vinylgirl's Diaryland Diary ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Strangers in the night He felt like a stranger. I felt nervous as I stood beside him. My stomach in knots. I smelled his aftershave, but it smelled different. My heart hurt anew. It was suddenly more real. We'd both threatened to leave too many times and so the threat lost its edge. But this time, we cut our ties for good. I remember the moment the thought was born in my mind. It was a warm Tuesday afternoon. Some welcome sunshine after a huge snowstorm. Coming home after being away. I hailed a cab home. As I sat in the cab watching the houses in the tony neighbourhood we were driving through pass by, it occurred to me. Instead of being filled with happiness at the thought of going home, I was filled with...dread. I wanted to avoid my boyfriend. I wanted to slide under the covers and go to bed. I didn't want to face small talk about the trip. I couldn't stand the smothering. And I couldn't hide it when I stepped in the door. He could see it written on my face. He kept asking what was wrong. After brushing it off with many nothings, I confessed that I had done some thinking and that I was having doubts. I said that maybe I should see a therapist to figure out what I needed to do. At first, he was supportive. He said it would be good for me to hash it out. He appreciated my honesty. And then, he didn't. He wanted an answer now: am I in or am I out? He didn't understand why I was confused. He loved me and wanted to be with me. I felt heavy. Lugging around my ambivalence. Knowing I was hurting him. It was Saturday. Well, it was early Sunday morning. We'd been out for drinks with some friends. We were in good spirits. He took that to mean we would make love when we got home. I said I didn't think it was a good idea given my confusion. That was the straw. Back broken. He called me out. Give me an answer. He couldn't see how a good result could come out of me seeing a therapist. He said he couldn't wait for me to sort out what I was feeling. I understood. I was asking a lot. We slept in the same bed for the last time because he couldn't sleep on the couch. The next morning I packed my things and left. He kept fishing for answers as I packed. I had none to give. I just kept apologizing and saying that I couldn't hurt him anymore. It became a reflex. For all the hurt, for all the water under our bridge, we ended our relationship amicably. The most mature break up I've ever had. No "I hate you" or big blowout or crisis or cheating. We just pulled the plug. Technically our relationship died that Sunday, but it was really a slow burn. We fought and fought. We threatened to break up with each other. We spit horrible words at each other. We tried to revive it. We went to counseling. We read self-help books. We did exercises. We talked things out. We made promises. We planned a romantic trip to New York. We started to be better partners: no more fights about the dishes or movie choices. But the love faded. We didn't make love anymore. We didn't do anything special. We became roommates. Tied only by a shared apartment. I think we came to the same realization that we are too young to feel stuck. So we divided up the stuff we collected together and called it a day. It would have been four years next month. That's a long time. I won't be able to erase him from my heart. And yet, to see him now, he feels like a stranger. Maybe that is my mind playing tricks and trying to protect my heart. 10:55 p.m. - 05/08/2011 ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- |
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