Breaking up is hard to do

Even after all the things I said it's still hard to let go. I turned on my computer last night and skype opened up automatically. Low and behold there he was. Active. Online.

I stared at the screen for hours. I logged off of skype for a while, but logged back in. I didn't want to contact him again. I had said my piece. But seeing him there - it was almost like he was in the room with me, but ignoring me completely. it was maddening. I was becoming obsessed. It was ridiculous. Finally, I gave into temptation and opened a chat window.

"I feel like I should say something," I wrote. "But nothing seems appropriate."

I waited. A few minutes later he went offline. Message received - loud and clear. He was done with this. He was done with me. I knew what had happened. He had blocked me as a contact, so that from now on, no matter when he was online, I would always see him as offline.

Two can play that game. I considered doing the same. But then what's the point I thought. I needed to end it. I highlighted his name in my skype contact list and hit delete. And just like that - he was gone.

I removed him from my favorites list on my phone. He was at the top of the list. Every time I opened it I saw his name staring back at me. It had to go.

Then I went to my facebook page and looked him up. This one was harder. I update my facebook page a lot. I had a small fantasy that this link meant not only would I be able to see information about him, but that he could continue to see what I was doing - without my actually telling him.

I imagined, that he might look me up - and discover I was dating someone else. Or see some really cute picture of me and feel a twinge of regret. But I needed to be realistic. He had washed his hands of me, and he was not going to be checking me out on facebook. He was not going to be wondering what I was doing and following the updates of my life. That was my pipe dream, and if I was ever going to be free of this, I had to let him go.

I opened up the privacy settings and typed his name into the box that says "block this person"

I read the consequences of what I was about to do.

If you block someone, they will not be able to find you in a Facebook search, see your profile, or interact with you through Facebook channels (such as Wall posts, Poke, etc.). Any Facebook ties you currently have with a person you block will be broken (for example, friendship connections, Relationship Status, etc.). Note that blocking someone may not prevent all communications and interactions in third-party applications, and does not extend to elsewhere on the Internet.

That was it. Once I blocked him it would be done. Over. Finito. The magic of technology. It brought us together and now it was going to cut our ties.

Be careful what you wish for .....

I asked him to tell me he didn't love me. I told him I wanted to say it. I meant it. But that doesn't mean it hurts any less. I suppose I wish he could have done it more tenderly. I suppose I wish he could have said something about how he cared a great deal for me, and how he just had to see this thing with Marion through. How maybe if things had been different ....

I think the part that stung was the bluntness of his expectations. " I do not love you. I never expect to love you." He should have put that in the past tense. he never *expected* to love me. It just wasn't part of the plan. EVER. Motherfucker.

The final response was in my inbox the next day.

Writefromtheheart,
In my world there is a lot of ground between meaningless sex and "I love you". Our relationship existed in that grey area, and I thought that you knew that. You don't need to demonize the situation and draw big presumptuous conclusions about me and my psychopathologies, which must surely be plentiful, but then I don't laughably assert that I have ever taken stock of all of them, dissected them and put them neatly away. That is the most ridiculous thing anyone has ever said to me, it is in the nature of these hang-ups that they cannot be put neatly away and anyone who thinks they have is deluding themselves.

So, If I must say it, so that you can move on, then I will say that I did not love you and do not expect ever to love you. That is why we met where we did, because I was not emotionally available in that way.

Now you may think that i am a pig or a twisted pathological womanizer, and you are welcome to do so, but my value system (dare I assert that I have values???) allows two adults to have a very nice affair (which is what I think we had) without it having to lead to church aisles and white picket fences. I am sorry that I disappointed you, but I don't think that I ever misled you, and my only error was to not be brutally honest at the first moment that I suspected that you were feeling something outside the parameters of the nice affair I described.

With that, let me say that I bear you no ill-will, i like you quite a lot and hope that we can be more friendly from now on.

Berlin

Yes. That one hurt. Such simplicity. Such resignation. Such apathy. And never misled me? Who the hell was he kidding? I crafted one last response.

Berlin-
This is such a colossal fuck-up I don't even no where to start. You are defensive and angry - justifiably so. I said some things I shouldn't have. The stuff about you being emotionally stunted was below the belt. I do not think you are a pig or a twisted pathological womanizer. I had no right to assume I knew all your psychopathologies.

But try to put yourself in my shoes - You ARE very wrapped up in your own world. And as such, this affair was - well - it was whatever you needed it to be. Casual, uncomplicated, instantly gratifying with no long-term hassle. I don't think you ever gave so much as a thought to me regarding how I was taking the whole thing, my underlying motivations or desires. You offered very little, and figured, if I didn't like like it I could always walk away. It's what I should have done. But I didn't. So I guess I shoulder as much of the blame.

