I always used to hear people tell stories about how they met their spouse. It was always the story that, after all the romantic nonsense went away, they found their partner in the most god awful, non-romantic way imaginable. While I still held onto the belief that soul mates and fairy tale romantic stories still existed, I rebuffed these people and their horrible stories. It was always sad to me that they were so jaded and bitter and hurt that they lost faith in the fairy tale. I promised myself back then that I would never lose my fairy tale.
Then over the years, life happened. I got older, hurt, jaded and bitter. And then one day I realized I lost the fairy tale. The hope that my Prince Charming would ride in on his white horse and rescue me from my life disappeared. I no longer wanted a Prince Charming because now I knew that Prince Charming was just looking for the next girl to bang, and would eventually leave me with heartbreak. On the day that it all changed, I finally knew that it was time to let go because I couldn’t take any more devastating heartbreaks.
That day, my fairy tale turned into another lame story, one of the stories I promised never to be. Instead of Prince Charming, I wanted the “safe” guy. I was suddenly open to the guy who liked me, the one who was knocking down my door instead of the other way around. Even though I didn’t like him, he would eventually wear me down and I would start to date him, just like in all those other couples’ stories I heard before. And dating would turn into marriage, and I would learn to love him, and depend on him and rely on him. And I would be “happy” and never look back. I would never long for a fairy tale story again because I was married and happy to someone who treated me like I deserved to be treated.
And even though I know a little piece of me dies as I write this, I also know my fragile self cannot take one more heartbreak. In an act of self preservation, I have chosen to kill the fairy tale before the fairy tale kills me.