Wreck of the Day
I was a wreck by the end of the summer. I forced myself to constantly go out to movies, and pubs; restaurants and parties. I made myself to do things, even though the only thing I wanted to do was lie there and die there. Less thinking, more moving. People always say that time heals all wounds so I thought if I threw myself mindlessly into activities, enough time would pass and I would wake up one morning feeling like my old self.
If you go through my photo album from last summer, you'd be amazed at how much I did. I didn't turn anything down. I drove myself to the point of exhaustion because that was the only way I could sleep at night. I have flipped back through my calendar from those four months and there's nothing but scrawled dates and times, people and places.
But with the close of summer, and the approaching school year, I realized I wasn't feeling much better at all. I worried that I was wearing out my welcome with my friends - after all, I had been so emo with them for months. No - it was time to seek professional help before everybody decided they were fed up with my lack of discernible progress. Apparently, you have to do more than just bide your time. Apparently healing is an active process.
Like most people who are thinking about going into counseling, there's a moment where you have to check your pride. Bess had never believed in therapy and head-shrinking; she thought depression was a load of baloney that you could overcome by sheer willpower alone. Of course, this was a girl who was so mentally tough that she had actually watched a friend get shot and die in front of her and never even once considered talking to the grief counselors they had on staff. A part of me felt incredibly soft for finally caving and admitting I needed help.
But so many others told me that I was actually pretty strong for admitting it and getting the help I needed to get over it and get on with my life. In a way, it would be a lot easier to wallow eternally than to face all my issues directly. Going to therapy means dredging up all the things from the murky bottom of your brain. And if you want your therapy sessions to actually be productive, it means being scarily honest about what you want, what you feel and what you think.
I think over the years, I'd gotten very good at lying to myself.
So I entered therapy the way I do everything else in life: feet first, 100%, determined to be the best patient ever. The first month of therapy I didn't do much beyond tell the therapist my sob story and cry. I told her everything - about the Ex, John, Bess, Heather, Robby - and beyond. Because what had shaken me wasn't just the loss of those relationships but how I was completely shook up at all. Three years ago, I stepped into this new phase of my life confident and fearless. And now I was quailing on a therapist's couch; I grieved as much for the loss of my imperviousness as the loss of people. I went through boxes and boxes of tissue; it got to the point that I began bringing make up remover to my sessions so afterward I could wipe the raccoon-eyes off my face before heading to class. I surprised myself at how much I could still feel about everything. It had been months of repression and pushing everything aside; you would think something would have faded by now.
Every fear, concern, paranoia, wish, desire, thought, feeling was dragged kicking and screaming from the dark recesses of my mind and held up against the scrutinizing light of day. There was something about saying these things aloud, with somebody else in the room whom I could trust entirely - it made everything more real. But in making it more real, it made it flesh and blood and mortal instead of undefeatable skeletons and shadows lurking in my closet.
There was the more sinister side of bringing everything to the forefront all at once, of course. You list and then detail every disappointment and hurt of the past three years in a few hours and it suddenly seems unbearably overwhelming. Having all my anxieties displayed on a table at once, like some poisonous feast, was one of the reasons why I had decided to kill myself in October. It just all seemed to pointless; even if I could put all this energy into getting better, was it even worth it?
Even when you're at your own personal low, you can always go lower. Life doesn't get better; you just solve one problem after another so it only seems like it's improving by comparison. Instead, you're really just running on a treadmill that is slowly speeding up.
You could say I tripped and fell.
You can't reason with me when I'm feeling suicidal, which has to be extremely frustrating to those people in my life who are coldly and robotically logical. Rational thoughts and well-timed arguments don't work because I'm driven by something purely emotional and primal. It's this maelstrom of energy I need to get out of me. I get annoyed when people attempt those tried and true phrases; I know they mean well and I know they don't know anything else to say. I know those phrases are tried and true for a reason. I know words are sometimes a poor substitute for a hug or a physical presence but in this day of texting and instant messaging and emails - it's sometimes all we have. But it feels like I'm screaming at the top of my lungs and all people can do is paste fake plastic smiles on their faces.
Brock was the man who gave me the words that gave me pause. He was the only one who knew of my plans and he said very simply, "I don't agree with it, but I understand." He didn't try to force feed me unicorns and happiness, hope wrapped up in ribbons. He didn't try to spin me 'round til I found the light at the end of the tunnel. He wasn't condescending; he didn't try to guilt trip me into staying. It can feel like those who are not suicidal are flaunting their 'happy to be alive' status when they perkily tell me that there is so much worth living for. You can tell me until you're blue in the face but I will never see it, I will never process it and I will never take it to heart. Sunshine can be unbearable for those hung over; I felt hung over by my existence and the last thing I wanted or needed was somebody yanking the curtains back. Brock just let me rant and rail until it was exhaustion that took me to sleep instead of my own hand taking me to a deeper peace.