I will give you that there is a large grey area between love and meaningless sex - and that we were in it. But in the same way the lines between love and lust are blurred so is the spectrum of love itself. Love is not all church aisles and white picket fences. I don't want either - from you or from anyone right now. But what I did want was a connection - a real, and genuine connection to another person. A man who I let know me intimately, both physically and emotionally in the way only lovers can. Someone who would let me into his inner world and want to be part of mine. Someone who thinks of me when I'm not around, laughs when he sees something he knows I'd think is funny. Someone who desires my touch, my smell and my smile - and wants to hear me chatter on about my day, or complain about work, or comfort me when I'm having one of those low moments and need a hand finding my center again. Someone who genuinely enjoys my company, and sees me as a lover and a friend.

You see, that's love to me - it's the kind of love I want, and that is what I offered you while you were here. And you took it. And I kept sort of thinking you'd reciprocate. Not by offering some promise of forever - but by simply relishing the fact that we clicked - by offering something deeper of yourself.

I wanted a lover, not an affair. I didn't want church bells and diamond rings and down on bended knee - I wanted someone who was giddy with anticipation about the next time he would see me. I wanted to be the girl who stood out in a crowded room. The one you would surreptitiously brush hands with just to touch, make an excuse to be alone with so you could steel a clandestine moment when no one else was looking, and ravish in the bedroom (or the kitchen or the living room floor) alone at night. But I also wanted to know your heart and your hopes and your fears and for you to want to know mine. I wanted emotional intimacy.

But I guess you can't do that if the person you really desire that intimacy with is someone else. We played the little game for a while, and it was fun, but then it sort of fizzled - the attraction was still there - but instead of naturally progressing there was just sort of this emotional moat between us that you were unwilling to bridge.

Of course you have values. And we were two consenting adults who enjoyed a little bit of each other for a short while. But yes, I am disappointed. Perhaps it is wrong to demonize the whole thing - on the one hand I don't regret it. I can still close my eyes and imagine you touching me and get completely turned on. I can still smell you, and feel you and taste you- and it's nice - even now. But on the other hand, I settled for something less than I deserved.

I too as very upfront when we started this - I wanted someone who wasn't emotionally withdrawn. I wanted someone who had the capacity to let me in and just go with it. I have already had the affair with the married guy- and it was a waste of time. I never wanted to be in that position again, and if I had any real understanding of how serious this relationship was with her, I would not have even met you that night, and I would not have gone home with you most definitely.

And I'm sorry but you *did* mislead me. Yes - you told me about Germany. You told me about Marion. But you left so many crucial details out. Details that I only discovered little by little, that eventually made the picture sooo much clearer. Things like the fact that you two were living together here, that you were going to live with her in Germany, that you would worry about her health, or if a car was safe enough for her to drive. The fact that you talked to her every single day, that she texted you all the time. Little things that reveal what sort of a relationship you had.

And it's not like I didn't try to figure it out. I asked you if you loved her and you said you didn't know. You said you weren't sure if she even wanted you to come to Germany. Even very close to the end you told me you thought it was going to be "awful" and you weren't sure you doing the right thing. What was I supposed to think? That you two were a happy couple? Those remarks made it seem like there was a lot of unanswered questions in your mind about her and about the two of you as a couple, and that there might be room in your life for someone else.

But there was no room in your life for me -- not even for a real affair -- at most you wanted a little companionship and some sexual release. Be honest. Real love affairs involve something akin to love - even if it's not the white-picket-fence sort.

And if I had had all those details early on - or if you had really come clean and been brutally honest when I asked, and said - "listen, our relationship might be screwed up, but I love HER. I really love this woman. I'm going there to make a life and a home with her, SHE'S the one for me. And this - what you and I are doing is temporary - it's nice and it's fun, but it's just not going anywhere." If you had said anything resembling that, I would have bowed out early.

I would have walked away because as nice and pleasant as the sex and the limited companionship was, I wanted more than that. I always wanted more than that. And as many signs as you gave that signaled you were pushing me away, I gave just as many (and I think clearer) that I was looking for something deeper. You just didn't/couldn't/wouldn't look past your own needs, or my well-being wasn't something you put above your own.

But I'll take the blame here anyway and say, I should have asked the tougher questions, and I should have pressed you, and made us have the conversation we are having now 6 weeks ago. Very poor journalism. I didn't get the full story. I was emotionally weak, and craving affection. I looked the other way. I will never let that happen again. EVER. Life lesson learned.

So was this meaningless? No, certainly not for me. But I'm still not sure there can be much meaning ascribed to it on your end. If you never make a true connection with someone, never really bond with them, let yourself be vulnerable and raw and open - then what meaning is there in it? What do you possibly take away? You tell, me - did you feel some sort of connection, ever? A feeling that I was a person you wanted to open up to, and BE truly intimate with - not just physically but emotionally as well? Maybe you did a little bit. I got some glimpses,but really and truly, I don't think you did feel that - or if you did you didn't let yourself give into it. It's too much like falling in love. And if that's the case then we had some nice sex, shared some fun times, and that was about it.

