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THE WAITING
I was beyond heartbroken. I couldn’t eat. I couldn’t talk. It was a wonder I could even breathe. Yes, I was everyone’s favorite girl to hang around with during this time.
That’s why we have best friends: so we don’t have to deal with moments like these by ourselves. The last thing I wanted was to be alone. I felt as if I was going stir crazy, and I just needed to do something, anything, to keep myself busy and occupied. (Well, at least physically, since emotionally, I was very much occupied.)
As soon as I hung up after leaving my message for Tye, I called my best girlfriends, Reagan and Stefani, who have known me since we were in college at the University of North Texas. I was soon in my car and on my way to see them. They were both happily married and living about thirty minutes outside of Dallas. Neither of them was a big fan of Tye, as he had never gotten serious enough about me in the year that we’d dated to ever bother meeting them. But they did their best to listen and be sympathetic.
At the end of the day, I couldn’t stand the thought of going back to my apartment, so I stayed over at Stefani’s house. Tye had helped me move into my place, and so I associated everything in it with him: the furniture he’d helped me put together; the happier days when he had been there with me; the fact that it was right around the corner from where he lived. Everything about it—even the smell—made me think of him.
To be completely and embarrassingly honest, in another classic psycho-girl move, a large reason that I chose to live in this particular apartment was because it was two minutes from Tye’s condo. (I wouldn’t have wanted the cookies I baked for him to get cold on the way over to his house, now would I?) And, of course, now that we were broken up, the proximity to him was agony.
I didn’t want to see if his car was out front. I didn’t want to see his car drive by. I really didn’t want to see him driving by with anybody else in his car. If I had seen him with another girl, I think I would have literally cried my eyes out of my head. Even if it had been his buddies, I would have been wondering: Where’s he going? What’s he doing? Are they going to meet up with other girls?
I did frequent drive-bys (guilty as charged): Is his bedroom light on? How many cars are parked out front?
I hated doing all of this psycho-stalker stuff, because it really upset me. But be honest, ladies: Who hasn’t done the infamous drive-by on an ex-boyfriend? I couldn’t stop. I was acting like a madwoman! I felt consumed by this feeling of total emptiness. Anyone who’s been through true heartbreak knows that feeling.
Now, keep in mind, at this point, Tye and I still had not had any communication. We hadn’t talked, texted, emailed, or seen each other in weeks. I knew there was a huge risk of running into Tye and his friends out in Dallas, so I completely avoided the neighborhood. I literally moved in with my married friends, Reagan and Stefani in the suburbs, and tried to find some sanity, which even I could see was severely lacking from my life at the time. When I wasn’t at work, I was with the two of them, all day, every day, and I’d spend the night over at one of their houses. It got to the point where I stopped pretending that we were going to do something fun when we hung out, like we used to do. I would call on my way over and say, “I’m coming to sit on your couch.” And I would. I would just sit there. Not talking, not eating, not smiling. (Well, that probably goes without saying.) I was miserable. I lost a lot of weight and looked like a hot mess. But there was nothing to be done for me. And I still could not be left alone, because I would drive myself crazy with my thoughts.
Reagan and her husband, Sean, were house hunting at the time, and some days, I would just sit in the back of their car while they went in and out of houses, because it was literally unbearable for me to be by myself.
Sean and Joe, Stefani’s husband, were involved in a Denton County Fall Festival washers tournament. Washers is a game we play in Texas that involves trying to throw metal washers into a cup from a distance. I’d never been a fan of the sport, but at that point, even watching grown men throw things sounded better than being alone. And so I tagged along.
I honestly don’t know what I would have done without my friends. They interrupted the ongoing dialogue in my head about how unloveable and stupid I was. They boosted my self-confidence. They said exactly what I needed them to say: “Melissa, you’re so funny.” “Melissa, you’re so pretty.” “Melissa, you’ve got so much going for you.”
It was a nice effort, and greatly appreciated. Even though it was hard for me to believe all the kind stuff they were saying about me, it was exactly what I needed to hear to start building myself back up. The girls, of course, were my lifeline during this time. But Joe and Sean, who were like big brothers to me, did something that was almost more important: They gave me the guy perspective on my situation.
Both said the same thing: “I don’t know what guy would treat you like that. We look at you as this fun, outgoing girl that loves life. You’re independent. You’ve done some great things. Why would Tye treat you like this? Why wouldn’t he want to come meet us when you were dating? You’re better off without him.”
When I heard this, it made me feel good, because I knew that most guys didn’t line up to have this kind of heart-to-heart talk. So I felt like they really must have meant what they said if they were actually moved to speak up.
After a few weeks of being quiet and moping around, I got to the point where all I wanted to do was talk about my relationship with Tye. Our breakup consumed me. (As if that isn’t obvious.) I had to analyze it to death, evaluating every last little thing that had happened between Tye and me over the past year, asking anyone who would listen: “Well, do you think we broke up because of this? Or that?”
I was desperate for answers or for someone to shine some light and hope my way. I’m sure I drove my friends nuts. But they never let on. Luckily for me, I couldn’t have asked for better friends than Stefani and Reagan. They remained patient throughout it all, listening when I needed to talk and letting me be quiet when I was too sad to say anything.
