I arrived at the airport, back home, excited to see him. Excited to see how I’d feel. I tried to contain my excitement a bit, tried to keep it dampened down because I didn’t want to overwhelm him. I consciously tried to talk quieter and slower than I wanted to.
I was bursting with happiness and stories and emotion. I wanted him to be able to feel what I’d experienced. I thought, “This time will be different. I won’t feel like I’m annoying him or behaving in a way that’s too excited for someone my age.”
And it was different, a little bit. But it was also, in many ways, the same as it always is. I felt in my gut that he was annoyed with me. I was fraying his nerves.
Maybe I was projecting. Maybe I was creating something that wasn’t there. Imagining fake feelings on his behalf. I’ll never know for sure. All I know is that the part of me that feels like intuition was telling me that this is still not exactly right.
We went back to our old apartment, his place now, and he had two glasses of wine for us and ordered in dinner. I told stories and he eased into it and all of the sudden it felt like maybe we were back to the original us. The first-year us. The us where I tell funny stories and act silly and he laughs and hugs me and kisses me.
He picked me up and told me I looked beautiful. We made love. Really, really amazing love. And he looked at me and said with intensity, “I love you so much.”
The words I’ve been waiting to hear ever since the day we broke up. The perfect night I’d been waiting for these past five months.
I fell asleep next to him caressing my arm and back and I felt like the luckiest girl ever. My wish was coming true. He was back. We were back.And then the morning came and I started to feel the magic wearing away. He felt a bit distant again. I had the feeling that my presence in his space was causing him to panic somewhat. I didn’t feel at home anymore.
I’ve wanted to fix us for so long that it’s become the state of normal for our relationship and that doesn’t feel right to me. It sucks. It hurts. I cry about it. I feel sad. I want things to be different, but they’re not.
I have a few theories about what went wrong, but I’ll never know for sure and maybe that’s the hardest part. Feeling like you’re so close and then just having a strong gut feeling that says no matter how close you get, you’ll still never get there.
I’m obviously not a doctor and I only have my point of view to go from, but a big part of me thinks that I do annoy him. I annoy him and get on his nerves because I’m not perfect. He met me, a woman who he was attracted to and fascinated with, and he put all of his energy and love into me, raising me up high into the air. He put me on a pedestal and would only see the perfect parts of me.
As time progressed, I had to come off the pedestal from time to time. I had to make mistakes and do ugly things sometimes and stumble and try to grow. I had to have space to be human. But he doesn’t seem able (or willing) to handle that part. It’s as if he’s developed this aversion to imperfection in the women he chooses to love. I think he can’t help but be frustrated by the fact that I’m a real human being. My humanness grates his nerves. He wants perfect. He wants the honeymoon. He wants the first-year love forever.
My shiny newness factor is all faded away and now he’s left with me. Just me. The real me. The good parts and the bad. And I can’t help but feel like he’s wanting to go and find the next new shiny girl that catches his heart.
It’s sad, because I’m still the woman he fell in love with. In fact, I’m an even better version of the woman he fell for. I’m more kind and clear-headed, more loving and affectionate and giving. But I think he’s so busy worrying about the imperfections that he’s missing out on getting to know an even more intimate part of me. The deepest and most real parts of who I am. The parts that I think would fascinate and excite him the most. Way more than the first-year glitter and shimmer that attracted him in the first place.
I also believe that his taking anti-depressants for the second year of our relationship stunted the chance for us being to be able to grow intimately in a natural progression. Relationships go through developmental stages (I won’t get technical here because I’m not a doctor, and I’m also pretty sure most people have read or are familiar with the widely accepted stages of romantic love) and I believe that by taking the anti-depressants in that second year he halted a portion of our shared emotional growth.
We had a wonderful first year full of all of the amazing feelings that come with new love and then I think as we were moving into the second stage of romantic love, we were inadvertently derailed by the chemicals he needed to take in order to be healthy. It was at this time that I began voicing my concerns and thinking often about the fact that I felt we weren’t growing any closer in intimacy.
He, his true self, his soul, was surrounded. Guarded by chemicals that were designed to protect him from feeling too much. And I was left alone. To grow on my own and wish and pray that he would somehow be able to understand the connection I was so desperately seeking. I hoped he would somehow beat the odds and be the one person who could connect even through the medicated haze.
Now, a year later, he’s off the medicine and I still don’t feel the connection that my gut is telling me should be there. I think we lost our chance. And typing this makes me cry all over again.
I can’t stop the tears.
Every time I acknowledge this it hurts even more.
I was the one who suggested he look into taking medication.
I have equal blame in the situation.
The only relief I can claim is that at the time I thought I was loving him and helping to ease his pain.
And maybe I was. Maybe it was the right choice.
And maybe our relationship was just always going to be the sacrifice.
I hate this.
I can’t stop this.
I want him back. I want seat dancing in the dark in his car. I want him laughing outrageously when I tickle him and act silly. I want long kisses that feel like we were always meant to meet on that day in January. I want his old laugh back. The sexy sly smile. The snuggling.
And I wait. And I wait. And it doesn’t come. It’s not there. And I don’t know if it’s me – if I’m standing between him and those things he used to be and do, or if they’re just gone. All I know is that they haven’t been here in so long and being with him and just waiting and hoping to see even a glimmer of that part of him is killing me. I feel sad when I should be happy. I want the person I knew before to come back, but I’m getting the feeling that it’s not going to happen.
It’s hard to know whether your intuition is talking or whether some sick psychologically damaged part of your ego is trying to trick you. Trying to help you run before you can get hurt yourself. How do you know what’s real?
I don’t want to do this. I want to keep trying and giving us time, but I don’t think it’s the right thing anymore. I think it’s really really over and I tried so hard and I don’t want it to be and I hate to say it or think it and we just finally connected for real for the first time in over 6 months and now I need to walk away.
I don’t want to feel like I have to contain who I am to avoid annoying someone. I don’t want to wake up everyday and wish and hope and pray that I get to experience some tiny moment of what it used to feel like to be around him in the days when he seemed happy. I don’t want to live on a pedestal and be afraid of my imperfections. I want to feel intimately safe and close with the person I’m with.
I also don’t want to make a mistake.
I don’t want to give up too soon.
I don’t want to fuck up this love if I’m just making shit up in my head because of a sick ego.
I also don’t want to make anymore excuses.
I want it to feel right enough that I’m not questioning my own gut feelings.
I want it to be different.
I hate this.
I have to tell him. Soon. This week. I have to tell him that I don’t believe he has any intention of making me a part of his life in the future. I have to tell him that my gut is telling me that he doesn’t like who I am when I’m off the pedestal. I have to tell him that I don’t think he’s emotionally available. I have to tell him that I’m sorry and that I tried.
Then I have to tell him goodbye.
all alone bye
i don’t want to say goodbye
but i don’t think it’s supposed to feel this way
i miss you already