So I have calmed down significantly. I am not angry anymore. I think I just had to let it all out, and I'm sorry that it was so venomous. But I guess I knew that if I never said anything you would just disappear and I would never hear from you again. You would never think of me, or wonder about me, or call, or write, and I would always be left wondering about you. I assume that because - like I said - it always was more about you than me. I was always thinking of you - and you were never thinking of me. I was always reaching out and you were pulling away. And it was just too insulting to let you walk away without so much as a response. The repressed anger, and frustration, and hormones (yes,hormones) just all made me lose it. Completely lose it. So I hope you'll forgive me, and try to understand .

I would like to be friendly - I would like to be friends in fact -though I just don't see that happening. Not real friends anyway. Perhaps I am different than most people. I don't have a lot of people I call friends, but the ones I do have are very close. They are the people I don't hide anything from, the ones I cry in front of, the ones who know all my dark secrets and insecurities, and sadness, and joy. Those are people that are really and truly a deeply intimate part of my life. I was trying to make you one of them all along. Perhaps the whole idea of love scared you off - but I love the people I am close to, and I felt close to you.

I don't really know any other way to be, and honestly, I think any other way is a waste of time. Most people, in my mind, are just a big, frivolous, waste of time. I don't need people in my life who won't invite me in to be a part of theirs. People who don't really want to be a part of mine. Life is just too short and my attention is too valuable and too limited. I have a lot to offer - I want something back.

So you either throw caution to the wind and decide I'm someone worth really knowing, even at a distance, or you say "it was fun, but no thanks. I just don't feel like we have that sort of friendship, or connection." It's your choice. But I don't do the gray area.

Either way, I wish you the best of luck.

-Writefromtheheart

And I sent it off into the internet night.

Biting off More Bitterness Than You Can Chew

When you tell someone that they are arrogant, self-absorbed, and - wait for it - "emotionally stunted" you are bound to hurt their feelings. That was sort of the point. Berlin had hurt me. He didn't love me. He wasn't even sorry to leave me behind. I wanted him to be sorry - somehow.

But these lovelorn tongue-lashings rarely get the desired response. That first email - the one that represented my move from depression to anger in the grief cycle was only four days after Berlin left. After I sent it I was thinking. Ha! Only four days and I'm already pissed off. I should be over him by next week. If only it were so simple.

When he didn't respond I was even more angry, and hurt. I kept checking his facebook page to see if he was communicating with anyone else. Nothing. I wondered if he even had internet. That would be so typical of him. That woman he was with was useless. She had been living there for months, and from his description of her (what little I got) she was the sort who couldn't do a thing for herself.

He bought a car when she moved here from Germany so that she wouldn't have to drive his old Mercedes in the winter. It was a used car - but sensible and safe. The old Subaru Outback that I met him in that first night was the car he bought with the money he got when he sold his house in the artsy east-side suburb of our fair city and moved to the "up-and-coming" neighborhood where he now lived. I found this out one day when I was helping him pack up and move his things and he told me someone was coming over to look at his car.

"But what are you going to without a car until you leave?" I asked.
"Oh, not the subaru. My other car."
"Other car?"
"I'll show you."

And sure enough, parked outside in his driveway was a cute little red Mercedes. One of those old ones, with a slightly fading paint job. Well-used, weather-worn, and quite cool. It was just his style. I liked it.

"You wanna buy it?"
"Um. No. I already have a car, remember?"

Actually I would have loved to buy it. It was just the sort of car I would have loved to buy - and it would have been practical too -- at least from an economical standpoint. I had a new car. I leased it the year before when it got too cold to ride my vespa scooter - which is the only transportaion I had since I moved here the prior spring. I rode that vespa back and forth to work - and through sort of a rough neighborhood I might add - from June until it actually began to snow in November. And when I couldn't take the cold I finally decided it was time to get a car - and that's when I got the Subaru.

From a financial standpoint it would have been better to buy a used car, but I didn't have a lot of money, and I didn't have a lot of time. I was working 12+ hour days on a regular basis, and every day it was getting colder. I needed to make a decision fast. I was also a little bit nervous about doing used car shopping by myself. I don't know why. It's not rocket science. But I was new in town. I didn't have a mechanic I trusted. I was terrified I'd buy a lemon and be out my hard-earned cash, and my husband had been zero help. He didn't really want me to buy my own car. He thought we could continue to share our one car, as we had done since we bought it in 2001. But I needed my freedom. I needed to have my own transportation. I needed to be able to put a suitcase in the trunk and drive away any time I pleased. He said money was the the reason he wanted me to wait, but I think he always knew that a car would give me the freedom to leave him, as I eventually did.

