I’m Baaack Or At Least Some Version of Me Is

It’s official. I’m that girl. The one who abandons all her (imaginary) friends when she gets a boyfriend. I didn’t really want to abandon you. Things just got so busy and… The truth of the matter is writing a blog about being single, dating and relationships is a bit of a challenge when you’re in a relationship. Especially when the blog is ostensibly unfiltered. I was faced with pushing out disingenuous posts or revealing too much about someone who wasn’t choosing to have his worst qualities broadcasted on the Internet. (Because let’s face it, no one wants to read about how sweet, cute, talented someone’s boyfriend is. We want dirt!) Plus, given my reactionary nature and the way I use writing to work through my frustrations, I would likely want to take back 75 percent of the posts the day after they were published. Especially the one entitled “Pick Up Your Socks: A Tale of Why My Boyfriend is the Worst Human Being On The Planet.”

Instead of taking either of these paths, I took none. I sat in a stalemate and did nothing. This became an even bigger problem because I missed it. As I said, writing is an outlet for me. A form of therapy. When I’m going through things and I’m not writing, my emotions get all tangled up into a big ball of stress. I could just write for me, but blogging provides some level of structure and discipline that forces me to put words on the page and get it all out in the open. If I can’t pretend I have people waiting to read my brilliant words, I am not as likely to produce anything. Especially if the product is going to force me to take an uncomfortable look at something I’m doing.

I considered breaking it off with the boy in order to continue writing about being single. But that wouldn’t be authentic either. It would make more sense to adapt the blog to my life rather than my life to the blog. (Ok I would never seriously make major life decisions based on a blog… unless someone wants to turn it into a book and move me to NYC… any takers?)

So I must continue writing. And I must continue this relationship for as long as it’s healthy and makes me happy (and makes him happy too I suppose). I’m not entirely sure what form future posts will take. I imagine the relationship will become fodder on some level, but I’m not going to throw it all out there because it’s not solely my story to share anymore. As always, I will offer up unsolicited opinions about general relational topics and analyze friends’ situations (using made up names of course). I do promise not to publish (too many) “I lurve my boyfriend so much and all other people should be as lucky as I am” posts. As I go through this redefinition process, I’m completely open to (nicely stated) suggestions. So speak up!  

Confessions of a Mistress

Ok that title is unnecessarily dramatic. I’m sorry. I’m not really a mistress per se. But no one is going to read a post entitled: “Confessions of a Girl Who Maybe Flirted a Little Too Hard With Someone Who Was Unavailable.” Now that I got your attention by misleading you, let me explain my mistress-light circumstances.

A while back (foggy timeline so you know it’s juicy) I was hanging out with a former flame under the pretense of getting back some long-forgotten artifacts left behind when the relationship fizzled. Even years after we had ended our relationship, we always had the tension of lingering attraction between us. I can’t explain why this one plays the Hubbell to my Katie, but we easily fall into those roles when we are together. So I really shouldn’t have been surprised when an innocent invitation to imbibe a single beer led to more than it should have.

I knew I was in trouble when he passed up the spacious couch and opted to join me on the love seat (Ugh could there possibly be a more clichéd piece of furniture for these events to transpire on?), settling in close enough for the heat of his arm to transfer to mine. Normally I wouldn’t have given a second thought about giving in to the advances that would inevitably come to pass. However, the last I heard, he had a new girl now and common decency demanded that I refrain from making a cuckquean of this poor thing. So I chose to ignore the obvious and continue making useless small talk. Soon his arm was around my shoulders and then my waist. I began to wonder if maybe he had dropped his girl and failed to tell me.

I only discovered that this was not the case when he murmured, “I shouldn’t be doing this,” close enough for his heavy Marlboro breath to offend nearly every one of my senses. When I heard those words confirming that he wasn’t mine to pursue I should have shut it down completely. But I didn’t. Instead we continued this dance of, “Should we? No, we shouldn’t,” over the course of the next hour. Each time taking one step closer to that line of regret and only half a step back. Part of my participation could be attributed to the aforementioned magnetic draw. The other part was due to a desire to be desired that had taken ahold of me earlier in the week.

By the time the spell was broken with the practicalities of late nights converging with early mornings, he felt he had succeeded in escaping the temptation a faithful man. I knew what he had done would have been considered cheating by any wronged girlfriend. He was pleased with his willpower and I was wracked with guilt.

I had made no move to stop him from breaking his trust with a girl I had never even met. There was a point when I began to do everything I could to convince him to do exactly that. As I said, I had never met this girl. What did I owe her? He began the whole affair, why should I take on the responsibility of keeping her man honest? That was his burden to bear. Not mine. Still, no matter how I tried to convince myself that I held no alliance to this unknown and therefore didn’t owe her the loyalty of her boyfriend, I couldn’t shake the thought that I had broken a code. Not just some arbitrary girl code but a human code that would demand we treat any other person on this planet, as we would hope someone would treat us in similar circumstances.

Sure, he instigated the waltz, and it was his relationship he willingly put at risk. But I kept imagining how heartbroken I would be if I knew some woman I had never met accepted an invitation to lead my boyfriend astray. Yes, the sanctity of his relationship lies within his realm of authority, but life isn’t always about who should hold the blame. Maybe sometimes it’s about stepping up beyond your accountability to protect someone you’ll never meet from a devastation that you can prevent by making a sacrifice you know you don’t necessarily have to make.

