When I first met my ex girlfriend, she was in a rough place in her life. She was in a situation she didn't like, in a state she hated, and she was very alone.
Things were at their worst for her around Christmas time last year, so she managed to finagle some leave to come up and spend the holidays with me. It was fantastic. The best Christmas ever. We both found ourselves feeling better about life than either one of us had in a very long time. But the night before she had to leave, the prospect of going back to that life began to overwhelm her, and she broke down. We were at a very serious point in our relationship, and I was at a place where I could tell her with absolute conviction that I would trade places with her if I could, that she would never have to go back to that mess again. I meant it, too, with every fiber of my being.
This was, of course, impossible. I doubt very much that I would've been capable of fooling the army into thinking I was a 24 year old woman. So she went back. And over the course of the next several months, through hard work and some lucky breaks, her situation began to improve dramatically. So dramatically in fact, that the entire course of her life changed, and by April it was apparent to her that this new course left no room for me. So a day after our final visit, a whirlwind week over Spring Break that saw me traveling through seven different states, she ended our relationship. I was, and remain, truly and utterly heartbroken.
Now her career is blossoming, her social life has expanded dramatically, and she finally has a boyfriend who doesn't live two thousand miles away from where she's stationed. She's finally happy.
I, on the other hand, have never been so miserable.
Today it occurred to me that, in a way, that wish I made has come true.
If this is somehow the case, if I actually have assumed the burden of her unhappiness and added it to my own, then that's okay. I'm a man of my word, and it's a price I gladly pay.
If this ISN'T the case (and yes, I know it isn't), well, to be honest, it makes me feel better to pretend that it is.
Things were at their worst for her around Christmas time last year, so she managed to finagle some leave to come up and spend the holidays with me. It was fantastic. The best Christmas ever. We both found ourselves feeling better about life than either one of us had in a very long time. But the night before she had to leave, the prospect of going back to that life began to overwhelm her, and she broke down. We were at a very serious point in our relationship, and I was at a place where I could tell her with absolute conviction that I would trade places with her if I could, that she would never have to go back to that mess again. I meant it, too, with every fiber of my being.
This was, of course, impossible. I doubt very much that I would've been capable of fooling the army into thinking I was a 24 year old woman. So she went back. And over the course of the next several months, through hard work and some lucky breaks, her situation began to improve dramatically. So dramatically in fact, that the entire course of her life changed, and by April it was apparent to her that this new course left no room for me. So a day after our final visit, a whirlwind week over Spring Break that saw me traveling through seven different states, she ended our relationship. I was, and remain, truly and utterly heartbroken.
Now her career is blossoming, her social life has expanded dramatically, and she finally has a boyfriend who doesn't live two thousand miles away from where she's stationed. She's finally happy.
I, on the other hand, have never been so miserable.
Today it occurred to me that, in a way, that wish I made has come true.
If this is somehow the case, if I actually have assumed the burden of her unhappiness and added it to my own, then that's okay. I'm a man of my word, and it's a price I gladly pay.
If this ISN'T the case (and yes, I know it isn't), well, to be honest, it makes me feel better to pretend that it is.
That. Sucks. 