But that's not the only reason I was hesitant about this purchase. When it comes to making big decisions my husband freezes up - and over the years we had been together, the effects of his stagnation had begun to rub off on me. I had gotten to the point that I was afraid to do big things alone. I second-guessed my decisions. Decisions, that looking back, I would have easily made alone before I met him.

So when it came to getting myself a car, I knew I had to do it on my own, and it was a liberating step I was taking in doing it. I knew it, even then. All the more reason I had to get this right. If I did fuck it it up, get screwed with some junker, the man I was married to was never going to let me hear the end of it. Going into a dealership and getting financing was simply easier. I knew what I was getting, and I knew the car would be dependable.

So I got the subaru - with the four wheel drive so that in our notorious Midwestern winters I would drive safely in the snow - and I'll tell ya - I wasn't the least bit disappointed. That thing drives like magic in the snow. Money well spent. That's for damn sure.

"I don't think it would be very good in the winter time either." I told him.
"Does it drive well in the snow?"
"No - it's terrible in the snow."


But then I was curious. Berlin was very practical. By his own description he was even cheap. One night when I wanted to buy a pint of Haagen Dazs ice cream at CVS, he tried to convince me to get the cheaper kind.

"But we could get more of the same thing for less money if we buy that one," he said pointing to some off-brand vanilla."

I looked at him and raised an eyebrow, incredulous at the sacrelidge.

"First of all, we don't need more than a pint. We can't eat more. And second of all, ice cream is an indulgence. Like chocolate. You don't buy waxy, bad-tasting chocolate because it's cheap. It defeats the purpose of indulging in something delicious and unnecessary. For the same reason, you don't buy sub-standard ice-cream. You buy the good stuff. You suck it up and pay the $4 a pint because it tastes better. "

I could tell he disapproved of my frivolity, but he didn't say anything when I took the Haagen Dazs out of the freezer case. God, he really was cheap. My husband might be an idiot, but he valued good ice cream. He always bought me Haagen Dazs, and never once complained about the cost. When we got to the counter, Berlin let me pay.

The point here is that Berlin was not the sort of guy to keep two cars around when only one was sufficient, and I was suddenly perplexed. We hadfilled the back of the Outback with a load of Berlin's books and taken them to the half-price bookstore to sell - another testament to his cheapness, he probably got about as much money for those books as it cost to driver there and back on $4 a gallon gas - and on the way back I got to thinking about the car situation agian. I wrinkled up my forehead, as I do when I am pondering something that doesn't add up.

"Why do you have two cars anyway?" I wondered out loud.

And that's when he inadvertently told me a crucial detail about his relationship with HER.

"When I sold the east-side house, I had a little extra money, and I decided to buy myself a present. I bought this car ."

He meant the subaru.

"Besides, Marion was coming, and I couldn't very well let her drive the Mercedes in the winter."

The fact that he was just trying to sell me that car - a car I would undoubtedly drive in the *winter* was not lost on me. It was also not lost on me that he bought that car, not so much for him - but for HER. What was this? This was not just a casual relationship. This was more like a marriage. That's something my husband would insist on doing for ME. Wasn't I the married one? I let this sink in a little and I began to think about other things he had mentioned. Like the fact that she was too busy to help him make any of the arrangements to pick up the items he was having shipped to Germany. The fact that she didn't have any furniture and he was bringing all of his. I got the feling that she was the sort of women who needed a man to take care of her - or at least she let men take care of her - and he was happy to fill that role.

Looking back now, I can see how someone as independent as I am might have been emasculating. I already had a caretaker and I walked away. I didn't want anyone to do things for me - I was having the time of my life doing them myself.

So it was no surprise to me then that he had no internet, or phone. That would have been exactly the sort of thing she would have left him to take care of, and as a consequence he was not reading my angry email.

When I text messaged him that night about Obama's speech he told me he had no means of communication.

"So I think you owe me some sort of a response, don't you?" I had asked.
"Yes. I've been thinking a lot about my response," He messaged back. I just didn't think texting was appropriate. "
"Understood. And FYI, there is a rather acerbic email waiting in your inbox when you get o it. Let's just say I woke up pissed off." and then added, "And YES. Texting would be inappropriate. So let's leave it there and you can ruminate until you have learned the words "internet cafe" in German. Oh wait! They're the same.

I hit send on my iphone and I wondered if he would hear the sarcasm in my words as he read them on his screen. Of course I couldn't let it go at that. No, No. Writer that I am, I wanted to scream and shout and tell him how much I hated him. I wanted to pound my fists on his chest. So I did what I did what I do best. I wrote another email.

Berlin-

Well I am waiting for the final votes to be tallied up on the congressional races, and in the meantime I have nothing to do but "ruminate." And no one to distract me. So I am sitting here thinking I should apologize for being such a nasty bitch, but then I want to immediately kick myself for being so damned nice to people who only think of themselves, and who mistake my "generosity" for my lying down and being a doormat.

