  I wouldn’t become an old cat lady, alone forever.  Couldn’t they see that??  Why weren’t they happy that I was happy?

But I was only fooling myself.  I wasn’t truly happy (and like always, Mom and Dad were right - ugh!!).  And I realized that only a few months later, when I met E.  My relationship with K fizzled as I got to know E more, and I eventually broke it off with K to start a relationship with E.

At the time, E seemed like a winner.  Sure, he was Hispanic, but he had his stuff together.  He made good money, and owned a house in a nice neighborhood.  Little did I know, he wasn’t the only one living in that house….