My cheerleading friends were also great, but they wanted me to start dating again, no matter how much I said I absolutely was not ready. Soon after the breakup, they tried to introduce me to some random guy when we were out one night. I was as polite as I could be. But it made me realize that they didn’t really get how I was feeling just then. I told them AGAIN that they weren’t listening to me, and that I had no desire to date some guy. I know they didn’t intend for me to jump into another relationship; they just wanted me to meet people and be social. I just didn’t even have it in me to pretend to be interested when my heart still completely belonged to Tye.
Things were not only difficult in my personal life. I was also struggling in my professional life. I was working as a marketing rep for a liquor distribution company. Not necessarily my goal in life, but it paid the bills. I had been a finance and marketing major in college, because I had been told that the business world offered the most job opportunities. I’m not sure what I was expecting to do with my degree beyond that. I honestly think I was just looking for something to keep me afloat until I could find my true calling.
I remember the first day of work after my breakup with Tye. I actually called the receptionist for help before I went in that morning. She was about my age, and we were friends who shared confidences from time to time. I explained what had happened and asked her to do me a big favor before I could come into the office. I needed her to go into my cubicle and take down all things Tye. Pictures. Notes. Romantic quotes. Basically everything I had used to decorate my cube. I literally sat in my car in the parking lot while she threw away my mementos from the relationship.
Not that I was capable of doing much work once I finally dared to face my cube. All that week, I would be fine for a little while, and then, I would be consumed with how heartbroken I felt all over again. I remember thinking: I am the most miserable I’ve been in my entire life, and there is nothing that can
make me feel better.
Almost every day at work, I would just randomly start crying. It would happen out of the blue, and there was no stopping my tears. I sat up front at the receptionist’s desk and cried. I hid in the cube that belonged to one of my other work friends and cried. I sat on the floor in my cube, in my work clothes, with my boss sitting in a chair next to me, and cried. The crying didn’t make me feel better. But I couldn’t stop. When I finally did stop, even for a few minutes, it wasn’t long before I was crying again. Now, I’m not usually an overemotional type of person, so this was very uncharacteristic of me. There’s just something about that infinite feeling of hollowness following a breakup that produces far more tears than usual.
I had felt this way once before, when my relationship with Josh, my boyfriend in high school and college ended. But I think the intensity of those emotions was really a sign of immaturity on my part at that time. When you’re with someone for so long, and you’re so young, you don’t quite know how to handle your emotions when it doesn’t work out. But the difference was that I had gotten over my college heartbreak fairly quickly. I got sad, I got mad, I moved on. But with Tye, I got sad, I got mad, and I could not move on.
It didn’t help that I was bored and frustrated with my mundane, routine job, which wasn’t giving me any satisfaction. The people I worked with were great, but I’m just not someone who can sit at a desk for eight to nine hours a day, staring at a computer screen. I need to be up, doing things and talking to people. I constantly need new challenges to keep me interested, so I wasn’t happy being so confined, and that job was not a good fit for me. As miserable as I was, I started looking for something—anything—that could make me feel better, or at least distract me from how badly I felt. Keep in mind, I still hadn’t heard anything from Tye.
I was experiencing another professional low in my life at the time, because I’d decided to walk away from the Dallas Cowboys Cheerleaders. Back in February, just before Tye and I broke up, I had reached the end of my second year as a Dallas Cowboys Cheerleader, and it was time to decide if I was going to try out again for a third year. As fun as it was, it also meant that between my job and cheering, I was facing down these insane eighteen-hour days. During the week, I worked from eight to five, and then I practiced from six to eleven. Not much room for a social life in that schedule. I also felt like cheering was taking me away from what I really cared about—you guessed it: Tye, and the life I wanted to make with him.
When I had started with the Cowboys, I was on my own, and I could throw everything into cheering and the squad. But by the end of the 2007 football season, Tye was the new priority in my life. And so being a cheerleader wasn’t quite as fun anymore. During practice, I found myself wishing I could be having dinner with Tye, or watching weekly TV shows, instead of sweating on a football field. I hated that I couldn’t go out and do anything with Tye on the Saturday nights before games, because I had to get up and be at the stadium at seven a.m. the next day.
So when we had been asked to make our final decisions about whether we were coming back to the squad, I turned in my NO. It had been an easy decision to make at the time. I felt 100 percent sure that I was ready to go on to the next stage of my life, with the guy who I wanted to be with forever.
Two weeks later, Tye and I broke up. I didn’t have the guy anymore. Or the Cowboys. Suddenly, all I had in my life was my day job. This was awful, because I needed something to keep me busy at night to distract me from all that I didn’t have. So I tried to go back to the Cowboys. I went into the Cheerleaders’ office and made my case. I spoke with the director and choreographer of the organization and told them that I’d made a mistake, and that I would love it if they would consider letting me come back for the next season. I knew this was a big deal because they’re an organization with a philosophy along the lines of: “If you’re not all in, we don’t want you.”