And then it hits me. It seems to me, that this is the sort of man I am attracted to - the selfish kind. Not obnoxiously self-centered and arrogant. No - that would be too easy to spot. To easy too react to and avoid. Nope. I go for the deep, thoughtful, mysterious sort who is also self-pitying, self-absorbed, and oblivious to the feelings and thoughts of the rest of his universe - which by the way revolves entirely around his problems. Seeing yourself in this picture yet?

I mean, why should I have ever have expected my husband to worry about me, he hated his job - he didn't like where we lived, he had to take the dogs for walks and unload the dishwasher, and run his life. He had problems bigger than mine, right? How could I possibly have expected him to really and truly understand how much pain I was in? Why would you have stopped to wonder how it feels to swallow your pride and put your heart on your sleeve ... quite foolishly ...only to be completely and totally ignored - I mean, after all - you had a lot on your mind, what with moving and starting a new life and all. I could hardly have expected you to wonder how all of that was making ME feel. That would have been unreasonable. No?

If there is one thing that has suddenly come into very clear focus, it is that I apparently gravitate toward men who are well-meaning but emotionally ill-equipped to manage anything but their own inner world. Maybe I just like the angst-ridden, melancholy sort and the self absorbed part just comes with the territory. I don't know.

What I do know is that I should quit it. I should find an emotionally stable and happy man (and I am sorry to say, you are neither) who has actually sorted through his own baggage and still has room in the closet for a little of mine. Enough room that we can tuck it away, shut the door and not think about it - possibly ever again. Do such people exist? Despite all that I have been through I actually think I really have dealt with things. I have dragged the good bad and ugly out into the light, dissected it, inspected it, folded it neatly and put it away. Is this a gender-specific ability?

Ironically, the x-husband is moving to the west-side of town - 3 blocks from me. Lately, we have been spending time together- walking the dogs -I made him dinner one night - and while we are not getting back together, he actually is starting to sort through his shit. It's like he suddenly is beginning to "get it", and he actually is trying to become a happier person, look inwards at his own issues and then see how they have damaged our relationship. And in the process he has become incredibly tender toward me, and I can feel his loss - our loss - and in some weird cosmic fuck-up, we are becoming closer friends - and much more genuinely emotionally connected than ever.

It almost makes me laugh, the absurdity of all of it. I mean, two months ago, I never thought he and I would get to that far. I thought you and I, on the other hand, would have been much closer. In fact, I expected ...I suppose I assumed we were making that emotional connection. And I assumed when the time came to say goodbye we would somehow be on the same page. Some sort of soft and bitter-sweet ending to a tender and fulfilling would-be romance. Now, I'm not even sure we were reading the same book. Life is funny. I am really quite deliriously out of touch.

So here I go, spewing my venom at you for breaking my heart, and blaming myself for not being stronger, more self-protective, more proactive and less oblivious to the red-flags of emotional unavailability. What can I say. It's 3 in the morning, I'm bleary-eyed and exhausted, and I have nothing better to do. And I'm letting it out as therapy. So that maybe I won't be so damned stupid next time and I will see the shit coming (and duck) before it hits the fan.

Perhaps you find it annoying -- all these tightly-coiled springs of my feelings unexpectedly snapping free in your face. I used to be so sweet, no? But that's what you get for getting involved with a writer. I may keep doing this for months. Or until I find that elusive emotionally together man with self-contained, pre-sorted and properly stored baggage, who permanently releives me of my pent-up frustrations. Hmmph. That might be a long time, if I extrapolate from the current data set.

Let's see how long it takes you to read this - and in the meantime I will attempt to mirror your apathy. It is an important skill I should have learned long ago, but I'm going to forgive myself. I am pretty damn amazing. If being cruel and heartless and detached are qualities I haven't yet mastered, I should be given a break. Seriously.

But apparantly I am quite good at being a nasty bitch when I want to be. So I'm just gonna go with it.

Carry on!

Writefromtheheart

Well I guess my snarky remark about the internet cafe did the trick. He did in fact hear the sarcasm dripping off that text. Two days later I was at work, trying to finish a story when suddenly an email pops into my inbox - from - guess who.

"Wow, you are a fucking saint aren't you?"

I could feel all the blood drain out of my face. The adrenaline was coursing through every vein in my body. I was trembling. I immediately shot an equally hostile email back.

Apparently. Is that all ? Jesus. I have no right to be upset? I have no right to say anything? What the fuck!!! You're the saint. I forgot. I am just an IDIOT. A STUPID, STUPID, STUPID girl. And I am so mad at you I am SHAKING. I wish I could say I didn't give a fuck what you think, or how you feel. It would make it a lot easier to tell you to go to hell."

Minutes later he replied.

No no, that is not all. You are not a stupid girl. It is just that you wanted more from me than I was prepared to give. I would remind you how we met. I never promised you any kind of love here.

