On my mind...

A few years ago (excuse my lack of an actual time line, my memory is terrible and I suck at dates) I was planning to move to Sydney for a permanent change. I needed to be with family and set my life straight. I was walking away from a year of one night stands and alcohol abuse.

I had given up sex and made that statement public. https://youtu.be/7z4QQ3jL6cg

Then I caught up with an old friend I worked with at KFC and had a MAJOR crush on.

We hung out, had a good time, connected on similar stories and got along like a house on fire.

We caught up again.

We went out with friends together.

I cooked him dinner one night and tried to impress him.

Then he decided to return the favour, taking me on a lavish date on top of a mountain.

I fell in love.

But I was moving to Sydney and he worked away.

We decided to date long distance, when he had time off I would fly up to stay with him.

Then I finally decided to simply move up to be with him.

I did everything I could to be with him and make him happy.

He loved cars so I tried to learn about them. I got my learners and even drove- even tho I was positively terrified.

I gave up veganism and learnt new recipes to cook for him.

I looked after his house for him.

I did everything I could to be the best girlfriend for him.

Sadly, I, like everyone else, have some sad demons.

My insecurities were running ramped.

I felt constantly inadequate. Comparing myself to his ex's and friends, fearing he would leave me for someone better.

I bought lingerie, I sent photos while he was away, I was always trying to get him to love me.

He was so great to me.

He looked after me and made me feel safe.

He was funny, he was cute, he was kind and he was a gentleman.

He was the only person I've ever known who could make me feel as good as he did.

My family noticed, too.

My mum said we were great together.

My dad honestly liked him.

In our relationship we shared responsibilities, the internet in my name, a car he bought for me in his. He helped me financially when I needed it. I looked after the rent for his house.

His family was apparently fond of me.

Our relationship was, for all intents and purposes perfect.

I loved him and I truly thought he loved me too.

I could go on about so many other factors like the fact that he explained how hard he worked to get with me and how he didn't want anyone else. How he hated my past (hell, so do I) and he could never sleep around.

I respected and loved him so much.

Now it's been almost a year since he's dumped me and I still haven't moved on.

He has in fact got a new girlfriend, and this simply reinforced the fear of being replaced with someone better.

I'll never forget the night he came over and I cooked for him. He told me he read all of my blog posts.

He'll probably never see this one though.

I will always love him. I was in love. I hate the fact that I fucked it up with my insecurities. I hate my jealousy. I wish we had stayed together like I thought we would.

I really hope the relationship was good for him, because I look back on it as pure bliss.