A message from the earliest weeks of this new relationship. This time in a moment of honest debauchery a text message had been shared. There were a few more breakups that were not related to our mutual friend, and then another night out and another strained silence appeared. I’d text back, “Yep, I guess I’ll have to go fire up my OK Cupid profile again.” She liked to joke about “I guess it’s time to break up now.” Ha ha. How had I shared it with her and not here in my present relationship yet? Um, we had a very different relationship. Of course, the friend mentioned it casually. What?įirst, it was discovered that I had “depression.” And the new sweetheart was confused as to why I hadn’t told her about it, especially since I had shared it with our friend.
But the disconnect turned out to be something GF#1 shared with her. The first time it took about a week to cipher out what had happened, what disconnect had occurred between us. I mean, she wouldn’t have continued for more than a week if our friend had told her really bad things about me.īut then they’d have a girls night and low and behold, my sweetheart would get strangely quiet. And as things went, most reports were stellar. And as the new woman and I began to spend time together, we both kept checking in with our mutual friend for advice, ideas, confirmations, and references. And that’s where things got a little squishy. She then, however, counseled us both that we were not right for each other. In fact, she sort of got us together by inviting us to the same party. The one woman I had dated since the divorce. It was the one person who could draw the connections between the two of us. There was this one mitigating factor that kept finding its way into the equation, an unexpected antagonist. But was that healthy? At some point, even if the chemistry and fascination quotients are high, don’t you have to walk away from the wreckage, before the next crash takes you down with it? I could not anticipate the reasons for her breakup messages, but I could learn to do better at not responding, at not accepting what she was saying. I mean, I knew how capable I was of sustaining the fantasy, projecting the “okayness” of our time together, but I was also working to heal the part of me that wanted to be the hero, to be the bigger partner, to see and look out for obstacles. Somehow, I thought, by the fifteenth breakup soliloquy or so, she would wear me down. Somewhere in my heart, I knew it was a matter of time. They both told me, “We don’t talk about you.” But it seemed that when the wine flowed, apparently the juicy tidbits were just too juicy to withhold.
0 kommentar(er)