I am incredibly sorry first, that you had to go through the ectopic pregnancy, and alone at that, second, that you had developed such strong feelings for me. They were not what I wanted to happen and were not really reciprocated fully on my end.

I am sorry that I let it go so far and hoped that we could be sort of casually having an affair that we both knew was self-limiting by circumstance. When it became stronger than that, I should have realized, did realize two nights before I left and didn't, no doubt because of my stunted self-centerdness, really know what I should do. How I could make good on feelings that I couldn't quite reciprocate. And that, from a practical standpoint, given my impending departure. Frankly, I was having some difficulty adjusting tho the idea that I was going to be here and dealing with Marion in person after so many months apart and staying with you in your new apartment in that domesticated arrangement was really bothering me. I am sorry that you now think so poorly of me. I am a shit for meeting you online and then not ducking out when I thought it was getting more serious for you.

Berlin

Yes. He was definitely a shit. But his apology softened me.

Berlin-
I shouldn't have asked you to stay with me. I knew all along ... you gave me all the signals of a guy backing off and I just kept pushing. I guess its because from the start I always felt that I had just sort of been an addendum to YOUR life - and I guess as I got to know you better I wanted you to be part of mine. It was my way of asking you to be part of mine -- and you didn't want that. It was clear. I guess I just really wished you could have said that. I really wish I just wasn't some girl you had meaningless sex with. Someone you wish you could just forget. I know how we met. But I AM stupid. I think that those things can somehow be something other than they are. I think the truth is I was never really looking for anything casual. I always wanted something real - and something serious, and I am stupid because I am foolish enough to think that something casual *might* accidentally grow into something more serious - for thinking it might grow into love. And in the beginning I really didn't know enough about your relationship with Marion to realize how off the market you really were. I didn't know in the beginning you were going there to LIVE with her - that she had basically lived with you - that you had bought a car for HER. You may as well have been a married man - and that was a road I never would have gone down if I had known. I put the pieces together too late. And you could have been more upfront.
I knew it was self-limiting by circumstance. But circumstances change. You gave me reason to think that things might not work out between you two – and all along I was left wondering how, if you took Marion out of the equation, you felt about ME. And way back then – lying in your bed when I was asking you those questions – THAT is what I was driving at. I was not asking whether you and I had some sort of immediate future. I was not asking you to stay with me. What I was asking was if you were developing feelings for me that carried any weight – feelings that merited being pursued if your circumstanced did change. If you got to Berlin and discovered you had made a terrible mistake. DO YOU SEE? I was trying to tell you then that I was beginning to feel something and I wanted you to cut me loose if you didn’t feel the same way – if you never would feel the same way no matter how bad things got with Marion.

You never really responded fully. You wanted to keep it going, and so you sort of skirted my questions – and you shouldn’t have done that. I shouldn’t have let you either. I should have really pushed you harder – and I should have made you say what I didn’t want to hear. What I think you are telling me now: that even if there was no Maria, there would not have been an us. Am I right? That I am a sweet girl, and that we had fun, but that I was not the one for you. No magic.

I just need to hear you say that. It seems stupid to you, I am sure. I shouldn’t have been such a coward and been so afraid to just stand up and walk away. I should have just had some integrity and walked away!!! I didn’t because I knew you wouldn’t have come after me. You never did. Not that day when I left in a huff, not when I didn’t call for days, or when you went away to Boston, or now, when you are finally in Berlin. You have no interest in pursuing me, in any way. But I need you to say the words. Just say it, so I can put this behind me. Please.

I'm sorry for saying hurtful things. You hurt me a lot. Even if it was unintentional.

Writefromtheheart

The Letter

Dear Berlin;
I'm not sure you are much of a writer, but I suppose I have always felt that when you embark on a big change in your life it helps to write things down. Whether it's to remember the details of all the things you will take for granted down the road, or just to look back on how much of it you had wrong...

The truth is I've never been much of a journal writer myself. I tend to censure my thoughts, just in case someone else might read them one day. As emotional as I am, it's actually really difficult for me to sit down and be brutally honest about my feelings. Perhaps you're better at that than I am. I doubt it though. From what I can tell, we could both use some practice in that department.

So I don't know what you'll do with this book. I suspect it might fill some shelf in your new Berlin apartment and collect dust, lost in a jumble of papers and photographs and symbols of people and things that mean much more to you than I did. But nevertheless, I harbor a small hope you will write in it all the impressions and memories of your new life, and maybe one day when it's filled, send it back to me, so I'll know what became of you. Not just the boring stuff everybody else already knows –whether you got into medical school, or got married – but what became of your heart and the journey it traveled to get there.

