Unwitting Surrender

Like this, but far less adorable.

I slipped into subordinance before I even realized I had relinquished any control. He seemed innocuous. A broken soul I could nurse back to health without putting myself in harm’s way as I had once, twice, thrice before. I was smarter this time around. And the him was more wounded. Hardly fit to take control of his own life let alone mine. But before long the wounds gave way to subtle manipulation. A quieter domination I wasn’t prepared for.

I never felt trapped. My identity seemed to remain intact even as I made room for a vastly different existence than the one I had envisioned. I was strong enough to carry my life and help him discover his own. I clung to the idea that “every sinner has a future” and I could bring light to his. Everything his brokenness demanded I gave. Not realizing each attempt to stitch him back together was draining me.

It wasn’t until I tugged at the one lie my dignity wouldn’t allow me to ignore that 18 months of deception began to unravel. I quickly realized his brokenness was strategic. He was smarter than I thought. Or I was dumber than I cared to admit. Motivated by narcissism, each crack he revealed was a conscious choice to disarm. This is not to suggest that every fracture was lie. He’s genuinely a damaged individual. It’s simply a different brand of disease. One far more infectious than I was prepared for.

Now weeks and months after the web came undone, he desperately fights to maintain some semblance of control with lies that grow more flagrant with each ignored call. And it hardly seems fair. Haven’t I suffered enough? Granted I’ve suffered as a result of my own decision to let this individual infect my life. But I also made the decision to ask him to get gone. Form of blocked Facebook pages, filtered emails, changed locks, new phone numbers and now a potential move.

Each attempt at contact feels like a violation. Each decision I have to make as a result of his predatory behavior feels like I’m ceding ground. I’m backed into a corner without the freedom to determine basic aspects of my life trajectory for fear his path will strategically cross mine. I’ve banished his physical presence but he gets to preserve his hold. 

He continues to invade from thousands of miles away. I continue to surrender.

He gains ground when I go to extremes to block contact. I wave a white flag when I read each message that manages to slip through. I forfeit with tinges of guilt and lingering compassion despite the fact that the circumstances that warrant compassion are likely blatant lies.

Of the hundreds of emotions I’ve experienced in the past three months, I’ve found those I most deserve to express are those I have difficulty embracing. I’ve seen the wolf beneath the wool and I’m still fighting the instinct to dress his wounds when I should be nursing those he inflicted on me. I deserve to be angry and the very fact that I question that anger with each pathetic line he gives me about his reformation and inevitable demise adds to the conflicted mess.

It’s a strange type of conflicted. With one clear path free of his existence. He has earned his place as a memory and nothing more. It seems the only way to lock him there right now is to retreat. Even if a stronger person would be able to reclaim her ground by any means necessary, I may have to regain my strength by going under it.  

Blocked & Breakups

I'm sure this is filled with helpful tidbits
tailored to your specific situation. Go buy it.

I thought when my relationship ended, so would my writer’s block. Well it never really was writer’s block, just more respect for the individual I was sharing my days with for awhile. But it seems to have just gotten worse. Maybe it’s because it’s not really over for me yet. (Yes I know. I’m stupid, crazy, deluded, enter similar adjective here.) Maybe I just need time to decompress. Whatever it may be I’m going to force a post in hopes of restarting the rusty word processor.

So let’s see topic. Breakups. Yes. Let’s talk about breakups. But in a very disconnected way that is not reflective of my personal life whatsoever, because I haven’t even really spoken to you in 18 months, guys. Stop trying to pry. Geeze.

Some people handle breakups with such grace and peace. “You’ve enriched my life, thank you for being a part of it during this time. We must part now, go forth and be happy.” Others down whiskey until they can’t feel feelings. Others bounce to the next as though the love from the previous is completely transferrable like a store exchange. This one wasn’t the right fit; let’s try the medium.

Even within each of my own breakups the approach has changed. I’ve had the breakdowns, I’ve had the amicable parting, I’ve left for someone else, I’ve slammed the door shut and I’ve pined for a reconciliation. So all these articles and books about how to survive a breakup seem ridiculous.

You get half the length of the relationship to move on. Nope just two weeks for every month.

Don’t watch romcoms, but allow yourself to mourn.

Don’t ever speak to him again. Well what if you have a child together?

Don’t jump into a relationship too soon. What about those fabled people who go on a date a week after the breakup and end up marrying the person?