Like a dutiful patient, I told my therapist about my decision. Alarmed, she referred me to a physician, who prescribed Wellbutrin. Suicide became less of a pressing need and was relegated to the background, like a dull buzzing in the recesses of my mind. Any extremes in affect was blunted; the drug just didn't let me get helplessly sad. I don't think I'll ever completely banish these thoughts and feelings. I suspect they stem from a deeper need of mine to be in control of my ultimate destiny, but it's no longer driving me at 100 miles an hour over the edge of the cliff. My foot might be on the gas pedal some days but I know how to brake - even if it's at the last minute.
Monday, May 30, 2011
Thursday, May 26, 2011
Inhale
My pillow misses your scent
Aftershave pulling memories through the woven thread
Mingling with soap on skin on a Sunday morning
It's the only part of your touch that lingers
When the ghost of you slips from my grasp
Into the hurrying dawn
Aftershave pulling memories through the woven thread
Mingling with soap on skin on a Sunday morning
It's the only part of your touch that lingers
When the ghost of you slips from my grasp
Into the hurrying dawn
Monday, May 23, 2011
Once Bitten, Forever Shy: Part 5
Part 5: You Deserved Better, Maggie
Of all the relationships and friendships I've had end in the past few years, this one is probably the one that I deserved the most. The details aren't important and probably would be far too disjointed to explain fully. The key thing to understand is that I lied and betrayed one of my closest friends. The intentions were good, or at least I was telling myself this; I told myself I was protecting her. In the end, Maggie was rightfully hurt that I underestimated her own strength and resilience. I should have told her the truth and then let her decide what to do with the information and dealt with the fall out, one way or the other.
Maggie forgave me but it was clear we could never go back to our tightly knit bond. Some things, while forgiveable, may never be forgettable. Some things strike the very core of a relationship and an infinite number of apologies won't help. I'm Canadian and I say "I'm sorry" as part of my national greeting; even those proffuse offerings will never fix my friendship with Maggie.
As children, we're often told by our parents to go apologize for something hurtful we've done and just as often, the parents of the corresponding child will tell their own child, "Ok, say it's all right and now you guys go back and play."
"I'm sorry for pulling on your ponytail."
"I'm sorry for wrecking your sand castle."
"I'm sorry for taking your toy."
But as adults, "I'm sorry" isn't a magical incantation that will erase the wrongdoings of the past. We're taught to say I'm sorry and too often we assume that we'll be forgiven and things will go back to the way they were. But this time, I can't run back to the playground with her. No take-backs. No resets. No restarts. No reloads.
But since I deserved it, I'm not asking for your pity. It's a hard lesson to learn. It's a hard friendship to lose.
I think all this comes with the territory of being an adult.
Of all the relationships and friendships I've had end in the past few years, this one is probably the one that I deserved the most. The details aren't important and probably would be far too disjointed to explain fully. The key thing to understand is that I lied and betrayed one of my closest friends. The intentions were good, or at least I was telling myself this; I told myself I was protecting her. In the end, Maggie was rightfully hurt that I underestimated her own strength and resilience. I should have told her the truth and then let her decide what to do with the information and dealt with the fall out, one way or the other.
Maggie forgave me but it was clear we could never go back to our tightly knit bond. Some things, while forgiveable, may never be forgettable. Some things strike the very core of a relationship and an infinite number of apologies won't help. I'm Canadian and I say "I'm sorry" as part of my national greeting; even those proffuse offerings will never fix my friendship with Maggie.
As children, we're often told by our parents to go apologize for something hurtful we've done and just as often, the parents of the corresponding child will tell their own child, "Ok, say it's all right and now you guys go back and play."
"I'm sorry for pulling on your ponytail."
"I'm sorry for wrecking your sand castle."
"I'm sorry for taking your toy."
But as adults, "I'm sorry" isn't a magical incantation that will erase the wrongdoings of the past. We're taught to say I'm sorry and too often we assume that we'll be forgiven and things will go back to the way they were. But this time, I can't run back to the playground with her. No take-backs. No resets. No restarts. No reloads.
But since I deserved it, I'm not asking for your pity. It's a hard lesson to learn. It's a hard friendship to lose.
I think all this comes with the territory of being an adult.
