Oh I so do not want to write this. But, dear readers, I’ve promised the end, now I guess I have to deliver. And maybe it’ll be cathartic. Whatever.
Mr. Long Distance and I “broke up” in April. I use quotations because I suppose we were never officially together in the first place. It was that conversation that started the decline, when I decided I’d ask him how he’d feel about making me an honest woman and start referring to me as his girlfriend. He said he didn’t feel like we should broadcast our relationship like that, since we lived so far apart. Looking back it reminds me of that scene in A Walk to Remember where Mandy Moore says to Shane West “so you want to be secret friends” and then slams the door.
But I did slam some doors I suppose. My subconscious took over when I started to repeatedly say “it’s fine! It’s much better this way.” Despite my desperate attempts to convince myself this was true I was building walls all over the place. And thus started the vicious cycle. I withdrew, he withdrew, I withdrew more because he withdrew, and on and on.
Which brings us to April. We drove around my neighborhood both saying everything but the inevitable and obvious. He made excuses about the peace corps and something about sports and me not liking them, I told him I felt like I inconvenienced him whenever it was just the two of us and that he doesn’t seem to care much about my friends or my family despite the effort I put into his. He apologized and I said maybe I’d try out soccer (that was a lie). Then we sat in silence. Knowing that no matter how much soccer i attempted or how much quality time he tried to give me, there was no saving our situation. Then one of us finally said it, I can’t remember which one, but I think the words were “take some time off from each other,” or something ridiculously open ended like that. I think both of us were hoping that maybe in another time and place this could work, so “taking some time off” sounded better than “let’s break up.”
I dropped him off, went home and cried. And cried. Oh and then I cried some more. Then I stopped, ate some dinner, and he called me. He had just gotten back to South Dakota and... wanted to shoot the shit. I was confused and angry. I cut the conversation short and brooded about why he would want to pretend all was normal so soon. He wanted his cake and to eat it too. A few days later I got an email from him saying something about wanting to stay friends and that I’m one of his best friends. If I may offer you some advice, please, no matter how much you can’t stand not having that someone in your life, under no circumstances go this route. It may seem like the most comfortable way to break up with someone but when it comes down to it, it’s the most self destructive thing you can do. I spent the next few months pretending I was moving on, all the while keeping him in the back of my mind. Knowing that he was there felt safe and comfortable. If no one noticed me at a bar one night (or every night), it wouldn’t matter, because I knew that I had LD, even if the details weren’t the same. All of that is all well and good, as long as that other person stays single.
Ah, but the perfection of a self destructive relationship can’t last forever. Mr. Long Distance came for a visit in August. I met him for coffee at St. Marks. I had an iced chai and he had an iced coconut breve, his signature drink and disgusting, if you ask me. He greeted me like we saw each other just the other evening. He was so nonchalant it was sickening and disconcerting. I gave him a birthday present (a used copy of the poem The Sword and the Stone, his favorite movie), we talking for maybe 45 minutes and he left, leaving me with the impression I would be seeing him again during his visit. The only time I heard from him was a drunk text message and an description of how much fun he was having. The next thing I knew he was back home, uploading pictures of his trip. The last photo was one of him back in South Dakota next a beautiful girl with dark eyes. I know I’ve been a bit, oh what’s the word... paranoid about him and other girls in the past, but something in me just knew that this girl wasn’t like the others. And so, rather than be forced to watch their inevitable relationship progress, I decided to be proactive and remove him and the pain he was causing me.
I sent him a slightly vague email saying I would be deleting him from my facebook and myspace and to please respect the fact that I couldn’t have him in my life anymore. I even asked him to stop reading my blog. Obviously I have no way of knowing if he did that last bit, so if you’re still reading, HI CHARLES! Oh woops, first name slipped out there.
I told him that if he had any questions or anything he wanted to say to me, I wanted to hear it and that he should email me back. His response? “You got it.” I honestly wasn’t expecting him to respond at all, but those three words hurt more than not hearing anything. That’s what I mean to him, “you got it.” Or, in other words, absolutely nothing.
A few weeks later, while on vacation in Iowa I was trying to write my first poem due in my creative writing class. It had to be about a person and had to involve hands. My mind jumped straight to his hands, the way they felt in mine, smooth and brown. So, strictly for research purposes I hopped over to his myspace url which was so kindly still stored in my browser. And there they were, the very thing I didn’t want to see. Pictures of him and that girl. Kissing, hugging, laughing, happy. Happier than he ever looked with me. I don’t think I’ve ever felt like that before. Some weird combination of anger, despair, and self loathing. She was the antithesis to me. Athletic looking, dark skinned, dark hair, dark eyes, naturally beautiful. Like she rolled out of bed looking like a fucking volleyball goddess.
I have since come leaps and bounds from despair and self loathing, but the anger has been slow to leave. I can say that I don’t hate him anymore, but I’m not quite to the point of forgiveness. I think mostly because if I forgive him, I’ll have to let him go completely and I really don’t want to do that. It’s harder to stay angry though as the emotions are dwindling. He had every right to start dating again, and I sincerely don’t believe there was ever any overlap between the two of us. I just wish he could’ve told me about her. If he had been brave, he could’ve been honest when we had coffee and said there was someone he was interested in. I think I deserved that much, and had I heard it from him instead of myspace, I probably wouldn’t have lost weeks and weeks to sadness. I hate the way he made me feel about myself, or maybe that I let him make me feel that way, worthless and ugly through and through.
On a few weird notes, a few days after I sent him the email, Roommate showed me his facebook status. It said something like “looks like you deleted my from facebook and myspace. My virtual feelings are crushed. Let’s grow up.” Based on that and his response to the email, I’m wondering if he ever actually read it.
I also heard from my friend Gia that he would email or text her occasionally about me. One was right before he came to visit this last time. He asked if she saw me much anymore, she said not as much as she’d like and he responded “yeah, I feel the same.” He certainly didn’t show it while he was here. He also emailed her after I sent him the email saying I freaked out or something and if she knew anything about it. Apparently he was too afraid or passive aggressive to ask me himself. The only thing he could muster was “you got it.”
So there you have it, the saga is complete.
Fin.
If you want to follow the story from the beginning here are the posts in order:
In The Beginning
A New Year, A New Love, A New Loss
This is Not A Love Story, This is a Story About Love
PS- That was kind of cathartic
Posts