Know it’s better to be single than with someone who isn’t right for you. Yeah, ok but who said anything about being sad because you’re single. Maybe you’re sad because you love the jerk and you can’t just turn it off. 

There’s nothing worse when going through a breakup than overused platitudes and plenty of fish speeches. Especially considering that most breakups past high school and even college are nowhere near simplistic. Lives become more intertwined (mostly due to my inability to set up appropriate, healthy boundaries). Baggage from each relationship compounds to mismatched sets that never really make sense no matter how much you analyze your relationship patterns.

So as long as I’m functioning in the world and not breaking down completely, can’t I just handle being torn from someone the way I want? If I want to create an epic breakup playlist and listen to it on repeat for months after the fact, give me that. If I want to binge on Gilmore Girls and cry every time Jess wrongs Rory, it’s my choice. If I want to continue conversations the guy who wronged me, please be patient.

I will say my friends have been phenomenally understanding as I walk through this season. So none of this could be directed at them. Most of the worn-out “forget that jerk, buck up and get yourself out there” talk has come from unsolicited, acquaintance-level sources.

I wish I was better at putting it all behind me. Dispelling the hope and dismissing the ghost. But I’m not. Especially in these uncharted breakup circumstances. And I have no idea what I’m doing aside from taking it one day at a time like a love-struck alcoholic who manages to go about her regular life with an ambiguous hole where a boy used to fit so nicely.  

(Ed note: I apologize for this awkward reintroduction. I promise these will get better as I stretch my muscles and sort out my life a bit more.)

Religion, Dating & Finding Out I Can’t Remain Detached

I’ve dated on nearly every point along the Western religion spectrum from atheist to spiritual-ish to Jesus freak. In theory, if a guy hates Jesus, it should be a deal breaker for me. But I’ve blurred the lines on that rule, probably one time too many. For the most part it hasn’t been a major problem in the early stages. Mostly due to a mutual respect for what the other individual believes. Healthy conversations can be had without turning into conversion attempts or all-out arguments. Much like a friendship on the same plane. Except, unlike friendships, you may have to raise a child with this individual so that can be a problem down the road.

Anyway, that’s beside the point. As I said, in the past these relationships have functioned on respect and understanding. Until recently, I’ve never encountered a situation where someone has actively tried to change my faith. We went through a great debate when things finally came to a head. Well not so much a debate as a berating of my faith. I was denounced as a little fool for believing in a joke of a religion because I was “smarter than that.” After this encounter I’m thinking it might be too dangerous to dip into those waters.

I was floored that someone I cared about could belittle something that is at the very core of who I am. I couldn’t reconcile the idea that someone who thought me to be such a wonderful person could implore me to change the very convictions that made me that person. It was a rather eye-opening conversation. He couldn’t have meant all the things he had said about caring about me or liking me because he basically loathed everything I stood for. So often Christians get pigeonholed as this hateful, judgmental bag of tricks. But even in my stalwart faith I have never launched a vicious attack of this nature on a non-believer.

I know that our life paths all take very different turns and that the curves in my road have made it easier for me to land on the proverbial straight and narrow than if my life was dealt from his deck of cards. I recognize that our unique trials and moments of peace shape our dogma. This outlook is probably one of the main reasons I get involved with the wrong people. In addition to the fact that I don’t fall into the pit of butterflies and giggles very easily anymore, so when I get that twinge from someone, I revert back to the stupid girl who loves (likes) blindly with no regard for the logic that guides someone out of unhealthy relationships before they can start.

I’ve been able to erect a boundary in certain situations before that feeling germinates, but if it takes root before deal breakers are uncovered, I’m basically screwed for the duration. I was able to extricate myself from this particular situation a month or so after the fact. But it required much more power of will than it should have. And I’m still left reeling more than I expected.

He actively hid his feelings about my faith in an effort to keep our relationship going. I’m not sure what he hoped to accomplish long-term with this. He could only keep his disdain from bubbling up for so long, and then what was going to happen? He shared that he was ready to settle down and could see doing that with me. So how could he marry someone who he couldn’t possibly respect on the basis of her faith? Whatever, that part of it was somewhat irrelevant to me because of the multitude of other reasons he wouldn’t make a good life partner for me. I was trying to be casual and aloof about the whole situation because since getting a taste of it, I was craving that connection. But that was never going to work.

