Three months ago I was asked to come home, be with my love, and let him worry about taking care of us. I thought I was coming home this summer to get engaged – or at least move toward that direction. Today I’m trying to accept that he still wants all of those things, just not with me. He chose someone else. Someone else with whom he has a long history, a child, and much more than I could ever provide because of time and shared experiences. Today I’m trying to be happy that the man I love is making an honest effort to reconcile his broken family. That he is giving his son the much needed opportunity to be raised in a loving, two-parent household after being apart for several years makes me smile. THAT guy? That is the man I fell in love with. I’m trying to be a bigger person. I’m trying to see the bigger picture. I’m trying to be better. I’m not angry. I’m not upset. I don’t feel like I am owed anything. I’m not happy about his choice, but I respect it. I love the life into that man and I just want him to be happy. If being with someone else is his path to happiness, I want him to pursue it relentlessly without looking back. This, I believe, is the purest way for me to show my love. If someone else makes you happier, if someone else is your choice, then I will not protest. I can’t. I don’t even have it in me. His choice isn’t me. My choice is to step aside and let it be.

 

But where the fuck does that leave me? If I told you I figured out a way to cope, I’d be lying. If I told you I was OK with the fact that the man I thought I was going to marry and start a family with has shown me that he doesn’t feel the same way, I’d be lying. The truth is this is a big fucking mess. The truth is that a small part of me is foolishly holding on to the hope that he will return and will dwell in the land of glitter with me forever. Today I’m sitting in an airport lounge waiting to board a flight to a place where the man I love was supposed to pick me up so we could finally do things right. Today I’m trying to keep it together because I’m in public. Today I’m trying to talk myself off of every single ledge. Today I just can’t. I can’t breathe. I can’t smile. I can’t stop crying. Today every single part of me hurts. Today I’d rather be boarding a flight back to my home in Abu Dhabi. Pants off, blackout curtains drawn, under the covers, cut off from the world. I don’t want to be strong anymore. I don’t want to fake it until I make it. I don’t want to do a damn thing. Today I hurt. Today I have all of the fucking feels. Figurative heartache and literal heart pain. Anguish and despair. Gut punched. Nauseous. Fatigued. Drained. It feels like a vital part of me that I need to function is missing – stolen without my knowledge. Today I don’t give a shit about any of the plans I made with friends or family during this vacation. All bets for me being a decent human being are off. Today I am trying to convince myself that this will pass. Today I’m trying not to regret any of it. Today I’m trying to convince myself that there is still life worth living. Today I am not OK. Today I am fighting for my fucking life. I feel like a zombie going through the motions. Boarding pass, driver’s license, seat buckled, takeoff.