Renard99 Posted October 9, 2012 Posted October 9, 2012 I've just moved house, and because of this, when I leave work, I have to get on a different bus to get home. This bus drives past the door of the building my ex works in at about the time she usually leaves. I feel this strange compulsion to look out for her as the bus goes past....... the funny thing is, if she is there and I see her, she seems 'ordinary' compared to the person I once saw her as. In some ways I feel repulsed by her. I feel that she's not even worth the small amount of effort it takes to look upon someone who cares so little about me. It always makes me wonder why I feel compelled to look for her!
lovecash Posted October 9, 2012 Posted October 9, 2012 I am going through the same thing. I pass her apartment every day to and from work and cant help but to look in her bedroom window and see if she is there. So sad.
Tree_Salmon Posted October 9, 2012 Posted October 9, 2012 What I found would help me is facing those fears of seeing her. I went back to all my old spots, passed by everything and spent time in it. At first it was very painful but eventually you take it back. Nobody should have control over you in that way. 2
PlanB123 Posted October 9, 2012 Posted October 9, 2012 yup. have something similar. except i'm not actually seeing her. just ghosts. living in a big city like London i am unlikely to ever see her again. but every time i see a girl with long peroxide blonde hair and platform high heels i do a double take. my ex always wears the highest of high heels. always. (attention whore). So everytime i see a girl in platform heels or stilletto knee high boots i think of her and then think of all the guys that must be looking at her walking down the street looking at her--like i am looking at whatever girl is infront of me. total head-****. need to get my head back in the game and go get some. but its like im so used to playing defence i gotta switch to attack mode now. 2 months NC. not getting better. anyway, know how you feel. seeing ghosts.
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