Saturday, May 21, 2011
Once Bitten, Forever Shy: Part 4
Part 4: Dear John
Dear John,
It's been over a year since we've spoken in person. What closure I had hoped to get is no longer necessary, which is the only reason why I can write this letter to you - a letter of course, that I will never send you but will instead post on the internet for all those curious enough to read.
We were never supposed to fall in love - not you and I. We made about as much sense together as fire and water or predator and prey. Being together meant one of us getting consumed by the other and we always knew it would be me as the victim. You were always too dominant for it to work any other way and I always wore my naked heart on my sleeves for all to see.
You were the exact opposite of any man I'd ever been interested in. It fascinated me and you knew this and you used it to your advantage. I didn't mind because it gave me everything I ever thought I'd wanted and everything I thought I'd needed to move forward with my life. I had never been with a man who worked in the glossy glass high rises of the downtown, who fitted himself into suits and ties with professional ease. I had never been with a man who always brought flowers, wine or chocolates when he made a social call. I had never been with a man who would take me to dimly lit Italian restaurants and who never expected I do the fake reach for my wallet. To do so would be an affront to your chivalrous, masculine upbringing. I loved that you were tall and broad shouldered; even in my stiletto heels which clicked smartly on the marble floors next to you, I was never taller than you.
It would have been easy to think that I was nothing more to you than mere arm candy or a prize on two long legs if you hadn't been genuinely happy around me. Can you fake that? Can you fake the evaporating stress and worries that you always displayed when you were with me? I saw what you were like at the office. I saw what you were like with your friends. I saw what you were like at the grocery store. And you were so different around me - you laughed with a big booming ease and your lopsided grin never left your face. There was a tenderness when you touched my face and an eagerness to please me that would have surprised those who knew you as the Big Bad Suit. I could soothe the beast that was in you.
You always said the sweetest things. What was it that you said that one cold afternoon in the park as we both clutched our coffees to keep our fingers warm? That you had lived around the world and had met thousands of girls but none were as amazing as me. I stared into your earnest baby blue eyes and believed it all. You had this feral, animalistic gaze that always left me pinned and helpless; our first kiss left us both flushed and breathless as our hands scrabbled for purchase on shirts, and necks, hair and lapels. You carried around a raw power; you had a presence that commanded. I was willingly under your spell.
But I never seem to go for the easy ones. The catch here was that you were seeing another woman at the same time as me. So as amazing as you thought I was and as perfect a girlfriend as you claimed I was, it was never enough for you. You had your reasons of course and I sometimes think some of my demons of this past year came from you. You came from a conservative religious family and the fact that I was divorced was an indelible stain on the white sheets. In a society where people marry and divorce with frightening impunity, my post-marital status was for the first time a problematic stigma. You once admitted you would have a problem with being the second husband.
Very well. We had what we had, whatever it was. I never wanted you to stop seeing the other girl. I knew I would never marry you nor would I be so foolish as to seriously consider a long term relationship with you. You were charming, intelligent and funny and I didn't trust you further than I could throw you - which wasn't very far at all. And yet - despite both of our cautions not to take whatever it was we had to the next level, we somehow both tripped and fell and lost our grip on our promises.
When did it happen for you? It happened for me late one night, on the phone with you. I was curled up on my couch and we talked about those nothings and everythings that lovers talk about in the wee hours of the night. You were using the soft, private voice that you only used around me and I could feel myself slipping and protesting all the way. No no no no - I can't fall for you like this, not this hard. The first rule of having a fling is not to fall in love! This is such a bad idea, a terrible idea, the worst ever.
Whoops. A mistake, but not a regret.
I don't know when it happened for you but I know when you told me. It was after a cocktail party and we were both suffused with enough alcohol that you were struggling to take your black dress shoes off and I had tossed my jacket on the back of the kitchen chair because coat hangers just seemed so damn complicated. You were staying over because the trains had stopped running hours before and we both didn't have anywhere to be in the morning. You were lying on my couch and I was sitting beside you, and we were going through the photographs I had taken of the evening while we waited for our tipsy buzz to subside. I put the camera down on the coffee table and smiled down at you when suddenly you sat up and pressed your forehead against mine. Your voice was thick and fervent, low and throaty as you said hoarsely, "I love you." There was no more speaking after that.
A spontaneous albeit drunken declaration. I would have dismissed it as an inebriated confession had you not repeated those three words the very next morning, stone cold sober. I replied in kind. You hugged me and then went back to your condo.
I basically never saw you again.
