The trouble with falling out of love | North State Voices - Chico Enterprise-Record

I’ve been thinking a lot about someone who used to be the love of my life.

I stand in my kitchen, at work or the grocery store and suddenly see a flash of soft brown eyelashes resting against the smooth cheek of someone I used to love.

At the expense of sounding pathetic, I underestimated how much a first love could hurt.

“I don’t love you.”

Hearing those words slip from his mouth was one of the most painful moments I’ve ever experienced.

I begged him to tell me he didn’t love me because I thought he still did. If you know me, that won’t come as a surprise. Always wanting to know something, until I know it.

I guess things change.

We met in early August of 2019 after being long distance friends for the past seven years. I was from Fremont, he was from Oroville.

When I moved to Chico for college, he moved to Oregon for work. It was like the universe didn’t want us to meet, trying to do me a favor.

One humid night in early August, I drove from the Bay Area to Chico, telling my mom I was making a three-hour drive to move things to my new apartment.

I still wonder why she didn’t find it suspicious that I took only three boxes.

I left after rush hour and got to Chico around 10 p.m., calling him every hour asking when he would be off work. He worked at a hemp farm for his father, making his work hours unpredictable, let alone unreasonable.

I didn’t end up meeting him till 6 a.m. the next morning. I happily waited in my car overnight; the universe wasn’t going to stop me this time.

Black basketball shorts, a torn Mötley Crüe t-shirt, scuffed untied sneakers, standing at about 5’9 with unruly brown hair and a premature receding hairline. I was head over heels.

Being in love is so weird. You don’t really know you’re in love, until you’re in love. Does that make sense? Do other people feel the same way?

It’s been months since it ended and I still feel oddly ashamed at how vulnerable and enamored I became with this one person, just to be heartbroken.

I drove four hours to Oregon every week. In between driving, I had six classes and worked roughly 25 hours a week. He was 19 years old and didn’t have a license. He never drove to me.

It’s so unexplainably easy to ignore red flags when your heart is set on one thing. One person.

I think of how many miles I put on my car, how much of my financial aid I spent on gas, how much time I lost, how many times I almost fell asleep at the wheel. I hate how I would do it all over again if I had the chance.

He wouldn’t even let me meet his mom. After months of driving to Oregon to spend a handful of hours with him, then driving straight back to work, he wouldn’t let me meet his mom.

When he ended things, over the phone, I asked him why I wasn’t enough. I guess it’s one of those questions that no answer will satisfy. I still find myself asking why.

I hate how much I miss him. I mailed him back his Mötley Crüe t-shirt and I don’t even know if he received it. I shouldn’t care either way, but I do.

It’s been months and I can still hear his faint snoring on nights that I can’t fall asleep. I wish falling out of love was as easy as falling in love.

I’m sure writing about my first real heartbreak in the local newspaper isn’t the best way to go about things, but I just needed to get these feelings off of my chest.

I just want to know that I’m not alone in all of this.

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The trouble with falling out of love | North State Voices - Chico Enterprise-Record
"love" - Google News
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