(The Frisky) -- The man I was engaged to was my first real adult love. It was mutual, it was committed, and it was mature. But there were other "loves."
Adam, the long-haired hippie in 8th grade, who held my hand once and played the acoustic guitar; Rob, the twenty-something video store employee, whom I stalked for the entire summer before I turned 15; Jesse who gave me emotional support when my parents divorced the summer after freshman year of college; and lastly, Andrew, a fellow staff member at my college newspaper whom I fell for -- HARD -- my senior year.
The passion I felt for Andrew was so consuming that it lasted well after I graduated and moved away. The "love" I felt for him lasted approximately, oh, four years, during which there were many emotional outburts on my part. We eventually developed a strong friendship. Finally I got over being in love with him. Well, mostly.
Andrew is getting married soon. I would be lying if I said it wasn't making me the tiniest bit ... sore. He will be the first man I have slept with and to whom I've said "I love you" (he didn't say it back, for the record) to get married. As his friend, I'm immensely happy for him -- he and his fiancée have been together for many years, have withstood the long-distance test, and genuinely seem like a wonderful match.
He was sometimes a total jackass to me during our little eight month up-and-down affair (and I was borderline psycho), but he's grown into a loyal, mature man and she's lucky to have him, though I suspect his evolution was a result of her divine inspiration. In a word, I am jealous -- of both of them.
I know it's immature, but I felt somewhat victorious when I got engaged before he did. When I told him my news, I felt a little pang of glee that I had not only gotten over him (because it seemed like I never, ever would), but passed him in the race towards relationship maturity. (Now I realize that marriage isn't the finish line.) A few months after my engagement, he proposed to his girlfriend and we shared many a wide-eyed "can you believe we're so grown up?!" conversation. The Frisky: The proper protocol for dissing an ex
Though we'd been good friends for years at that point, I finally felt like we were on equal footing. His fiancée couldn't be uncomfortable around me now that I was engaged to my fiancé and she was engaged to Andrew! And my fiancé couldn't continue to feel awkward about my friendship with Andrew because we were getting married, the ultimate proof that he was the one I wanted, not Andrew or anyone else before him. The Frisky: Six rules for being friends with an ex
When my engagement was called off, I resisted telling a lot of people at first, but when Andrew IM'd me one day to check in, I just wanted to get it over with. The Frisky: Four signs he's NOT the one
"So, I'm just going to tell you this so you don't ask me any wedding questions in the future, at least until I have good news to report," I wrote. "The wedding is off and apparently we're 'on a break.' [My fiance] is having an existential quarter-life crisis and I'm living alone with the dog. I am fine now, but I didn't get out of bed for four days."
"Oh my god," he wrote back, "I'm so sorry to hear that. I can't imagine the range of crap you're feeling." The Frisky: I have terrible girlfriend syndrome
"Does the idea of getting married ever freak you out?" I asked. "I'm having a very hard time understanding the male mind right now."
"Yes it does," he responded. "But I don't know what he is thinking. I'm sad for you and enraged at the same time."
It's been nearly a year since we've had that conversation and I feel immensely grateful that I didn't walk down the aisle with someone who turned out to be wrong for me. But even though I know Andrew is and always was wrong for me too, I still feel a little sad that his impending marriage makes that official. The Frisky: Why you should never get back with an ex
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