…
On our first date, I am sitting next to him at the movies wondering why on earth he won’t hold my hand or put his arm around me or tell me he’s having a good time. Halfway through the movie, I give up wondering and concentrate on smelling his armpit. This is easier to do when we’re standing up because I hit him at about armpit level. But sitting down at the movies, I have to be a little bit more discreet.
I barely get any good smelling in and by the end of the film, he still hasn’t held my hand or told me I look pretty and I consider the night a disaster.
…
I am constantly feeling like I am talking too much. I talk all the time. My e-mails are triple the length of his. Phone conversations are mostly me, having a conversation for my own enjoyment, sometimes even having to think up things to say to fill the silence which I am not used to. But, since my ex-boyfriend never stopped talking, I go with it and tell myself he needs time to warm up and get comfortable.
I tell my therapist that he has a hard time making conversation, that conversation is hard, that I don’t know what to do. We talk about whether or not it’s a good fit. I leave therapy with my mind made up that it isn’t, delicious armpits aside, it’s just too hard. And should dating be hard at the beginning?
The next night, before I can bring this decision up, he talks to me for an hour on the phone. Fifty-nine minutes. I am so taken aback by this turn of events that I change my mind completely.
…
Right before Valentine’s Day, since we are not officially dating and the holiday usually gives me hives, I tell him that I don’t want any flowers or stuffed animals or candy or fancy dinners. Please, nothing. On February 13th, I get a bouquet of Gerber daisies telling me that since it’s not Valentine’s Day, he is still in compliance with my rules, hope you enjoy them, see you soon.
…
Despite my protestations, he gets me a birthday gift. Pee-Wee’s Big Adventure on DVD and a pair of the most perfect shoes. If there were ever a gift to accurately describe me and my likes, that would be it. A few weeks later, we watch the DVD while eating vegan ice cream sundaes in the living room. His fingers are interlaced with my belt loop which he always seems to do whenever we are sitting together.
“This movie…” he says, “is just so…”
“Horrible?” I say.
“Exactly.”
“I know,” I say and erupt into laughter on the couch.
…
“It’s because I’m so indecisive!” I am crying now, something I have managed to go a few sessions without doing. “I don’t know what I want! Every relationship! I’m back and forth and back and forth. It drives me crazy, it drives them crazy, I can’t do this anymore.”
“It must be exhausting,” says my therapist.
“It is exhausting! I am exhausted. I can’t analyze it anymore, I can’t talk about it anymore, I don’t know what I’m doing, I’m not ready. I suck at every relationship I’m ever in.”
Silence.
Quieter now, I mumble, “I just don’t know, I don’t know, I don’t know.”
“Yes, you do,” says my therapist firmly.
“No, I don’t.”
“Laura, you have calmly and neatly articulated reasons why this is not happening right now. It doesn’t feel right. It’s not working for you. You are very sure of that, aren’t you?”
“Yes.”
“So, the issue is not that you don’t know. You do know. The issue is that you are still on my couch refusing to make a decision about what you do know.”
I falter then, unable to respond.
“It’s because I like him so much.”
“Of course you do. But you need to be true to yourself and your needs. And you need to trust that you know what you need. Right now, you don’t trust yourself with any decision, do you?”
“No.”
“So, maybe it’s time to let this go and work on that.”
I nod and sniffle and get up to leave.
…
“I need to go,” he says and I know in that moment I have lost him. He sounds distant and faraway, unable to meet my eyes.
“Please don’t,” I say and begin to cry harder.
“I have to,” he reasons, hand smoothing my hair, comforting to the end. “It’s better for both of us.”
“I know,” I say and then I can’t stop. My hands cover my face and the tears fall through my fingers onto the bedspread where they land, muted and soft.
He walks out of my room, stopping once to look back at me. I don’t look up. The door creaks to let me know that it is opening. I hold my breath to see if he’ll come back. The door shuts. He doesn’t.
I crumple toward my pillows as if clutching all of them will offer me some kind of support.
Around midnight, I crawl to the bathroom to splash water on my face. I end up in the bathtub, temples throbbing against the tile, wondering what to do next. I mentally set a new six month rule in place. Maybe this time I’ll stick to it.
But six months doesn’t seem like enough time, so I keep adding. Nine months, twelve months, two years, five, I tap out the time on the rim of the tub. No matter how many invisible tally marks I make, I wonder if I will ever be able to forgive myself for recklessly playing with other people’s hearts. I decide that such an amount of time doesn’t exist and accept this fact with a slight nod as my tears swirl into the water and disappear.
Oh Laura, I’m so sorry. I don’t know how to write a replay without sounding generic or patronizing. I hope things work out for in whatever decision you make.
~Andrew
Thanks Andrew! You are the sweetest! I am hanging in there. Hope everything is good in your world! I need to catch up on your LJ.