You would think, after four decades on this planet, I would have mastered the art of the breakup. I envision one where we act like adults, say what needs to be said and no one walks away hurt. Sadly, I think this resolution is possible only in my dreams. Instead, I took the spineless way out and ended it with a text. I’m appalled at myself. With my 20/20 hindsight, I realize that I should have at least done it over the telephone; 2.5 months does not necessarily require a face-to-face, but it does warrant more than a 3 sentence text.
Everything I wrote to him and the feelings I have today are more than a little reminiscent of my Ex’s breakup with me. Am I no better? There really is no good way to accomplish the task.
This guy SHOULD have been a good catch for me. He was attractive and fit, kind and considerate, virile and gainfully employed, but I just never fell head-long for him. I should want to see him the last moment before I depart on a trip and the first thing when I return. We were apart for 2.5 weeks and I almost canceled on him this Saturday (I had already cancelled twice earlier this week). I should be begging for him to spend the night so I can wrap my body in his when, in fact, I felt relief when he said he had to go home. I know the depth of affection I’m capable of feeling – and I just couldn’t evoke it for him.
I realized that it’s not fair to continue – not to him by faking feelings as he becomes more entangled nor to myself but cutting myself off from other possible alternatives, convincing myself that “this” is better than nothing.
Regardless of whether I think I did the right thing (which I do), I still feel awful for having to do it.
I’ve come to learn that you like the gore of my life. Like a car crash, you can’t help but look at my guts spilled across the page.
When I write a little piece on some dish I’ve cooked or something I saw, I hardly get a blip in my stats, but tell you about the gut-wrenching sorrow I’m mired in and your readership abounds.
Does reading this somehow make you feel better, like your life isn’t so f’ed up in comparison? Or is it simply curiosity, watching this disaster unfold in front of you? Am I merely an exhibitionist, wanting you to look?
I awake to a mourning dove. I don’t remember the last time I heard one – and it’s appropriate. It’s 8 am on a Saturday. I’m never awake this early on the weekend, but this weekend is different. He left me yesterday. After one year and 3 and a half months. We spent last weekend together, went to dinner, had sex, enjoyed dim-sum for breakfast and spent the day lounging on the couch. We chatted over email and text on Monday, on Tuesday and part of Wednesday, but then he never responded to my last text – I think it said “Did you ever try the Hava chips?” …and I didn’t hear from him anytime on Thursday. Friday came and I called, sensing something was wrong. We talk or email every day. My call went to voicemail. I called again a few hours later, voicemail. I emailed, no response. I finally got a call back in the afternoon. He was outside Panera, ready to order a salad. I was in the office, with the door shut. “what’s going on with you?” I asked. “I don’t have feelings for you,” he said almost that simply, “and I feel really guilty about it.” That was it. That was all he had to do to get out of “us”. No conversation, no final blowup, just a call as if he was canceling his cable service. Thanks, but I’ve decided to go with the dish instead and I feel really guilty about it.
I’m not sure why they say love resides in the heart. It’s the solar plexus. I feel it as if he took his boot and kicked me squarely in that spot. I cannot eat. I cannot stay at home – I want to go out, get my hair cut, but new clothes. The other side of me, however, wants to crawl up and cry. I didn’t know I had this many tears. They just keep coming and coming and this ache from my center just won’t let up. I can’t tell anyone yet – I’m too fragile. I suffer alone.