I like to fancy myself a rather sensible person. Grounded. Realistic. Level-headed. But the truth is, at my core, I'm a romantic, and not the least bit sensible at all. I love too easily and hang on too long. I readily expose all my emotional vulnerability, and carelessly and recklessly offer up the most valuable parts of myself without demanding much of anything in return. On the surface it's foolish, and often extraordinarily painful. I don't know why I do it, except that I think to share who and what you are with someone else – to divulge that little bit of your inner sanctum, to risk your heart and its rejection at the deepest level, is really all we have to offer in this life. Because when everything else falls away, if you never let anyone really know you, if you never feel and touch the deepest vein of another person's core, then when you leave this life there is nothing left behind. No mark that you have left on those around you. So when I discover someone I think is worth knowing, I always let them in. I close my eyes and take the leap of faith. I certainly did it with you.

Exactly what I expected that night when I met you for the first time, I'm not entirely sure. I guess I figured you might be someone worth passing a little time with, a distraction from what is certainly one of the more difficult periods of my life. I didn't think I'd meet some one quite so extraordinary. I didn't think I'd meet this guy who comes from the same Italian town as my family. Someone who shares my love of both science and politics, can build coral reefs in a fish tank, knows what sheep sorrel is (and can find it!!) and thinks dogs are worth every hair they shed all over your house. A man who can cook, who enjoys restoring old and broken down furniture and homes, who doesn't think cilantro tastes like soap, and thinks a bottle of red wine and me naked make for a particularly pleasant evening. A guy who thinks the spectacle of feeding carp loaves of bread is hilariously fun, and would take a woman he just met there on a date. You are smart, and thoughtful, and sensitive. If only you weren't in love with someone else.

I knew I was in for a heartache the moment I found out about her. There I was on that bar stool, thinking to myself, "This guy is really cool." Then out of blue, there it was... the real reason you were off to Berlin. "I'm chasing a woman." My heart sank. That was the one thing I didn't want. The one thing I had explicitly requested. "No happily married men. You can be exiting a relationship, but honestly it has to be pretty much over." Chasing someone across the Atlantic Ocean does not exactly constitute closure! And then in nearly the same breath, you said "but I don't think she really wants me to come." There was a flicker in my brain. A moment when I considered letting the evening end with a few drinks and a nice conversation. Followed by a moment when I thought, "Maybe she really doesn't want him to come. Maybe it is over. It would be a shame if I didn't find out." And then you kissed me, and the risk seemed like the only possible decision to make.

I know I should have never asked you what I meant to you. I should have been content to let things remain casual. I should have repressed all those romantic and unrealistic ideas that there was some sort of instant connection between us that could supersede the years of what you felt for her – this woman who gave you cause to leave a relationship of eight years, a woman who you hang onto despite the fact she won't commit, who you would allow to flirt with other men right under your nose, a woman who despite everything, you would travel halfway across the world, quit your job, and change your life for. I don't know what I was thinking – or hoping. Asking those questions shattered the illusion we had built. Burst the protective bubble that provided our escape from reality. I regretted the words the moment I said them.
And still I had to ask – I had to say what was in my heart, because the worst thing in the world I can think of is not telling someone that you care about them and missing a chance. I suppose it's also that I have never been much good at detachment. My emotional faucets run hot or cold. On or off. Love or ambivalence, and not much in between. So even though I instinctively knew the answer to the question before it was asked, I had to spit out the words that were stuck in my throat. The words that seemed to stick between us.

Not that it helped. There is still so much that's unspoken. So much that I have been carrying around that I couldn't tell you. So much I probably never will. Even now, in a letter you are reading on a plane, knowing that I may never hear from you again, there I things I wonder if I should tell you. Things like how jealous I was every time you talked to her. Like how I wished I was the one you were missing while you were away from me, or the one you would want to call to recount the ups and downs of your day. How crazy it made me to find myself in the position of the other woman (I mean, really, the irony!). And how in the span of the two weeks while you were gone, I discovered I was pregnant, and while still reeling from the emotion of that discovery learned the life inside me would never be (it turned out to be ectopic). How it felt to be treated - alone and scared- and struggle through the anguish and grief of losing a child – that wasn't yet a child – but somehow I loved as if it already were. It's not something you could probably understand. It surprised even me, but in the ultrasound, I found myself waiting to hear the heartbeat with so much anticipation. Even knowing it was all the wrong timing, and totally unplanned, that if I decided to have it you may have resented me forever – still knowing all of that – I couldn't stop wanting that baby. I couldn't stop wanting to protect that life. And then there was no heartbeat. Just a great aching sadness, and a burden of loss I would carry alone. There are a lot of things I suppose I will carry alone.

So when you would ask me what I was thinking – it was all of these things and more. Thinking I was a fool. Thinking I was with you but really alone. Thinking that there was such a tremendous opportunity here, that was being squandered, because your mind, your heart and your energy were engaged somewhere else – invested in someone else. Wondering what might have been if we had met under different circumstances – and if that were even possible. Knowing it's pointless to wonder.
In the moments when we could forget all that, it all seemed so light and easy. Without all the heavy stuff, I would catch a glimpse of something that felt so completely natural and wonderful. And then she would be back. Texting. Calling. Always there, reminding me what I wasn't – a meaningful part of who you are. A real, acknowledged, part of your life.

