This week had drained me like no other, physically, mentally, and emotionally. The move back to Philcoa was easy enough because I had help, but that on top of my jobs (yes, plural) and the emotional turmoil I was going through was just too much.
Yesterday, I reached my breaking point. He was hurting me without even knowing it, and I had to choose between his friendship and my emotional stability. I had to say goodbye, at least, for the time being. Finally, he knew and understood. Then, I knew and understood. The truth was painful, but not totally unexpected. I’ve known it all along, I just didn’t want to believe it. Finally, I summoned the courage to be honest with him, but more importantly, to myself.
The most surprising thing is that, it’s not as painful as I thought. After I told him everything, and after I shed some tears, I felt a sense of peace. Maybe because I misinterpreted my feelings for him, like I misinterpreted his feelings for me. He was there when I was in a rush to forget a past love. He was always by my side, and he’s sweet and kind, and caring. He believed in me and in what I can do, and his appreciation of me made me more confident and more appreciative of myself.
Staying away from him would be hard, but it’s the only way I can ever achieve some clarity. I know it’s the right thing to do, and I know that soon, I would be able to resume my friendship with him. Without him to cloud my judgment, I know I’ll be able to figure out what I really feel about him.
I just hope he’d be okay. He’s just too damn vulnerable sometimes.