The end game for me is always going to be love, marriage, baby carriage. I need to recognize that I can’t be easy and breezy when I feel a connection with someone. I can’t even claim I was trying to change this one’s mind to make him into the husband I want. I know he is where he is going to be and I didn’t suffer from any delusions that would suggest otherwise. In high school I might have thought, “all he needs is to be loved in the right way.” But not with this one. I figured I could just dabble in him until I got him out of my system. Unfortunately, I wasn’t going to get him out of my system without removing him from my life. Spending time with him was only weaving him more intricately into my life and my nature.

Ultimately I learned something about myself I should have always known. No matter how unsuitable an individual may be, even if the thought of him being a long-term solution to that love problem is a damn impossibility, I can’t remain detached. I was designed to feel and feel deeply. Because I’m emo like that. By the time the hook is set, it’s too late for me to not become immersed in the elements that make him who he is. 

Strange Encounters of the Hot Mess Kind

I didn’t think I had it in me, but apparently I possess the ability to crumble into a steaming pile of spaz with merely a glimpse of a guy I dated for a few months so long as that glimpse also includes an impossibly skinny brunette. There was a time that I dreamt I had more dignity than that, but I was wrong. Because today a poorly timed siting at Rainbow Foods just completely ruined my shit.

He was one of many who disappeared without so much as a “nice knowing you” over the past year. (Side bar: my 26^th year isn’t nearly as pathetic as it sounds… post side bar: that’s a lie.) Nothing really separates him from the others who have come and gone. In fact, as a recovering cheater with a penchant for recreational pill popping, he was “action-packed with issues” and a less suitable match than some of the others. It was only the perfect storm of pitiful that snowballed into a terrifically tragic experience.

Given the fact that he lives in my apartment complex, I had always known it would only be a matter of time before we ran into each other. But I hoped that time would come when I was put together and gorgeous and could be all breezy and classy about it. I had gone grocery shopping a hundred times in the past year and each time I managed to look like a human being with working shower. Instead my moment came in the form of an emergency grocery run. After I had spent an entire day scrubbing floors, dusting, baking and painting in a dirty t-shirt and jeans. In short, I looked less than stellar, smelled like a foot and wasn’t in the most charming of moods.

In a fair, benevolent world, I would have looked like this.

Reality was much different.

So when I saw him mulling over the merits of Tropicana compared to Simply Orange, all I could do is offer up an idiotic smile and a dopey wave before I darted down the wrong aisle. Naturally the last item I needed was in the exact opposite direction I had headed so I my only real option was usher past him once again on my way to the dairy case. It was during this excruciating backtracking that I caught a glimpse of the cute brunette who was helping him make his serious vitamin C-related decisions. A perfect picture of domesticity on this holiday weekend. From the guy who couldn’t commit to plans more than an hour in advance because his life was just too up in the air one short year ago.

The worst part about it is, if I’m being honest, had I been seeing someone I wouldn’t have been at all derailed by this encounter. Even if Mr. Wonderful wasn’t there with me, the thought of having someone would have been enough to buffer the blow that someone I barely know from Adam was inexplicably able to deliver with only his presence paired with some random bird. Because all it really comes down to is winning.

It’s not about thinking I missed out on a relationship with this guy. It was simply about wanting to look better and be happier than someone who dismissed me without a second thought. My ego had been bruised and the only thing that would fix it is declaring victory in the most superficial of arenas. Alas, he won this round. But at least I learned a valuable lesson: never leave the house looking like a strung out monstrosity. Ever. 

Happy Life Means Nothing to Write

As you may have noticed, I’ve been experiencing a bit of writer’s block as of late. Though that writer’s block may be attributed more to a dry spell that leads to two posts about the same scenario in which I get stood up. Wow. The more I write the more pitiful I sound, maybe that’s why I’ve lacked the motivation to post as of late.

Fact is, I’ve realized something I already knew, bad relationships (or just bad dating experiences) make excellent muses. They also help you to really appreciate the fruits of someone else’s turbulent love life. I have an embarrassing amount of playlists created to help me get over some scumbag guy. And now, with nothing driving me to a state of melancholia, all of this empowering Beyonce and commiserating Jeff Buckely lacks a purpose. I can barely remember what it’s like to need Schulyer Fisk to strum my pain with her fingers.

