(Originally from April 27, 2011)
Well, perspective is a funny thing.
It took a hell of a lot to make me throw in the towel and leave X. In fact, it took too much. And it was a hard lesson to learn– walking away. Despite the frantic waving and pointing and subtle comments like, “get a divorce,” from too many people to count. I tried to work it out. Well intentioned, but woefully fruitless. (God, I hope the kid has some sense. Clearly, I lack the genetic marker for this.)
So, sometimes, I forget that most people haven’t stayed with someone who’s struggled with addiction. They haven’t rolled over into an empty bed at 2am and felt the heaviness of knowing it means the bank account was getting smaller by the minute. Or played the scratch-tickets-keno-black-jack-cocaine guessing game to what problem would skulk in the door. They haven’t invested hours into trying to circumvent the depression that comes after the high where I’m begging for the other person to simply shower– never mind go to work. They haven’t had credits cards opened in their name or a car repossessed or a house foreclosed. They haven’t had to plead for their divorce– still to be delayed after delay while bleeding money to a lawyer. They haven’t had the slightly dark apprehension where you wonder how much it’ll take until you end up as a blip on the news. I tend to consider this the norm.
I’ve been seeing someone. (I know, I know– no shit. I tend to talk about things.) And amazingly its been pretty smooth sailing. Until Sunday. Fitting it was Easter which represents rebirth and fresh starts and all sorts of other metaphors for believers in antiquated religious constructs that we hit a rough patch. Pretty similar to the one I hit with the tennis coach actually. Anyway, the bump, was pretty straight forward. I didn’t get contacted all day… and it really, really didn’t feel good. It felt like those nights sitting home pregnant at 3am calling & calling & calling X demanding-asking-pleading-begging-yearning for him to pick up– and just being ignored. It felt like the long walk down the stairs to the basement to see if today was the day he’d off himself. It felt like the panic of trying to commute to work with the bank account overdrawn. And… it felt as hard as the first few weeks in the apartment where I felt clueless and overwhelmed and unable to manage life. Yeah, its baggage. But it is part of the package now.
So, yes, I said something. Because whoever I’m going to be with has to know I can’t do being ignored. It was a small infraction… but its a big button to push. But, I forget. And therein lies the proverbial rub. I forgot that these little fights, these little conflicts are things that usually end most relationships. I forgot these are the things that get in the way in the ordinary day-to-day dating world– besides fights over money and sex. I’m so uses to tackling things focused on survival… that it didn’t even occur to me (despite having done this back in December) that its enough to stop all the little great things that were going so well. It threw a sopping wet blanket on something that had been pretty nice. And despite a terrible night of pool, hours on the phone, a mutual appreciation for Michael Weston, sharing cannolis, both being parents, coffee delivery, and a myriad of other ridiculously nice things (including some phenomenal sex) it really looks to be a wrap after one conflict. Funny, how Sunday night when I opened my mouth, I hadn’t exactly seen that coming…
Who knows? Maybe I was a total bitch or out-of-line– but I did set it all in motion. And well, nothing that happens can really top the ten year debacle. All other breaks ups are truly a cake walk after that. So, whatever it was I unleashed on his end, by pointing out something emotionally intolerable to myself– has made the relationship “Have You Seen Me?” ad on a milk carton– while he sorts it out. But like most missing things, chances of recovery diminish over time. Its Wednesday.
Let’s face it, the writing is on the wall… I can’t see the prognosis being so good at this point.