diabola in musica

Three months ago, I made a dramatic exit. A few days later, I stepped back on stage. What happened on July 4th will remain on July 4th, but suffice to say that the events of that night propelled us back into the relationship. At first, it was good. We communicated better than ever before. We planned to move in together. And we did.

But it’s been a week since he ended the relationship. The parting was amicable. We are still good friends. But the breakup meant that I had to move out. Perfectly reasonable (and arguably necessary) but I could have done without the additional stress. Packing and redefining boundaries and sobbing? Unpleasant activities.

Now I’m back in New Hampshire with family. It’s been slow sorting through the boxes. I feel a little disoriented, a little off-kilter. My life was scattered among home, school, work, and Boston for so long, having it all in one place is disconcerting. I don’t trust any semblance of permanence right now. I’ve been uprooted enough in the past year.

Is my heart broken? A little. Are the feelings still there? A little. (Have I jumped right back into the dating scene? No comment.) But this is better for both of us. I don’t know how the breakup affected his life, but I know that I am better now. I don’t have to worry about making the relationship work. I don’t have to worry about being hurt again. I can relax and focus on other things, getting on with my life.

Still, I don’t regret those 31⁄2 years. As cliché as it sounds, I’m glad that they happened. I was very hurt during those years, but I was also very happy. I’m still happy today, not because I’m free and single but because the relationship taught me how to be happy on my own terms.

But what I wanted and what he could give didn’t match. And that’s the end of it.

Four days ago, we were having dinner, discussing music. Three days ago, we were dancing at a wedding. Last night, we ended the relationship.

Things change so quickly.

The relationship had already dismantled years ago, when he stopped paying attention to me, and in response, I stopped communicating with him. He places the blame largely on the open relationship, but I know that our bond was already weak then. We didn’t talk about our problems, no matter how often I tried to start the conversation. Though we were intimate in other ways, we rarely had sex. I felt like an ornament in his life, someone he liked to keep around for companionship and security. The romantic relationship was a sham, even when I wanted to believe in it. We were so happy. But without him working with me, I was also so alone.

After many years without adequate emotional support, the abandonment was poignant. During these past four months, I couldn’t trust him. Every statement was suspicious. Every act had a secret motive. After so many broken promises, I was ready to shrug each new one as a lie. No matter how much he said I was the only one, I was sure that a few drinks will encourage flirting and sex with another woman. Where was the courtship, the respect, the desire to connect and understand? We’ve had so many arguments about our different viewpoints, about which ones were healthy and justifiable. Often I was on the defensive, feeling attacked for what was perceived as unreasonable. When you feel rejected enough, you soon begin to reject the rejector. When he later offered the olive branch, I viewed it with suspicion. I was waiting for that hidden stiletto, the one he would plunge without a care.

This isn’t what I wanted. I wanted full understanding, easy communication. I wanted the comfort of someone who cares. I wanted the freedom to be myself. I wanted passionate sex, knowledge that someone desires me. I wanted the space, the freedom to express my feelings—the anger, the sadness, the fear.

I wanted to find these things in him.

No one should be alone in a relationship. We seek that other so we won’t be alone. But after so many failures, so much broken trust, now I have to face that stark reality—that love fails, love disappoints, that no matter how much I reach out, I will always finish desolate, isolated, alone.