A warning in advance. While this post most certainly leads up to what I wrote in a paperback of Emotionally Compromised to my ex, this post also holds a story of silly, young love, the tragedy of heartbreak, and the phoenix that emerges from the ashes of the experience.

So, everyone has that one relationship, that one person who captured their heart in such a way that even at that moment you knew you would never love someone like that ever again –but you were ok with it, because at least you got to experience it, and you were grateful and oh-so in love with love; nothing could be better. The other side to this coin is that, also when you realized this person officially became your epic first love, you might have realized that this person now has the ability to destroy you, and probably a lot quicker than the love took to get there, too. Actually, I’d say it took maybe a nanosecond for the destruction to begin at your core, and fracture its way out into your well being, usually resulting in you being a mascara-stained puddle of tears –But, I digress.

I mention this because I just recently gave my first published paperback novel to my ex-boyfriend from four years ago, who surely, on multiple back and forth break-ups have turned me into an erratic, blubbering, young adult in my early 20’s due to his lack-of-life-experience-inherent-douche-iness. We dated off and on for nearly four years since I was eighteen. They were the best of times, and I guess, they were also some of the worst of times. However, nothing will take away the memories of passion, adventure, and overall lustful infatuation with someone who loved hanging out with me as much as I liked to hang out with them, and also enjoyed kissing me senseless, and liked the same music as me –not to mention, probably enjoyed pissing off my father with pointless rebellion as much as I did.

I could go into the details of the relationship, like how adorable he was (one time he brought me home fresh éclairs from a bakery just because), or how in hindsight, he really would have done anything for me (he got me scholarship for a college semester once when I didn’t have the money to pay for it myself), or I could discuss his periodic drug addiction (no, I won’t get into that), or his rampant fidelity issues (yes, he cheated on me a few times, and no I am not at all proud to admit that). I could also discuss the mistakes I made (because it’s important to take responsibility for things. I mean, it takes two to tango, right?), like how I didn’t supporting his musical career as much as I should have. He was a passionate guy, and I should have known better.

I can identify it for what is in hindsight, but now I see that we held each other back. Now that I am a writer, you’ll be happy to know that after not seeing this guy for over four years, I did go out of my way to say, “Hey man, just so you know, I get it now. I get wanting to pursue something that no one thinks is reachable. I get how having big dreams is hard for people to understand, and that the drive necessary requires a bit of support. I’m sorry I wasn’t that person. I’m sorry I was too young to get it at the time –but I do now. I want to write. I want to be a famous author now, and I am sorry I didn’t support your dreams as I should have.” –then I may or may not have added- “This does not excuse your shitty behavior of cheating on me with that girl you worked with, and thinking I never knew.”

Life is a funny thing, ya know? *giggle*

So, to make a long story short, and to spare you of a book-length blog post (too late) of how we loved like punch-drunk kids at a NOFX show: we broke up, and I was devastated. Take whatever clues you can from the above. The strangest thing about my heartbreak was that at the age of twenty-one I had gone from seeing that guy nearly everyday since I was eighteen, to not-at-all within a twenty-four hour period. It was like he died. I had at least some self-control and never called or texted. I cut the guy cold turkey. Four years of my life *poof* vanished into my past, and as days, months, Hell, YEARS went by, sometimes I questioned the existence of our relationship. “Did I make that first-love up in my head? Did I simply imagine strolling Pacific Beach in search of carne asada fries while demanding kisses every city block?” *head-spin* I thought it seemed possible seeing as it is so easy as an author to just make things up for entertainment.

When it ended I couldn’t help but think: Who am I? In my case, that was the big question I had to face when I would wake up not knowing what to do with myself. If I wasn’t waiting for that morning phone call, or evening “I love you…” (Gag me, right?) what was I supposed to do? What did normal people do?

Years went by (four to be exact), and so much happened. I had no choice but to learn the walk of the average single girl, but at least I took charge of myself. I grew up. I became independent. I found out what I liked. I found my best friends. I found out what I wanted out of my existence. And I don’t want to credit my massive break-up to all of these new self-discoveries, but it was a huge part of it. I loved him. I loved that guy more than I thought I ever could. And actually, to this day, I’m pretty sure that guy might get the most amount of my love at a certain time more than anyone ever will. This is just what that lucky first-love is entitled too. (Sorry, future husband).

Am I writer because of him? Eh, no. I don’t think I would go that far. The whole experience merely gave me the opportunity to seek it out as a possibility, and for that I am grateful. He may have broken my heart, but breaking up was the right thing to do, no matter what the circumstance.

When you fall in love so young and then you lose it, a lot happens, and there is so much you have to cope with. I had to learn to be me. When I met him, we molded into two. I don’t want to speak for him at all, so this could have been only on my end, because he up-and-scrammed into the arms of another girl right after leaving our apartment. I was wreck. The love of my life left me for someone else. Boo-Hoo, enter pity-party stage right. Don’t feel bad for me. Only applaud me for surviving. Although agony at the time, I learned so much and I am not sure I would exchange the life lessons for peaceful ignorance, because you know I won’t make these same mistakes again, that’s for sure!

Hey ladies, especially the younger ones, if there is any advice I could give to you whether you haven’t met that first love, or you’re coping with that earth-shattering break-up, or even if you are still waiting for that first loveable jerk … when your heart gets broken ---> it will get better. You will survive, and you will be better for it. I guarantee it.

