Month: November 2013

3:42 a.m.

“Hey!”

“Hi, what’s going on?”

“Not much, you sleepin’?”

“Well, yes I was. What’s going on?”

“Nothing, I just wanted to see what you were doing, hear you voice. I wanna see you.”

“I wanna see you too…”

“Oh but you were sleeping, you sound so cute, groggy like that.”

“You want to see me now? What’s up, did you go out?”

“Yeah, we went out drinking. I’m downtown… It’s probably too late, you can’t come get me. That would be inappropriate…”

*I grunted.*

“Oh but you sound so cute, I need to see you.”

“Well, it is inappropriate, but I’m up now. Are your friends with you, are guys stranded?”

“Yeah, but we can get a cab, like…”

“No, it’s fine. I’ll be there in 20.”

I got up, put my sweatpants and my reading glasses on. I was ecstatic. He booty-called me. He wanted to see me. His cuteness at my cuteness was unbearable. I was overjoyed. This was it. He could not stand being apart from me either. When I found them, I realized the level of alcohol that had been consumed. His two buddies were just as wasted so I let them sleep on my couch. Once I closed my bedroom door, Liam had his bedroom eyes on. “I want to go down on you.” “That’s a very sweet thought darling, but here’s a glass of water. You should sleep.” A few sloppy, yet highly passionate kisses later he was out cold, snoring. At 5.30 his usual alarm for work started ringing. Since it was Thanksgiving, Monday was a holiday. He was absolutely passed out. So I reluctantly got up to find his phone to turn off the fucking alarm. As I swiped, the alarm silenced and the screen unlocked to the home screen of his text messages.

There it was, third name down. She was right there. The last text exchanged between them was “miss you.” See from the home screen, you cannot tell who sent it, just what it said. He was snoring so loudly. I had to look. I had to see. Did he send that?? Did she? When? Why? So I went in. Next thing I know, I have read a month and a half of daily messages and I do not feel well. Wait, I feel like utter shit. Oh fuck, get up, run, quietly, run. I had barely managed to shut the bathroom door as my guts came spewing out. For the first time ever, I fully understood what “sickening” meant. I had used the expression several times before. “This makes me sick.” I had no idea what it meant. See this is how important words are. I had consistently over-exaggerated my feelings of disgust. This was the first time I understood the expression and I hated it. How could he? How did he dare? Calling her baby, calling her his. I had to go back, I had to check again. Was this all a nightmare? I am going to wake up anytime soon, right? This cannot be happening.

“I keep comparing this chick to you. She will never match up. So boring. No chance.”

Nope there it was, in real life, shining at me through the darkness. Black on white. Words set in writing, definite, cold, painful, sickening. I need to take a break even as I sit here writing this. That feeling haunts me to this day. What was I supposed to do? It was now 6:30am, still pitch black outside. I tried to make myself as small as physically possible in the bed. There was no waking him in this state. And what was I going to do? Kick all three of them out in the middle of the night? How could he?? Was he fucking kidding me? The fucking liar. I was so disgusted. I want to hit him. I want to spit on him. There were so many messages, so many innuendos. It was so insulting. How dare he even mention me to her?? Who the fuck is this cunt? I tried to fall asleep, to hopelessly make it stop. Sleep would be my release. Time would fly. That’s it Christine, just sleep. His snoring was like the dagger in my heart, consistently poking at it, twisting and turning, rhythmically, ensuring I could not breath. SHUT THE FUCK UP! I screeched inside my soul. I had to keep fighting the gagging that would not stop. And so I lived through to 8am, when one of his buddies got up and asked me for directions home.

When I walked back in the room, he felt me get back into bed, through his intoxicated, sleep haze. “Come here.” He tried to hug me. “Don’t fucking touch me.” Confused half asleep look ensued. “I did something bad last night, so don’t fucking touch me right now.” “What?” “I read your messages.” Pause.

“So aren’t you gonna say anything?” He asked. “Well, it’s disgusting and you’re a fucking liar.” Pause. He got up and angrily walked to the bathroom. When he came back in, he was packing up, drunkenly insisting he was going to leave; I was never going to believe him; it was no use. “Well if you want to leave and give up this is your cue. But I’m sitting here asking you what the fuck is going on. So if you wish to dignify me an explanation, I’m all ears.” And then he proceeded to give me an explanation, so plausible, yet so easy that you begin to slowly hate yourself for being in your own shoes and having to make choices. So I sat in silence, contemplating my options. I looked up at this man who had done little but lift me up and smash me back down. How could I have hurt so much from this one man and still be looking at him? Hours prior I had felt more hatred and disgust towards him than I thought I was even capable of for anyone. Could I believe him? Could I take the risk of being the biggest idiot, fool the world had ever seen? Was it possible that he was so fucked up as to not realize what he had been doing to me? Kick him out and it’s over forever.

We argued for hours. His buddy left half way through, probably having no clue of what was going on, since I had miraculously managed to keep it down. I asked questions, he answered them. Always giving me enough to believe, not enough to reassure. He apologized profusely. He did not beg. He just stated and felt bad for me. He felt bad I had to go through that. Did he feel bad about doing it? He did much later, but probably not that instant. I was tired. I could not argue anymore. I couldn’t think anymore. I was delusional from emotion and lack of sleep. I have never been so confused in my life.

