Heartbreaker #1

Last week, I wrote a letter to myself.  One quote stuck out to me (and to Simone, who had inspired the post). It was the part about crushes and the list I've kept throughout my life. 

"Some of the guys on that list will break your heart.  Intentionally.  They have to.  It's the only way for them to get you to move on.  And you will.  And you'll be better off."

I don't really know where those words came from.  They were on the screen before I really processed them.  But it's the truth. 

In this new series, entitled "Heartbreakers," I'm going to share some of the most prominent heartbreaks I've gone through.  I've learned something from each of them, although my brain is way ahead of my heart on a few of these -- I tend to put more weight on feelings than logic.  I'm going to do my best to share the stories without giving away the identities of the parties involved because it should be clear I don't hold any hard feelings for any of them.  Even if they intentionally broke my heart, it turned out to be the best thing for me, and of course for them.  Those who were privy to my VIP blog entries will probably recognize some of these stories.  I hope you'll respect my wishes to keep identities a secret.  Thanks.

My first real heartbreak involving a boy actually came at the hands of a friend. This just supports my theory that it isn't always a guy who hurts you.  Anyone you trust can have the power to break your heart.  Anyway, so this boy.  He's still my longest crush to date, and even looking back at pictures now, I see why I liked him.  (That's certainly not true with everyone on my list.)  He had blonde hair, bright blue eyes and a killer smile.  In a word, he was adorable.  And we were in elementary school, so adorable was still an acceptable description for a crush. 

He dated a lot of girls throughout the years.  It's not like he was a player, but he was definitely a serial dater.  He would get in pretty serious relationships and stay in them for quite awhile (by school age standards anyway). Then they'd break up, and he would be with someone else a short while later.  It never really occurred to me to move in on him during his brief stints of singlehood.  I wasn't aggressive enough for that.  Or confident enough.  (Some things never change.)  I didn't have much choice but to admire him from afar, so that's exactly what I did, all the while hoping he might notice me.  I suppose you could say he did notice me, but not as someone he wanted to date, but as the friend of someone he wanted to date.

During the fall of my sophomore year, my best friend at the time asked me if I still liked said boy.  I told her I did and asked her why she wanted to know.  She said she was just wondering, but I wasn't convinced.  I asked her if she wanted to go out with him.  She said she could never do that and that she didn't really see him that way.  I chose to believe her, but I know you all know where this is going.  About a week later, I found out they were dating.  And how did I find out?  I overheard some mutual friends talking about it at a volleyball game.

I was a mess.  I cried.  I listened to sad songs.  I ate lots of Betty Crocker frosting. 

I don't know which part was worse -- the fact that my best friend was now dating the guy I'd had my eye on for seven years or that she didn't have the courage to tell me to my face. 

I'd like to say I would have been OK if she would have told me, but I know I wasn't that rational back then.  I still would have been terribly hurt and mad.  I don't think I would have had any easier time forgiving her.  Our friendship was pretty much destroyed at that point.  We went to a small school, so we couldn't avoid each other, but we were never as close after that. 

Several years later, we got back in touch and both attended our class reunion. We've discussed the aforementioned events.  She understands the hurt she caused, and I understand why she did it.  Neither of us ended up with the guy in the end, but it's OK, because we're both destined for better things.