I honestly have no idea why, but they decided to let me come back. Maybe it was because I was a two-year veteran, and so they were invested enough in me to give me a second chance. Or maybe my humility impressed them. They were very intimidating women, and it took a lot for me to go to them and admit fault and ask for forgiveness. Even though they had let me return, I knew I was going to be on thin ice for a little bit, and I wasn’t going to have any room to screw up.
Most of the girls on the team were supportive, especially those who had become my close friends. But, of course, everyone knew I was returning because my relationship with Tye was over. And not all of the girls were 100 percent receptive, which made it difficult for me. I was given the stipulation that I wasn’t allowed to go on the photo shoot for the calendar that year.
Fair enough.
But a few of the girls were constantly reminding me of this. They’d say things like, “Why are you at practice tonight when you’re not even going on the calendar shoot?”
I didn’t really care about the shoot, but some of the girls took it as an opportunity to make me feel as if I wasn’t really a part of the squad anymore. My self-esteem was already shot, and I didn’t have it in me to deal with mean girls just then. Plus, my heart wasn’t really in it. I had been ready to move on and to settle down with Tye, and that’s what I still wanted, not the life of a single Dallas Cowboys Cheerleader, no matter how many perks it gave me. Although the pay was minimal, the other advantages were considerable. I was given etiquette classes, which taught me how to conduct myself in so many different circumstances. They also coached me on how to give an interview. Being a member of the Cowboys Cheerleaders meant that we were often asked to give interviews about the organization and the team. And they obviously wanted to make sure that we sounded intelligent and knowledgeable. Of course, I didn’t know at the time just how useful this particular skill would later come to be. Plus, football is everything in Texas, and the Cowboys are the ultimate. For two years straight, I had the best seat at Texas Stadium, and I got to wear a uniform that many girls wanted very much to wear. We were minor celebrities in the city, and we could get into any club.
But I didn’t really care about any of that anymore after Tye and I broke up. I think I was expecting the cheerleaders to patch a hole in my life, which I soon realized couldn’t be filled by anything. I lasted about one week before I dropped out a second and final time.
And then began, what is still to this day, one of the lowest times of my life. I remember having this feeling that I had lost absolutely everything that was important to me. I had just lost the guy who I loved. I had just lost the Cowboys, which was an organization that had basically kept me sane and had been such a positive outlet for me for the past two years. And all that I had left was a job that didn’t fulfill me.
Soon, I would be twenty-five. And I had nothing checked off my list; the “List” that every girl makes when she’s about thirteen years old; the list that should, theoretically, be checked off by the deadline you assume. (Note to readers: I found out that twenty-five is wayyyy too young to cap off the list!) Here was mine at the time:
Great Job: No.
Great Guy: No.
Great House: Nope.
Anything fun to look forward to: Absolutely not.
Pity party for one: Yes, please.
What I wanted more than anything for my birthday was just to hear from Tye. Even just a one-word text would be a sign that he was thinking of me. I hadn’t heard a peep from him since our big fight, which was agonizing. As two weeks of radio silence passed, I knew with even greater certainty that things were not looking good for us to get back together.
But I still couldn’t let go. I felt like I was in limbo. And I couldn’t stop reaching out to him. I would find myself at work, watching the seconds drag by, and before I could stop myself, I’d have my phone in my hand. I’d try to control myself, but I never could. The next thing I knew, I’d find myself texting him:
“Hi. Miss you.”
“Hey. Can you call me?”
And this wasn’t just every once in a while
, either. Every day I would text him any little thing I could think of, just hoping to get an answer. Boy, I really should have read a book on what not to do when going through a breakup. But no matter how many texts I sent, I still got no response.
I couldn’t give up. I had this idea in my mind that Tye was just as miserable as I was, but that he was just being stubborn. He didn’t want to be the one to call me because it would make him seem weak. And so I felt like I had to call him—not just for me but for both of us. When I did call, it always went straight to voicemail. Even with the many times I called and texted him in those weeks, I never heard anything back from him.
I had found out that the day after we’d broken up, which was a Saturday, he’d gone to Southlake. This is his hometown, and his parents and brother still live there. So, of course, being Queen of Denial, I reasoned that he went home because the only people who could make him feel better were members of his family. And he obviously was just as crushed as I was about the breakup.
This was great! This was exactly where I wanted him to be after we broke up: hanging out with his family. Not going out with the guys and meeting girls. And talking to girls. And flirting with girls. But then I learned that he’d gone to Southlake just to attend his nephew’s Little League football game. So much for my theory. Even worse, I soon started hearing from girls in Tye’s circle that he really was going out and meeting girls, and talking to girls, and flirting with girls. In other words, he was fine. I never asked for these status updates, mind you, and I don’t know why the girls gave them to me. (Maybe just a case of girls being girls?) If they could have felt how big the knife was that went into my chest when I heard about Tye with another girl, they might have thought better of it.
Finally, it was the day I had dreaded: March 11, my twenty-fifth birthday. First thing when I woke up, I checked my phone, hoping for some word from Tye. Nothing.
My Reality Page 3