We live over an hour and a half apart, the barman and me.
We have messaged and chatted multiple times a day for – shit – over two and a half years.
This week, I have realised – or rather – fully taken on board that I give too much.
I’ve known it forever. I did it for Roger too. Picked up all the slack. Put myself and my needs last.
So, I left earlier than usual. No unhappy words, just knew I needed to put distance between us.
BG hasn’t clicked. There’s been radio silence. 24 hours. That has never happened. There are always good nights. Good mornings. Lots of I miss yous, etc.
I realised I have never been fully loved.
Like I love.
And I just don’t wanna be that nice girl who makes these men’s lives easy anymore. My smoothing the way just makes me invisible.
I’m not a drama queen. I don’t make trouble to get a reaction. But I’ve pulled away.
And yeah. He hasn’t noticed.
Think I’ll reconsider going over to do some bar shifts for him this weekend.
And I’m okay. It really aches that Roger gives all the love I lavished on him to that whore.
I slept hardly a wink last night. At one point I turned on my bedside lamp, and was surprised at how I looked. So took a selfie. Low light, no makeup, dishevelled hair, this old girl looked soft and loving. The original, then black and white…
Shame the people I love don’t reciprocate.
Their loss. I’m worth the effort.