We live in a society of easy and virtually limitless methods of communication and you were silent to me on all fronts. For the first week, I was in denial and blamed your work schedule. Hadn't you said you were involved in a merger? A deal about to close? Didn't you say there was a big shareholders meeting? Was it the fiscal year end?
By the second week, it was clear you were avoiding me. It takes less than a minute to send a text hello. Before, even when you were at your busiest, you always contacted me at least once a day. It destroyed me in a way I vowed never to be hurt - but oaths are meaningless against the heady rush of being in love. This was a runaway train and the best I could do was hang on for my dear, sweet life.
I hung on. For weeks, I kept hoping. Then when hope faded and became bitter, I moped and mourned something I wasn't even sure had truly existed. I went through the motions of life, hiding my wounds as best I could but I was unspeakably devastated. You had cleft me into two and my ghost circled my still living corpse - angry, hurt, confused and unable to move on. There could be no closure when you steadfastly refused to answer even my most innocuous correspondence.
When you had joked one evening that you loved spoiling me and would ruin me for other men, I had no idea how true this would be. You ruined me but not in the way we both assumed.
It took me almost another year before I trusted myself enough to re-enter the world and not flinch under the attention of men. It took months before I could walk past our favourite spots without feeling the pangs and seeing the wisps of a once happy couple. I cried until my body threatened to throw up what meagre meal I had managed to eat; alternatively, I would stare at my bedroom ceiling blankly while the dark hours whittled away. I'll never really know why you left as abruptly as you did. I've ventured a few guesses and mutual friends have their own theories; I have long suspect however that you aren't even sure why you left.
But I think you were afraid. I think you were afraid of what it meant when we both finally admitted our feelings aloud. It terrified you that this would signal an irrevocable shift in our relationship - and one you could not handle. It would mean you would have to choose between me and the other girl; it would mean introducing me to your family. It would mean traveling down a path you never thought would make you happy but did. You were never good at pursuing what truly made you happy and instead did what others said would make you happy. I always knew I was a forbidden thing to you and then when the temptation was too great, you fled.
I rocked your world and turned it upside down. So you left in the most cowardly way you could. You know this and I know this. I know by the way you won't meet my eye when we bump into each other at parties. I know by the way you'll always hover near me while I'm conversing with our friends but never join the circle. Your presence has somehow diminished; you're not as shiny to me as you once were. Time and friends and a lot of introspection sewed me back together; I'm changed because of you but I would never want to go through love and not come out the other side unchanged.
Last I heard, you had asked the other girl to marry you. I wish you both nothing but happiness. Good luck with that.
All the best,
Artemis
Dear John,
It's been over a year since we've spoken in person. What closure I had hoped to get is no longer necessary, which is the only reason why I can write this letter to you - a letter of course, that I will never send you but will instead post on the internet for all those curious enough to read.
We were never supposed to fall in love - not you and I. We made about as much sense together as fire and water or predator and prey. Being together meant one of us getting consumed by the other and we always knew it would be me as the victim. You were always too dominant for it to work any other way and I always wore my naked heart on my sleeves for all to see.
You were the exact opposite of any man I'd ever been interested in. It fascinated me and you knew this and you used it to your advantage. I didn't mind because it gave me everything I ever thought I'd wanted and everything I thought I'd needed to move forward with my life. I had never been with a man who worked in the glossy glass high rises of the downtown, who fitted himself into suits and ties with professional ease. I had never been with a man who always brought flowers, wine or chocolates when he made a social call. I had never been with a man who would take me to dimly lit Italian restaurants and who never expected I do the fake reach for my wallet. To do so would be an affront to your chivalrous, masculine upbringing. I loved that you were tall and broad shouldered; even in my stiletto heels which clicked smartly on the marble floors next to you, I was never taller than you.
It would have been easy to think that I was nothing more to you than mere arm candy or a prize on two long legs if you hadn't been genuinely happy around me. Can you fake that? Can you fake the evaporating stress and worries that you always displayed when you were with me? I saw what you were like at the office. I saw what you were like with your friends. I saw what you were like at the grocery store. And you were so different around me - you laughed with a big booming ease and your lopsided grin never left your face. There was a tenderness when you touched my face and an eagerness to please me that would have surprised those who knew you as the Big Bad Suit. I could soothe the beast that was in you.
You always said the sweetest things. What was it that you said that one cold afternoon in the park as we both clutched our coffees to keep our fingers warm? That you had lived around the world and had met thousands of girls but none were as amazing as me. I stared into your earnest baby blue eyes and believed it all. You had this feral, animalistic gaze that always left me pinned and helpless; our first kiss left us both flushed and breathless as our hands scrabbled for purchase on shirts, and necks, hair and lapels. You carried around a raw power; you had a presence that commanded. I was willingly under your spell.