I always thought I loathed relational drama and that it served no purpose in a life I tried to build on solid ground. But now I’m starting to second-guess this theory. Maybe all those knockdown, drag-out fights with my ex were exactly what I needed in order to feel feelings? Ok, that’s a gross path to even hypothetically meander down. Pointless, hurtful fights are not worth the little ink on the page they may produce. Maybe I should just take my inspiration from the tragic, public altercations of others?  

Yes, I know I can find something other than broken relationships to spur my writing. I’ve essentially been doing that for the past two years. And crappy, uninspired short fiction by definition requires no inspiration. But getting over a relationship can also serve to be a great motivator for other things. After you make it through the “hand me my sweat pants and a box of Thin Mints my life is over and I am now going to commit suicide by overconsumption of processed sugar” phase, there’s the “I’m going to do everything I can to be a bigger, better version of the girl he dumped because screw him and I wanna win and all that jazz” phase.

This is the stage I really kind of miss. The one that makes you chop your hair (ok I do that without prompting too) and put on your running shoes. I remember it like a Rocky Montage with the single solidarity and woman empowerment section of the aforementioned playlists rocking in the background. You have visions of doing all the things you never got to do while you were in that stifling relationship. You are going to travel the world, learn a new language, move up in your career and become a concert pianist just because you are that good at life and you are going to prove it to him—er I mean yourself. Of course, many of these grand dreams of post-relationship greatness tend to be tempered by the reality of work, life and Cheesecake Factory’s Red Velvet Cheesecake. But still that feeling is pretty awesome while it lasts. And it’s a unique feeling really only experienced when coming out of that low period.

I realize how insane this all sounds. No one in her right mind would long for a break up. Well maybe Kim Kardashian because it means more publicity. Bam! Topical! (I am so, so sorry. That really was unacceptable.) Desiring a relationship? Sure, that’s normal, but the demise of a relationship? I guess I just miss the range of feelings a relationship can make you experience sometimes. Yes, I’m happy with my life right now and happy is a great feeling. And I get sad about things like a normal human being with a pulse. But there is an exclusive and entirely different set of emotions that can only stem from the ups and downs of interacting with someone who you allow to have a great deal of influence over your world because of loooove. And as much as I loathe to admit it sometimes, those feelings either side of the pendulum have merit and some of them are even—nice? 

First One to the Next Wins!

I am the champion of love.

Since the beginning of time, it has well been known that the person who moves on to the next relationship first wins. (It’s why Henry the VIII had such rapid-succession marriages—he was highly competitive.) The better looking, more talented and richer the successor is, the harder you win.

In actuality, if you really “win” the break up, you don’t care, because you’ve moved on. It’s the loser who really feels the effects. And it isn’t necessarily an “I’m better than you and wanted to prove it by dancing around your lonely existence with my hot new boyfriend who has Brad Pitt’s face and Jesus’ abs” kind of way (yes, I quoted “500 Days” no, I’m not going to try to pass it off as my own). It’s that unfounded, but nagging conclusion that if he found someone first, the demise of your relationship can clearly be attributed to you—not him—after all. This thinking begins the ugly self-deprecating hate spiral wherein all the things that make you so obviously undateable swirl around you until you are nothing more than a shell of the confident woman you were when you convinced yourself that you could do so much better than that cad.

It doesn’t matter how wrong your relationship was or how right this vapid new schmoochie is for your daft ex-boyfriend, you are alone last and therefore you suck. I consider myself a reasonably level-headed individual and yet I get caught up in this ridiculous self-flagellation nearly every time I hear an ex has moved onto the next. (With only one notable exception at this point and that might just be because his life is seemingly in shambles despite his pretty wife, 2.5 munchkins and golden retriever.) And now social media makes it even worse. Not only does it increase your odds of being made aware of your former flame’s future nuptials, but now you can see how pretty she is, browse through photos of the sickeningly happy twosome and lament the fact that she has the job you’ve always dreamed of as well as the guy you no longer want.

I don’t even have to be dating the individual for long enough for any truly lasting impression to form. I could be in a situation where I actually didn’t even care for the guy in any real way, but if he takes up with some blonde chippy just months after we’ve gone our separate ways, it won’t take me long to go all Blanche and decide I am destined to live a lonely, hair-ball filled existence. And if they get engaged it’s even worse. At least if they are only dating I can quietly, cynically believe the relationship is going to end for the very same reasons my relationship ended, thus further proving my original theory that he is an unworthy ball of complexes.