So we paused. We paused life and watched Back to the Future. We had sex several times. It was the best afternoon we had had since before the summer. The whole time we had been back together had been so difficult and tedious. That afternoon, it felt like we finally had some release. He looked and felt relieved. Relieved that I had found out, relieved that someone knew the depth of the shit he had gotten himself in. This made me want to believe him. He did not say anything to make me feel this way. There was just something about his behavior, his touch that felt like he was relieved. He looked like for the first time in a while the stinky, disgusting, horrifying mess he had made was on the table. It was manifest and someone was there to accept him and recognize he was a human being that had just majorly fucked up and had to start facing it.  I did not trust him. I would not for a long time. I hated him for what he had done to me and the thought of it still makes me very angry. He left in the evening. I fell asleep quite fast. Sleep, finally. The next morning I realized sleep was no safe zone either. The dreams I had that entire week will probably haunt me forever. It felt like my subconscious was trying to tell me: “yes, Christine, that was rock bottom.”

But we had the best day…

The funny thing about honesty is that you never know if you are getting it. Granted you often find out if you were not. Still the perception of honesty comes from one thing, and one thing only: trust. Once that trust is taken away, ripped apart or never existed to begin with, all that is left are some deep dark thoughts and worst-case scenarios. I experienced new levels of falling apart and rising to the top in a short month. I want to take you on this emotional elevator ride with me. This story is not for the light-hearted, I promise you that much.

Liam*—Mr. Inexplicable as I have called him so far, and I were trying really hard to make things work. It was difficult and tedious and so tiring. The sex was not even good. He was lazy, self-involved, and absorbed in another world. None of the “insane connection” I was craving, the sole purpose of my return was there. But I loved him, so I stayed. He said, “I don’t wanna give up just because it’s hard.” So we kept trying for 6 weeks we just tried. And it was exhausting. I kept thinking he needed me to be there for him, to support him on his journey. He was finally dealing with the horrible things that had happened to him over that summer, and in his life in general. Of course I would not be a priority right away, of course he needed to talk, and talk, and talk, and talk, about himself, about his problems, about his life. And I kept seeing none of me ever reflected in his words, she was still there haunting my every breath… and at times he said the worst things he could possibly say and my breath stopped. My heart broke a little every time. “This morning I woke up and had to check myself, figure out where I was and who was next me… I’ve been so all over the place lately…” He might as well have said “I thought of her while I was hugging you all night,” because that’s all my heart could hear.

So even though it hurt and even though neither of us were really happy, I thought it was all for something. There were glimpses of hope, a few laughs and sincere smiles. I thought he would eventually come to his senses. And then he blew up. I was asking for more than he could give. He could not give me shit apparently, since all I was asking for was honesty. He needed to focus on Liam, and I had to stop focusing on Liam. He blew up on the phone at his lunch break. I told him none of this could happen like this, that he owed me the respect to tell it to my face. And then he said “Why? So you can convince me to be in a relationship that I do not want?” I wanted to hang up and never hear his voice again. He did not even have the decency to be an adult and respect the one woman who had done absolutely nothing to hurt him. I gathered strength I did not even know I had. “No, I just need to hear the words you just said in person to have closure.” “Fine then, see you after work. Bye.”

So he had made the decision. I had to make him realize that he could not just be an asshole; that he still had to talk to people, that even though he was fighting his battles, his actions impacted more than his little self. No, I did not want to break up. Yes, this is also what I needed. And so we broke up for the second time. I felt like this time it was the hardest thing. He had given up. I just had to face the fact that I loved someone who did not, could not, love me back. He stayed over that night; we had dinner and talked. We talked instead of watching a dumb movie. For the first time in a while he looked at me. So when he left for work, I disintegrated.

I closed the door and went back to sleep, to ignore this brutal reality for just a little longer. When I woke up, each step I took shone a light on something that reminded me of him. His soap in the shower, the nutella we bought together to make crepes, the bag of my favorite childhood crisps I had bought just for him, the bottle of whiskey that I do not like and lastly—the towel that still smelt like him. Those were all the things I had left. I hugged that towel like it was the last time I would ever remember what he smelled like, like it was him I could hold on to for a couple more minutes before throwing it in the hamper.

The following week was torturous. It took all the energy in me just to keep going, accept failure and move on. I was single again. I realized what my girlfriends had repeatedly been saying after their breakups: “I just want to tell him how shitty I feel because when I feel shitty I want to talk to him. But now he’s the one making me feel shitty so I can’t call him and it makes me feel even worse.” I get it now. Damn. I was tired. I could not face the idea of putting myself out there, of hunting. I did not even want to sleep with anyone and that was really weird. I just felt defeated and I missed him. So I got drunk on that Saturday. I had been a week since we had talked. 10.30 pm came around….

Me: “So you don’t miss me….” (Yes, I know I’m smooth like that.)

Him: “Why would you stay that? I was just wondering how you were doing actually.”

“Were you?”

“Yes.”

“Why did you say that?”

“I didn’t think that you do.”

“That’s not nice.”

“I’m sorry I just thought you didn’t.”

“I do. But what should I do, text you that?”

I guess he had a point. What was I expecting? We break up and then he is supposed to tell me he is suffering? I guess not. I did not know what to say… I apologized the next morning and we caught up properly. He understood. We did both miss each other. But it was for the best. That was Thanksgiving morning. So I went to hang out with my friends, who have the most beautiful little children and comforted my soul with the extraordinary innocence, the warmth and pure sincerity of which they are the sole providers. We ate great food, watched a bit of Star Wars and reveled in the purest kind of love. I got into bed quite early and fell asleep easily for the first time. I did not even have nightmares that night.