I'll do this, because it's time. Long enough that it doesn't bother me to put in ink. And far too long that I should of informed you all sooner. This is going to be a watered down story of my last break up. Keywords: watered down. This occurred in the middle of December last year.
In August just prior to the break up, a pivotal conversation took place. We had some delicious dinner and drinks with his mother. The combination of the drinks and the increasingly overwhelming urge put me in a place to finally bring up a particular subject with him. The subject of children. He clearly wanted them. I clearly did not. But we never discussed it. This, in my history of dating, was the first time I have experienced such an opposing expectation of life and relationships. I've been lucky in the past to have dated people who didn't want children and who didn't particularly care for marriage or even religion. Not only was this insanely difficult because it was totally new, but it was difficult because of the immense feelings I held for my partner. I spilled some of my guts that night and emptied my tear ducts. The conversation never actually had a solution, but it was something that needed to be done. We were so exhausted and finally retired to sleep.
The next day I was quite sure the relationship was over, because the logical, rational side of me knew that this would never work. But the emotional side kept me hanging on. The conversation never continued past that night. It was killing me. Every goddamn time a child was in our presence or in part of a conversation I would instantaneously feel paralyzed. I would choke up. It was quite a sickening feeling. I wasn't expecting nor wanting a compromise. I did not want to rob him of his biggest dream in life. And I do not ever want to have a child just because someone else wanted it, that's not fair to anyone. I went to see a couple of my good friends, a couple, who oddly enough are in the same position in some sense. It's interesting that of all my friends, I chose to see them. But they were the ones I wanted to see. The conversations that took place between us was amusing in the sense that it was a perfect example of gender communication styles. She was comforting me emotionally, trying to give me a sense of hope, that maybe there's a light at the end of the tunnel, a compromise. He said very little, but they were all blunt facts. To stray away from my "gender style" I had to tell her that I did not want this form of comfort. I did not want a compromise and I knew that this would have to end, but it nonetheless would be hard. What he was saying was the enforcement I wanted.
I waited, and waited, and waited, but that conversation never came up. And this time I didn't want to be the one to initiate it. We started to drift apart. And as I later found out, that horrible feeling that I got every time children were around us, he felt too. Some short time after all this, the film Going the Distance came out. I enjoyed it very much, saw it twice, but I never said so much about it in posts. Check out the last paragraph of this post. Now, I can tell you why I found that film "oddly representative of my life". I do not wish to describe the plot, Wikipedia can do that for you, but I will point out the key things. Basically, the couple live across the country and want to be together. Distance is keeping them apart and a compromise is to be made, but it's very difficult and emotional. When they finally have a talk about it, the guy talks about eventual resentment that will occur between them. That was an exact line my boyfriend said during out conversation. The guy also kept saying, "We'll figure it out, we'll figure it out" another thing my boyfriend said. However Drew Barrymore's character had a response to that, of which I should of said in my situation. That there is actually no "figuring out" going on, just talk of it. The saddest part about watching this film during that part of my life was that they actually could manage a compromise, they had the potential for a happy ending, while I did not.
Resentment may not have occurred between us but I know for sure that we both started to hate children for no good reason. They were the tangible representation of the end of our relationship. However, that was not the only thing, but a major part of it all. As we drifted, I began to become unhappy in ways which I choose not to discuss. The relationship ended just before our trip to Seattle [which we cancelled], just the day after my graduation. It could of ended better, for I take responsibility for that. I have definitely learned that once I have those feelings, that I've made my mind up to break up with someone I really need to do it as soon as I possibly can. You think after you've done it a handful of times it would get easier...it sure as hell does not. It's actually one of the most stressful and emotional things for me, and another of which I generally initiate. I become something I don't want to be. Cold and distant.
Regardless if I want out, doesn't mean I escape heartbreak. We did, however, break up on good terms and still are friends. Still friends that this is his laptop I'm borrowing and typing this on. He was there for me during my brother's overdose, he is a good person, as I always felt. I got over it quite well and quite quick. That's what's interesting, as I get older the time it takes to build up the courage to break up takes longer while the recovery period decreases. I owe it to another ex-boyfriend who taught me of just accepting the situations and choosing to be happy rather than to make myself useless in dwelling. I will say, the difference in this recovery process was the location. Most of my significant others lived in a different town, over more distance. This time, he lived less than 5 minutes from me. Everything in my neighborhood reminded me of him, and that was new and discomforting to me.
At the time I was slightly grateful that I become occupied with my brother and the aftermath of his overdose, it took my mind off of other stuff, although it was far worse than a break up. I was grateful that the first time I saw him again was on that night of the overdose, Christmas, because there was no awkwardness, only love and comfort. That's exactly what I needed. I also occupied myself with a dating site at the time, which I mentioned a little bit here. I've had that account disabled for a few months now, the idea of going back to it greatly annoys me. Meanwhile, there has been another distraction that washed up at that time. A, now, good friend of mine. Someone whom I talk to every single day, someone who tells me things that mean the world to me regardless if I have the capacity to show it, someone who appreciates me and vice versa, and someone who never shuts up when I kiss them.
So here I am.
I've learned so much. Every relationship [and non-relationship] I've had in the last 4 years have taught me ridiculously amounts of information about myself and about others. It will only continue to astound me as I learn a ridiculous amount more. I'm grateful for the lessons no matter how much I may cringe about the situations or individuals involved.
It's fascinating that I've become an "experimenter". I never thought myself the type. Especially with drugs and things of the like. My brother is very much a type of person that can only learn things through experience, which I often find annoying. I praise myself on learning from the mistakes of others, without having to put myself in the situation. While I do still have that, there are things that I find myself doing even if I know it's not good or going to work out at all. I wish I had a better answer as to why I do that than the little one floating in my mind.
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