The Last Time I Left You

I left you. Again. Like you’ve been left so many times. I did exactly what you expected. What you directed silently, with CEO-like strategy. You said you didn’t expect this — you started talking about how you were fine. You were not strong enough last week to fight me, but this week you’re fine. I said OK, I think we should break up. Our realities are not aligned. You want to Get Along. That’s your bar for a good relationship — People Who Get Along. Who cares if we go entire evenings without talking? If I touch you and you push my hand away. I’m over here slowly wrapping my arms around my empty middle. I’m a porcelain statue, and you are, whatever doesn’t like porcelain. We broke up months ago; years ago, if I’m honest.

You’ve had three descents into the hole this year. The Black Dog. Every night when I called and you could only say, “Hello. I’m fine, how are you?” I filled 10–15–20 minutes with hope, stories, and gentle questions. When you didn’t respond, I tried more. More is a lot like OK. Except no one’s OK. I’ve never experienced someone who consciously said so little. Someone who felt so much but never let me see it. Your legendary self-control was impenetrable. You never wanted to hurt me because you felt things so deeply — anger, self-loathing, frustration, fear. You had hurt others before me by bursting and eventually, they left you. A simple equation with one more addition: don’t break in front of me. You thought I’d lose respect for you. Instead, you lost me hiding behind ‘fine’.

Every time I reached out my hand to bring you with me, you looked at me like, “really?” Incredulous, tired, like I’d over-stepped. It was fake derision. You were so sad because you could see what was happening. You saw my anger and hurt. I couldn’t spend time with you anymore because you were gone. Nothing’s lonelier than being with someone who’s waiting for the hammer to fall.

When I saw that tear I was initially shocked, then not, FINALLY, SOMETHING. If you feel something, you’ll try. You’ll realize how bad things are and you’ll save us. But the defeated never fight. This is their normal. Their predetermined destiny. My love for you is inconsequential. It’s transient and it was never to be trusted in the first place. I realized long ago I can’t love someone and manifest courage or happiness in that person. But I can’t live with less. Less affection; Less conversation; Less hope. If you’re going to leave me — at least tell me to my face. I’m autistic like that, I never believe people are trying to tell me things non-verbally. Especially the people closest to me.

The wine did its usual tonight. My brain hurts now, all contracted and dry. It matches my stupid emotions. I don’t want to date anyone else. I don’t want anyone at all. I’m learning to be alone and not run head-long away from loneliness. I’m doing a terrible job but yea me. I keep getting up every day. Fuck I hate Saturdays.

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This post was previously published on medium.com.

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