But I never seem to go for the easy ones. The catch here was that you were seeing another woman at the same time as me. So as amazing as you thought I was and as perfect a girlfriend as you claimed I was, it was never enough for you. You had your reasons of course and I sometimes think some of my demons of this past year came from you. You came from a conservative religious family and the fact that I was divorced was an indelible stain on the white sheets. In a society where people marry and divorce with frightening impunity, my post-marital status was for the first time a problematic stigma. You once admitted you would have a problem with being the second husband.
Very well. We had what we had, whatever it was. I never wanted you to stop seeing the other girl. I knew I would never marry you nor would I be so foolish as to seriously consider a long term relationship with you. You were charming, intelligent and funny and I didn't trust you further than I could throw you - which wasn't very far at all. And yet - despite both of our cautions not to take whatever it was we had to the next level, we somehow both tripped and fell and lost our grip on our promises.
When did it happen for you? It happened for me late one night, on the phone with you. I was curled up on my couch and we talked about those nothings and everythings that lovers talk about in the wee hours of the night. You were using the soft, private voice that you only used around me and I could feel myself slipping and protesting all the way. No no no no - I can't fall for you like this, not this hard. The first rule of having a fling is not to fall in love! This is such a bad idea, a terrible idea, the worst ever.
Whoops. A mistake, but not a regret.
I don't know when it happened for you but I know when you told me. It was after a cocktail party and we were both suffused with enough alcohol that you were struggling to take your black dress shoes off and I had tossed my jacket on the back of the kitchen chair because coat hangers just seemed so damn complicated. You were staying over because the trains had stopped running hours before and we both didn't have anywhere to be in the morning. You were lying on my couch and I was sitting beside you, and we were going through the photographs I had taken of the evening while we waited for our tipsy buzz to subside. I put the camera down on the coffee table and smiled down at you when suddenly you sat up and pressed your forehead against mine. Your voice was thick and fervent, low and throaty as you said hoarsely, "I love you." There was no more speaking after that.
A spontaneous albeit drunken declaration. I would have dismissed it as an inebriated confession had you not repeated those three words the very next morning, stone cold sober. I replied in kind. You hugged me and then went back to your condo.
I basically never saw you again.
We live in a society of easy and virtually limitless methods of communication and you were silent to me on all fronts. For the first week, I was in denial and blamed your work schedule. Hadn't you said you were involved in a merger? A deal about to close? Didn't you say there was a big shareholders meeting? Was it the fiscal year end?
By the second week, it was clear you were avoiding me. It takes less than a minute to send a text hello. Before, even when you were at your busiest, you always contacted me at least once a day. It destroyed me in a way I vowed never to be hurt - but oaths are meaningless against the heady rush of being in love. This was a runaway train and the best I could do was hang on for my dear, sweet life.
I hung on. For weeks, I kept hoping. Then when hope faded and became bitter, I moped and mourned something I wasn't even sure had truly existed. I went through the motions of life, hiding my wounds as best I could but I was unspeakably devastated. You had cleft me into two and my ghost circled my still living corpse - angry, hurt, confused and unable to move on. There could be no closure when you steadfastly refused to answer even my most innocuous correspondence.
When you had joked one evening that you loved spoiling me and would ruin me for other men, I had no idea how true this would be. You ruined me but not in the way we both assumed.
It took me almost another year before I trusted myself enough to re-enter the world and not flinch under the attention of men. It took months before I could walk past our favourite spots without feeling the pangs and seeing the wisps of a once happy couple. I cried until my body threatened to throw up what meagre meal I had managed to eat; alternatively, I would stare at my bedroom ceiling blankly while the dark hours whittled away. I'll never really know why you left as abruptly as you did. I've ventured a few guesses and mutual friends have their own theories; I have long suspect however that you aren't even sure why you left.
But I think you were afraid. I think you were afraid of what it meant when we both finally admitted our feelings aloud. It terrified you that this would signal an irrevocable shift in our relationship - and one you could not handle. It would mean you would have to choose between me and the other girl; it would mean introducing me to your family. It would mean traveling down a path you never thought would make you happy but did. You were never good at pursuing what truly made you happy and instead did what others said would make you happy. I always knew I was a forbidden thing to you and then when the temptation was too great, you fled.