My Zombie Ex

Whack an Ex

After three years I like to think that the ghost of my former fiancé would stay where he belongs, deeply buried in a past life I only revisit when I come across the aborted remnants of the wedding that never was in my parents’ closet. (Which is how chapter 13 of my biography would start if the tragic Zelda Fitzgerald were to write it.) Yet he seems to keep popping up as though he were a mole in a perennial arcade game. The most recent manifestation of this romantic apparition occurred a couple of weeks ago when I received an e-mail informing me that he would be in town and would like me to meet him for coffee. A response was not required. I simply had to show up so he could apologize (again). Oh and he left me with this loaded song to ruminate on in the interim (subtle no?).

Needless to say I chose to decline the meeting by way of no reply. The unexpected invitation didn’t affect me much more than a tinge of annoyance. Then, shortly after the appointed meeting time, my apartment buzzer rang. Immediately I felt a cool layer of sweat form on skin that was somehow now three shades lighter than my winter tone. I began formulating angry diatribes about the level of disrespect and selfishness one must possess to show up unannounced and unwanted to invade the quiet sanctuary of a former flame’s home. He’s not above this. He’s done it before. Though he doesn’t know where I live now, he has reconnected with people who may be inclined to share my latest location. After a few moments the buzzer seemed to be a misdial, but I didn’t want to risk it so I took to St. Paul, seeking refuge at a friend’s home.

Over the course of the weekend, five unanswered e-mails made their way to my inbox. Some imploring me to dig deep down and find a part of me that misses him—not to be callous, but this part simply does not exist on any level—and another offering up a second chance to meet for a face-to-face apology. The final e-mail explained that he was only seeking to help me with a full-contact “I’m sorry” and the “best part of his life was with me.” Knowing his penchant for overly dramatic statements designed to manipulate, I didn’t take it too seriously. Still it made me wonder how two people in one relationship could have such paradoxical experiences.

My time in that relationship was honestly the worst part of my life. I know that sounds like the rash, bitter sentiments of an ex, but these wounds aren’t fresh. My consideration of the matter was actually quite removed and analytical.  I wouldn’t alter that point in my life because, as true as any cliché can be, it made me who I am today. I barely resemble the person I was when I was with him. And I will never be that person again. The person I am today is infinitely better than the weak girl I was (if I may so humbly say so myself). I put that fragile being away with the box of letters, flowers, stuffed monkeys and photos that I closed up in the final moments of our toxic relations.

Just as that box doesn’t need to be opened again, I don’t need to return to that time in my life for any reason. No matter how much he insists that the mea culpas over coffee are for my benefit, I know he has no idea what would benefit me. He didn’t then and he sure as hell doesn’t now.  Hopefully, he recognizes this and I won’t have to live in this uncomfortable, inexplicable limbo every time he journeys into town.

The Grand Mea Culpa

I recently received a lengthy e-mail from my former fiancé, expressing his earnest apologies for his role in an atrophying relationship that served to chip away at my happiness and ultimately my very identity. I’ve received apologies from him before but, as he stated, they were not entirely sincere, most often peppered with buts and justifications. He was sure to explain that this act of contrition was in no way for his benefit but only for my peace of mind. I have pondered if this is truly the case.

Two years after the fact I have long since moved beyond needing him to confess all he had done wrong in our relationship. Not to disparage his seemingly honest efforts, but most of it has become white noise after I have come to terms with the fact that his actions had nothing to do with me and my ability to make him happy. Much of what he said I already knew and understood.

He knows to me to be an emotionally intelligent person, and I find it hard to believe that he imagines me walking through my life miserable and unable to move forward with the epic failure that was our relationship weighing heavily upon my small shoulders. While reading his e-mail, I envisioned him thinking his absolute admission of guilt would free me from the prison his cruelty had created. Realistically though he had to know this wouldn’t be the case.

Though he feigned to be completely oblivious of my current situation he is moderately aware of the fact that I am doing well. In fact, I am fairly certain he has read this blog—hi Jim—and I know he has spoken to mutual friends about the progress I’ve made in my life since we parted ways. This suggests that perhaps the mea culpa was more to ease a guilty conscience than to repair any wounds of my own. I do appreciate the sentiments and honestly don’t mind if they were self serving, but it made me wonder if anyone has ever actually needed such an apology to move on with his or her life after a particularly tumultuous relationship.

I’m inclined to think that if someone truly is over a relationship, they have moved past needing any sort of apology from the one who wronged them. I don’t think any complex I may or may not have developed as a result of the relationship will be eradicated due to this attempt at a redress. I believe people need to learn to heal on their own, independently of the person who hurt them to fully overcome any type of heartbreak-inspired neurosis.

Maybe I’m wrong though, maybe I’m too hardened by the whole disaster and most people would garner some sense of calm from such a confession. Perhaps some individuals are tricked into thinking that there was something they did to deserve to be mistreated and an admission of guilt on the other end is exactly what they need shed some liberating light on the situation.

Either way I guess I wouldn’t want to deter anyone from offering an apology to people they’ve hurt no matter what type of mistakes were made or how much time has passed since the transgressions occurred. I am a firm believer that anyone who has been wronged deserves a sincere apology. And if that apology brings any level of peace to the guilty party or the victim then it was not a wasted act.