OK, I realize that all of this makes me sound like a terrible person thereby suggesting that maybe I am right in my meltdowns. Maybe I am the reason for each failed relationship. After all who would want to continue a relationship with a little twit with such a fragile ego? But in my defense I don’t think I’m alone in this. I think that our rational sides understand that a new relationship for an ex should say nothing more about you than you weren’t right for each other, which you knew anyway. But the tiny little touch of crazy in each and every one of us tends come out when we’re feeling vulnerable and sometimes we indulge it just a little bit. I’m not the only one. Right?

The fact of the matter is that no break up is any one person’s fault. So making it your fault or his regardless of who moves on first isn’t going to actually make you feel any better in the long term. That’s why it’s probably best to avoid acquiring the knowledge of their new-found bliss if at all possible, which means no Facebook stalking. If you insist upon traipsing through your ex’s profile from time to time, be prepared for the emotional consequences when their status goes from “single” to “in a relationship” to “engaged” to “married” because you really don’t want to spend the rest of your life waiting for it to flip over to “divorced” just so you can have a fleeting moment of gloat as you knit your 1,380^th cat sweater. 

Breaking Up is Hard to Do

I’ve had a number of relationships end. Some because we fought too much, some because the spark wasn’t there and some because someone seemingly better came along. Regardless of the reason for the split, the break up process has been much the same: mourn, miss the individual, relive the memories, wish it wasn’t over, think the break up is for the best, then move on. I’m wondering what this process will be when a friendship ends.

I was recently dumped by an individual I have known and loved for more than seven years. The reason behind the break up is irrelevant. The process has been much the same. We’ve had to go through the painfully awkward ritual of exchanging the stuff. It was nothing like the exchanges I’ve experienced in the past. It was cold and completely detached. It felt procedural. I’m not sure why this is. I have more history with her than I did in any other failed relationship I’ve ever had.

I thought maybe it was because this has been coming for some time and I’ve been emotionally prepared for it. But I’ve been in other situations where I’ve known for some time that a break up was imminent, but I still fell apart after it was final. I’ve been the dumper who has carefully weighed the pros and cons of a particular relationship before making the strategic move of ending it. Even then, with all these logical factors backing up my decision, I’ve crumbled when it was officially done.

This time I’ve handled it in a very calm, collected manner. I realize it is a friendship ending and not a love that has vanished. Still, I’ve spent seven years with this girl, making this relationship three times longer than any of my actual relationships. We saw each other at least once a week. Talked online and text messaged hourly. There should be a gaping hole where she used to be, but there’s not.

I am sad and I miss her. I see pictures and think of her when I drive by our restaurant. I see something funny that I know she will appreciate and I have to stop myself from texting her. Still there isn’t that devastating soul-crushing emptiness that typically occurs when a well-forged connection is completely severed. The whole thing lacks a sense of finality.

Maybe it’s because I don’t really believe it’s final I have no reason to believe it isn’t. This friend has cut ties with another girl more than two years ago and they still haven’t reconciled. So this girl does tend to make a friend dumping stick, but I still haven’t fully comprehended what this actually means for my friendship.

Maybe it’s because moving on from a broken friendship doesn’t mean the same thing as moving on from a broken relationship. Once you move on from relationships and you find someone else, your former relationship can never be restored to the capacity it once was. Well, not without becoming a Mormon it can’t. But you can have multitudes of friends and you can return to an old friend even if you have found another in the interim. In theory.

The reality is even if the relationship is renewed on some level, it will likely never become exactly what it was before it ended. The two individuals will have changed in the interim and have found new life paths that don’t necessarily fit neatly into the life path the other is on.

I have only actively ended a friendship once in my adult life. A few years after I had ended it, I forgave her for the indiscretions of the past, and we became friends again. A lot had occurred in her life and mine during those years we spent apart. Our lives didn’t mesh as nicely as they used to. That’s not to say, that she isn’t a wonderful friend. She would do anything for me, we just lost some of the strength in our bond. Strength that comes with facing major life events together. Now, our lives are on separate paths. When we actively bring those paths together, we connect and have a fantastic time, but it isn’t what it could be had we not taken the detour.

I’m afraid this most recent break up will be more permanent than the friendship I ended and then renewed. Even if it isn’t, I’m afraid it won’t be what it was. And that is heartbreaking no matter how unhealthy or dysfunctional the relationship was in the first place.