I rocked your world and turned it upside down. So you left in the most cowardly way you could. You know this and I know this. I know by the way you won't meet my eye when we bump into each other at parties. I know by the way you'll always hover near me while I'm conversing with our friends but never join the circle. Your presence has somehow diminished; you're not as shiny to me as you once were. Time and friends and a lot of introspection sewed me back together; I'm changed because of you but I would never want to go through love and not come out the other side unchanged.
Last I heard, you had asked the other girl to marry you. I wish you both nothing but happiness. Good luck with that.
All the best,
Artemis
Tuesday, May 17, 2011
Once Bitten, Forever Shy: Part 3
Part 3: Friends With No Benefits Robby
I should have seen it coming with Robby. I should have suspected that a man couldn't possibly be that nice to me without ulterior motives - but at the time, I was in a long term relationship and then later married to the Ex. Robby knew about the Ex of course; there had been full disclosure. I had always been clear that he was a friend and nothing more. I don't make it a goal to lead men on; I derive no satisfaction from toying with hearts.
This isn't to say that I didn't cherish Robby. We always had what I affectionately dubbed "Ar&R" time - adventures around the city where we'd go to the opera, attend a gallery opening, grab ice cream together. We had an easy going chemistry where dinners together were marked by non-stop chatter and peals of laughter. We often strategized over his love life - here was a fellow who was sweet and intelligent and kind beyond compare and he was single? It seemed like he was completely incapable of catching a break when it came to girls.
Who knew that I would soon be counted among this crowd.
Perhaps I had underestimated a person's ability to hope. Perhaps I had underestimated the temptation of unrequited love. Perhaps I had underestimated how tenacious these unresolved issues can be. All I know is that a month after the Ex and I announced the Big D, Robby came over one night with sushi and a movie. Like all of our dinners, it was amusing, enlightening and entertaining. Robby was a solid presence in my life who provided thoughtful and sensitive words whenever the world spun out of control from beneath my feet.
Robby was telling me about his current girlfriend. They had been serious for quite a few months and in two months time, she would be moving to town and moving in with him. They had been quarreling lately and it had him worried; Robby always knew that if she moved in with him, he would marry her - whether out of some sense of nobility, duty or guilt that he had caused a girl to uproot and move 1000 miles to be with him - I'm not sure. We attacked the problem from various angles: were they fighting because of the upcoming stress of the move? Were they fighting because she had just quit her job in anticipation of the move? Were they fighting because Robby was overwhelmed at work? We nitpicked at the words exchanged and the sentiments behind them.
Towards the end of the evening, Robby broached the subject in a different manner. "I think..." he said slowly, "I think we've been fighting more since you said you and the Ex were breaking up."
My eyebrows shot up incredulously. "Really..." I looked at him warily. "Why's that?" The Divorce was still so fresh in my mind along with all the stigma attached to it that I was sensitive to being blamed for other couples' woes. After all, I had read that study that said that friends of a couple going through a divorce are more likely themselves to go through a divorce. I felt like my divorce was this pink elephant in the room, stomping petulantly on everyone's daisy fairytales.
Robby seemed to struggle with himself temporarily. I could see the conflict flit across his face but he soldiered on. "Because I think subconsciously I'm trying to sabotage the relationship." He faltered and that slow creeping feeling of dread started working its way up from the pit of my stomach. "When you married the Ex, I thought that was the end of my chances. When you told me that you were going to stay with him despite the problems, I decided that I couldn't wait around anymore so that's when I went out and started dating seriously. That's when I met Annie. And now...now I don't know..."
He looked at me like I had answers, instead of just staring at him, dumbstruck and dumbfounded as the dread crawled into my throat. Robby plowed on, "I've loved you since I met you. You have always been the number one girl in my life." My mouth was dry and my tongue was numb. He added passionately, the coup de grace, "You're perfect to me. I know I could offer you everything those other guys did and more. I'm better at everything they can do. I could make you happy."
There was that unspoken question in the air. I heard it. I felt it. It was thick between us, as it hovered over the half-eaten meal and the chopsticks poised mid-air. The dread was heavy on my brain. It didn't seem quite real, as I answered him. I almost stepped outside my body; I sounded rehearsed. "I'm sorry...I just...don't feel that way about you." So cliched. He had just poured his heart out to me, left it a quivering bloody mess next to the sashimi, and all I could give him was this line.
A part of me desperately wished that I could feel that way about him - after all, we did get along fabulously and he fit the laundry of list of what makes a good partner, mate, spouse. But something was missing - something that I yearned and searched for almost to the extent of overlooking otherwise glaring flaws. That spark, that click, that intangible that I sought in a lover. It's not something that can be cultivated or groomed or developed. It's a lightning strike or it's not. My breath didn't catch when he looked at me. My cheeks didn't flush when he flashed me a coy smile. There was no surge of feeling when he was near. There were no butterflies; there weren't even caterpillars.