I can't say I didn't figure it out early on. The truth is I knew I had made a mistake in Pennsylvania that afternoon on the park bench when she called you. The look that crossed your face when you told me who it was, the sort of pained expression of wanting to pick up the phone but knowing it was so obviously inappropriate. That look told me everything I needed to know. You needed to talk to her. You wanted to talk to her. I was suddenly an obstacle. You walked away from me to take the call, and that was the metaphor for everything I knew that would happen next. I knew then that this was just a last roll in the hay for you. An emotional escape from the gravity of what you were about to do. A last fling before the wedding, so to speak. But I needed someone, and even if only temporarily, it seemed so did you. So I put it out of my mind and hoped it would be worth it in the end.
I know that sounds a little bitter, and a little like I think you didn't have any real feelings for me. I don't actually think that. I think that you do care, very genuinely in fact. If I didn't think that I wouldn't have stayed, but I was always a little too aware that I wasn't the one you really craved. A little too cognizant of the fact that you had too much unfinished business to accept what I was willing to offer. I deluded myself about your intentions just long enough to get sucked in, and then it was too late. So even though I cherish what we did have, sometimes I'm a little angry with myself for selling out in that way. It makes me feel a little cheap –the idea that I am little more than a passing fancy, a notch in the bedpost, and a way to help you find your way back to someone else. It stings. I admit it. It hurts to be the one who hides the hole but never quite fills the void. And I was always conscious of that void.

It doesn't help I suppose that you have caught me at a moment in time where I am rather vulnerable. My emotional neediness is off the scale. I feel clingy, depressed, self-conscious and more alone than ever. I have projected a lot of that neediness onto you – rather unfairly under the circumstances – and I imagine it is both unattractive and a deterrent to establishing any real connection we might have had. I am weaker than usual and there are a lot of moments lately where I second-guess my value as a love interest and life partner—but that's what years of being with someone who won't love you the way you need will do. It will break you apart inside and make you lose sense of yourself. It will make you forget what it feels like to be cherished and adored, until you reach out for it in desperation in all the wrong places.

And yet, in spite of everything, I don't necessarily think that searching for affection and love in your arms was entirely the wrong place to be looking. There is a genuine, unappreciated tenderness in you. A part of you that seems guarded and a little lost. But still searching ... for something or someone, in many ways, not so differently from my own quest. I watched you nurse that kitten and saw a man with a beautiful and natural desire to nurture and love. It was such a simple moment, and yet it touched me deeply, and when Oliver was whisked away by his would-be middle-aged female protectors, I was sorry not so much for losing him but that that would be the last time I would get to see your paternal sweetness.

And even if it was all wrong between us, even if you never thought me more than a pleasant way to pass the time, it felt nice for a while, and I do think my life is richer for having held you in it, albeit at arms length. It did help propel me forward—initiating the necessary steps to control my own destiny and happiness, and I will always owe you a little bit for that. There is a nice expression in German for someone you hold dear. Ich habe dich Lieb. It doesn't exactly mean I love you, and yet it conveys much more than fondness or affection.

I know that you are moving on, and that you are making a home and a life in a new place, with a woman you love, or at least one you haven't quite gotten out of your system. I know that my affection for you is not reciprocated, and that this probably all seems immature and ridiculous, and that I am probably just a foolish grown-up girl with a broken heart, clinging to the smallest and flimsiest threads of generosity she has been offered. But be that as it may, I do love you. For whatever it's worth. I fell for you, and there is no real point in pretending anymore. I don't have to keep up the brave face.

So I hope you remember me fondly, and don't remain a permanent stranger. And for your sake, I hope she does love you, and loves you in the way you deserve, because I would hate to see you find your own heart in the sort of pieces mine is.

That's not to say I am broken beyond repair. I don't want you to go away thinking you have left this fragile, damaged thing behind – a victim of your irresistible charms. No. I will recover. I still have hope that I will find someone someday who will be all that I seek and more. Maybe even someone who will find me compelling enough to chase me to another continent. Someone who finds me as charming, and smart, and sweet, and creative, and amazing, and as hard to live without as I find you. But until that time, I'll miss you very deeply, and I'll think of you often.

Ich hab' dich lieb. Lieber als du denkst. Ich habe dich lieb – so lieb. Auch wenn du nicht an mich hängst. Ich wünsche dir einen Leben voll am Liebe und Freude, genau so wenn's nicht von mir kommt.

Vergiss mich nicht. Vielleicht eines Tages sehen wir uns mal wieder. Das hätte ich gern.
Küssen-
immer und ewig-
WFTH