Things ended when he moved back to Virginia. Living in Los Angeles presented a myriad of financial difficulties and lifestyle challenges that became increasingly unmanageable for him over time.  I don’t want to say that he couldn’t “hack it” living in California but it was a financial struggle for him to stay.
When he announced that he was going East, I was instantly relieved. It’s as if an enormous weight was lifted off my shoulders. I’d been trying to figure out a way to end things with him for weeks but luckily it all worked out. Fate was in my favor.
I happily helped him pack his belongings and place the luggage and boxes into his Lexus SUV. Each item placed into boxes symbolized a chapter closing, a memory stored away. It was moments full of nostalgia and quiet reflection.
I was about to have an exorbitant amount of time to do whatever the fuck I wanted to do, without feeling guilty. No more late nights of him crying, saying that he missed me in the middle of the night. No more binges of white lines and erratic mood swings.
I was over his narcissistic, gaslighting, guilt-tripping self. He had such a heightened sense of grandiosity and an insatiable need to be admired that I couldn’t take it anymore.
Don’t get me wrong, we did have good times. In fact, he was the biggest freak in bed that I’d ever been with but it wasn’t enough.
I saw him off as he drove away and I began to smile. I immediately blocked him from my phone. I was severing all ties with him. I never wanted to see him again. I was free…
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