Robby nodded slowly, his face a carefully constructed calm disappointment. "I know. And you can't change how you feel. You just do." Even after I'd struck the fatal blow, he was as understanding as ever. "I'm sorry I turned into another one of your friends who fell for you but...you have this way - Artemis, men can't help but fall in love with you. You're too nice and it's going to get you in a lot more trouble in the future."
Robby stood, "I have to do something...and I'm sorry, but if I can't be with you, then I can't talk to you anymore. I have to focus on my relationship with Annie and I can't, if you're in my life."
Ever had a friend break up with you? How do you respond to that? There's no guidebook so I did my best to navigate these unusual, murky waters. "I understand. And I want you to know that if you ever decide you want to talk to me again, I'll be here. And...and...I won't even make it difficult or awkward for you. You know I'm good at that!" I somehow thought that by making it easier to come back to me, he wouldn't leave in the first place.
Robby's lips quirked into a smile, a half of one, and the corners of his eyes crinkled up. "No, I want you to make it hard for me. I don't deserve to be completely forgiven for what I'm doing. No real friend would do this."
He left the apartment then and I watched him leave. What do you say? Have a nice life? He left me contemplating what had just happened, over smushed wasabi and spilled soy sauce.
Did it hurt? It did. In the stream of abandonment I was going through in those few short weeks, this was another. Did I understand? I completely did so I could not begrudge him his actions. Did I hope he'd come around soon? Of course I did - but it has been over a year since and the only time I heard from him was a short and sweet text sent to me on my birthday. It has been effective radio silence.
But beyond that, what he had said about men falling in love with me haunted me. Had I brought all this upon myself? Could I save myself headaches and heartaches in the future if I was just colder and quieter? Could I protect all those hapless enough to encounter me by never responding to texts or emails or Facebook pokes?
But was it my responsibility to do all this? It took me days of mulling this over before the thought that I had to change who I was in order to save others from themselves made me bristle. I am who I am and I am a friendly, warm, generous, patient and effusive person. To be anything or anyone else would be denying myself and I would be cheating all those who would get to know me in the future from knowing the real me. How is that better than lying, even if the intentions were noble?
So I remained friendly, warm, generous, patient and effusive and yes it's gotten me into trouble since his dire warnings but it's worth it for knowing I can be myself and knowing I can deal with the consequences - the good, the bad and the ugly ones.
I should have seen it coming with Robby. I should have suspected that a man couldn't possibly be that nice to me without ulterior motives - but at the time, I was in a long term relationship and then later married to the Ex. Robby knew about the Ex of course; there had been full disclosure. I had always been clear that he was a friend and nothing more. I don't make it a goal to lead men on; I derive no satisfaction from toying with hearts.
This isn't to say that I didn't cherish Robby. We always had what I affectionately dubbed "Ar&R" time - adventures around the city where we'd go to the opera, attend a gallery opening, grab ice cream together. We had an easy going chemistry where dinners together were marked by non-stop chatter and peals of laughter. We often strategized over his love life - here was a fellow who was sweet and intelligent and kind beyond compare and he was single? It seemed like he was completely incapable of catching a break when it came to girls.
Who knew that I would soon be counted among this crowd.
Perhaps I had underestimated a person's ability to hope. Perhaps I had underestimated the temptation of unrequited love. Perhaps I had underestimated how tenacious these unresolved issues can be. All I know is that a month after the Ex and I announced the Big D, Robby came over one night with sushi and a movie. Like all of our dinners, it was amusing, enlightening and entertaining. Robby was a solid presence in my life who provided thoughtful and sensitive words whenever the world spun out of control from beneath my feet.
Robby was telling me about his current girlfriend. They had been serious for quite a few months and in two months time, she would be moving to town and moving in with him. They had been quarreling lately and it had him worried; Robby always knew that if she moved in with him, he would marry her - whether out of some sense of nobility, duty or guilt that he had caused a girl to uproot and move 1000 miles to be with him - I'm not sure. We attacked the problem from various angles: were they fighting because of the upcoming stress of the move? Were they fighting because she had just quit her job in anticipation of the move? Were they fighting because Robby was overwhelmed at work? We nitpicked at the words exchanged and the sentiments behind them.
Towards the end of the evening, Robby broached the subject in a different manner. "I think..." he said slowly, "I think we've been fighting more since you said you and the Ex were breaking up."