For me, I stayed single for a long time. I dated, but I never fell into the arms of another boy so easily. I was leery for one thing. I mean, I gave my heart so willingly the first time, I wasn’t going to make that mistake again. A heart is not easily put back together, but with time, mine got stronger and more resilient, and happy, if you can believe it. Single-dom, though with its bouts of loneliness and need for snuggles, was something I embraced and enjoyed. Once I did that, I conquered the world, kind of. I hiked to the depths of the Grand Canyon, took opportunities to board planes to places I’ve never been to, and how could I forget, I embraced my love of words and began putting my thoughts to paper …err, word document. The reason why this is all relevant in this essay (sorry for the length), is because that boy; that love and heartbreak, taught me so much and practically spring boarded me into my want to be an author. Like I mentioned before, it gave me the opportunity to pursue it.

I love, love. I admit it. I am a diehard sucker for it. I am a true believer in hearts and flowers, and maybe that’s because at one point I was lucky enough to actually have that, and am still able to appreciate the experience post break-up. But how could I not credit that crazy (possibly misplaced) love as the experience I use to write my romance novels? It’d be silly not to up to this point. Maybe future loves could be the credit for other novels, but for now, this ones to that terrible, adorable, goofy jerk who broke me, but unknowingly taught me how to put myself back together again.

The love I experienced, and even the overwhelming pain it ended up causing me gave me the ability to write such heartfelt dynamics and woes. It made me more observant and understanding of emotions and how humans are complicated things. The independence I earned through the time after, while using my new life wisdom to move forward, has been the endless supply of fuel to the want to write. In a way, the whole mess of ecstasy and agony has been a perfect cocktail of writing material. And I don’t mean that so literally. I have never once written my relationship(s) into my books, nor created a character similar to my ex or any other boyfriend. I promise you that. This boy has simply provided me for a point of reference of love, lust, frustration, anger, and heartbreak.

So anyways, four years goes by and this guy gets in contact with me through, you guessed it, Facebook. I immediately confronted this with, first, shock, because to be honest I thought I was never going to talk to the guy again. Second came the seething anger. I stared at my computer screen and decided simply not to reply, and I didn’t for days. Then I couldn’t help myself. I’ll skip this part of the story because it’s boring and predictable. We eventually met up a few times. At first it was bizarre and terrifying, and then it became fun and enlightening, and finally it became … easy. Or at least easier. Being around each other started to become fun and friendly. One of the nights I decided to hang out with him he handed me his bands CD (yes, he still plays music), and said “I’m giving you this, but only in exchange for a signed copy of your book.” I giggled, he laughed, and I agreed.

Since you’ve actually spent the time to read all this, thanks for that, and after everything you’ve absorbed, what do you think I might have written inside?

We met up one day at the beach, snagged a bottle of wine and watched the sunset. It sounds romantic, but it really wasn’t, or at least my tom-boyish self cannot identify it for it is, but hey, we were just hanging out and beaches are normal in San Diego.

I held the book in my hands and found it funny that with all the chances to write something lengthy, I decided to spare him. I’m sure he’s grateful too, because if any one might know how long-winded I can be with my words, it would be him.

I decided to write something in the book that would sum up everything I have written into this blog post. I wrote it in two sentences, plus a sentimental pet-name to put a cherry on top:

“The best thing you ever did was break my heart. You will always be important to me, Buhbuhs.”

He was thrilled, and I think for him it was a sentimental trophy. I cannot figure out why. Maybe in a perfect world if the author thing goes my way he can brag to his friends about it and sell the copy on ebay, who knows. Regardless, he requested another paperback so he could keep the signed one in mint condition. We proceeded with laughs and more wine.

Maybe you’re wondering why I spared him of something with a little more brutal wit to put him in his place, or why I didn’t write him a whole page describing what he meant me and how he dumped me. No, no, no –that’s not what this was about any more. Too much time had past. He is a totally different person now, and so am I.

Though, I don’t necessarily excuse his shenanigans in his youth, it wasn’t in my book signing or during our minute hang outs that I wanted to make him constantly responsible for the scars on my heart. Nope. Those have healed. Instead, I just wanted him to know that he made a difference in my life and that it mattered –He mattered, and that’s all. I’m not going to kiss and tell about anything else, because I think I have done that enough in this post, but for now, I just wanted to let it all go.

I think signing the book was closure. I no longer resented my first love, but embraced the experience we gifted each other with, which I am sure helped our other pursuits whether it be another relationship or a passionate career move. You just owe it to yourself to appreciate the life lessons you’ve gone through, and let the grudge go, smile and move on. I’m thankful for him. From beginning to end, like the first book to my life, made a significant difference. Without all of that, where would I be? Maybe it’s annoying to hear, but maybe everything does happen for a reason; the good, the bad, and the ugly. You can either let the heartbreak or failure’s swallow you whole, or grin and bare it, and shoot life a sarcastic smirk before tackling it head on, and never faltering, or at least getting up when you do. Obviously only one of these options ends in awesomeness.

This is of course a personal post, but I think this experience is worth sharing, or at least I hope so.

Share your comments or experiences here. I’d love to hear them.