He of all people should not be entitled to encourage my newly bestowed freedom. Even if he didn’t want to be together anymore, surely most people possesses a streak of jealousy that one often falls prey to in such circumstances. But somehow, he seemed to be immune from such human tendencies.
Initially, I think I just wanted to prove to myself and to him that I could. Everyone wanted me, and he no longer did.
Then I became reckless because of indifference. What I was doing didn’t matter for a while because nothing mattered for a while. I was numbed by the profound effects of losing him.
Eventually I got used to it and saw it as a way to distance myself from the notion of us getting back together. In an utterly perverse way, I wanted to be ashamed of my own indiscretions that I would not be able to face the possibility of getting back together with him, because then I would have to tell him everything.
For a while, it was almost possible to believe that I was forgetting about him. To myself, I pretended that I craved, enjoyed, and perhaps even thrived on the attention. But I hated myself for it. I hated what he had reduced me to. I hated what I was doing. I hated that it was all because of him. I hated losing myself.