My eyebrows shot up incredulously. "Really..." I looked at him warily. "Why's that?" The Divorce was still so fresh in my mind along with all the stigma attached to it that I was sensitive to being blamed for other couples' woes. After all, I had read that study that said that friends of a couple going through a divorce are more likely themselves to go through a divorce. I felt like my divorce was this pink elephant in the room, stomping petulantly on everyone's daisy fairytales.
Robby seemed to struggle with himself temporarily. I could see the conflict flit across his face but he soldiered on. "Because I think subconsciously I'm trying to sabotage the relationship." He faltered and that slow creeping feeling of dread started working its way up from the pit of my stomach. "When you married the Ex, I thought that was the end of my chances. When you told me that you were going to stay with him despite the problems, I decided that I couldn't wait around anymore so that's when I went out and started dating seriously. That's when I met Annie. And now...now I don't know..."
He looked at me like I had answers, instead of just staring at him, dumbstruck and dumbfounded as the dread crawled into my throat. Robby plowed on, "I've loved you since I met you. You have always been the number one girl in my life." My mouth was dry and my tongue was numb. He added passionately, the coup de grace, "You're perfect to me. I know I could offer you everything those other guys did and more. I'm better at everything they can do. I could make you happy."
There was that unspoken question in the air. I heard it. I felt it. It was thick between us, as it hovered over the half-eaten meal and the chopsticks poised mid-air. The dread was heavy on my brain. It didn't seem quite real, as I answered him. I almost stepped outside my body; I sounded rehearsed. "I'm sorry...I just...don't feel that way about you." So cliched. He had just poured his heart out to me, left it a quivering bloody mess next to the sashimi, and all I could give him was this line.
A part of me desperately wished that I could feel that way about him - after all, we did get along fabulously and he fit the laundry of list of what makes a good partner, mate, spouse. But something was missing - something that I yearned and searched for almost to the extent of overlooking otherwise glaring flaws. That spark, that click, that intangible that I sought in a lover. It's not something that can be cultivated or groomed or developed. It's a lightning strike or it's not. My breath didn't catch when he looked at me. My cheeks didn't flush when he flashed me a coy smile. There was no surge of feeling when he was near. There were no butterflies; there weren't even caterpillars.
Robby nodded slowly, his face a carefully constructed calm disappointment. "I know. And you can't change how you feel. You just do." Even after I'd struck the fatal blow, he was as understanding as ever. "I'm sorry I turned into another one of your friends who fell for you but...you have this way - Artemis, men can't help but fall in love with you. You're too nice and it's going to get you in a lot more trouble in the future."
Robby stood, "I have to do something...and I'm sorry, but if I can't be with you, then I can't talk to you anymore. I have to focus on my relationship with Annie and I can't, if you're in my life."
Ever had a friend break up with you? How do you respond to that? There's no guidebook so I did my best to navigate these unusual, murky waters. "I understand. And I want you to know that if you ever decide you want to talk to me again, I'll be here. And...and...I won't even make it difficult or awkward for you. You know I'm good at that!" I somehow thought that by making it easier to come back to me, he wouldn't leave in the first place.
Robby's lips quirked into a smile, a half of one, and the corners of his eyes crinkled up. "No, I want you to make it hard for me. I don't deserve to be completely forgiven for what I'm doing. No real friend would do this."
He left the apartment then and I watched him leave. What do you say? Have a nice life? He left me contemplating what had just happened, over smushed wasabi and spilled soy sauce.
Did it hurt? It did. In the stream of abandonment I was going through in those few short weeks, this was another. Did I understand? I completely did so I could not begrudge him his actions. Did I hope he'd come around soon? Of course I did - but it has been over a year since and the only time I heard from him was a short and sweet text sent to me on my birthday. It has been effective radio silence.
But beyond that, what he had said about men falling in love with me haunted me. Had I brought all this upon myself? Could I save myself headaches and heartaches in the future if I was just colder and quieter? Could I protect all those hapless enough to encounter me by never responding to texts or emails or Facebook pokes?
But was it my responsibility to do all this? It took me days of mulling this over before the thought that I had to change who I was in order to save others from themselves made me bristle. I am who I am and I am a friendly, warm, generous, patient and effusive person. To be anything or anyone else would be denying myself and I would be cheating all those who would get to know me in the future from knowing the real me. How is that better than lying, even if the intentions were noble?
So I remained friendly, warm, generous, patient and effusive and yes it's gotten me into trouble since his dire warnings but it's worth it for knowing I can be myself and knowing I can deal with the consequences - the good, the bad and the ugly ones.
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