April 3, 2011

Figuring out What’s Broken

Three years ago my mother asked me what I wanted for my birthday, like she always does. Because I was the kind of teenager who returned every gift I ever received, asking has become an acceptable way to get what I want without hurting anyone’s feelings. That particular year, my husband and I had recently bought a new house and added a large deck to it, so I decided what I wanted most was lounge chairs—the kind hotels have next to pools, and having seen a pair in Pier One, I chose a white wooden set that curved, settee-like.

I didn’t lie in the chairs until I brought them home, then finding them too hard, I bought cushions that were more expensive than the things themselves. Even then lying there always made me too hot or uncomfortable because they were not adjustable. Eventually, strange orange mushrooms began growing between the chairs and the cushions, and I had to de-fungus them and store the top layers somewhere else.

Today, for the first time in at least eighteen months, I sat on one at the point where the knees should ergonomically lift, and the thing collapsed beneath me. Luckily, I only fell about a foot, but it made me think about all the things in my life that have ended recently.

Because there are relationships in my life I no longer need. All told, I have evacuated five people from my life, and not one went peaceably except the one who left me. I refuse to fight for that Him who was my lover, even though I want someone who will fight for me. I figure he knows himself, and if he wants to be free of me, I should let him go. But maybe it's my ego, that thing that is already unkempt and harassed. Or maybe because I wrote him a break-up letter two weeks before he said it I already knew this 'us' isn't what I need right now.

Regardless, I’ve spent much of the past day and a half second-guessing what has happened in the past six months with that Him, wondering how I could have misread his actions so badly, what about me made him realize I wasn’t The One, and how best to flush the hurt out of my system so I can concentrate on more important things, like myself.

I will never know why, though perhaps like my deck chair, he looked fine and healthy from the outside, but is actually rotten inside. And not rotten in the sense that he’s a bad person—he's just unable to love me. His actions were plain: he was happy to see me, bought me presents, called me and texted me, emailed and met with me. We were friends who shared meals and sex, spoke frankly about our pasts, and discussed our perspectives on the world.

We had a lot in common, but if I were to make a list of the things that gave me pause, they would include his inability to express how he felt about me and how he grouped women into the ‘crazy’ category even though his drama outweighed mine by tons. His perfect control over his sexual urges made it feel like he used it for power and his intentions to include me in things were sometimes canceled because he would routinely freak out at the last minute. Oh yeah, and he didn’t love me. Oh yeah, and I didn’t love him. Eventually it seemed like I had done something wrong by opening myself up and accepting him, by refusing to play games and trying to be present. Maybe he dumped me because gave too much.



There’s a long walk toward this mirror at my gym in which I often see my reflection approaching. I always wonder who that person is—she’s skinny like I’d want to be, and beautiful—but it always startles me to recognize myself. Because the mental picture I have of me doesn’t jive any more with the actuality of what I look like, maybe I’m a little broken, too. Why is it that I’m so insecure I need my guy to tell me nice, reassuring things? To love me? Part of the reason I stayed with The Him was because I thought I could break that habit. I wanted to test my ability to stay at arm’s length without the eventual responsibilities that come with having a relationship.

But a relationship shouldn’t be as difficult as ours was, and being with someone doesn’t mean I am responsible for them. This is something I’m trying to wrap my head around because it seems unnatural. And perhaps it’s about power, this compulsion to ‘take care’ of someone else—if the other person needs me they won’t ever leave me, right?

My broken deck chair is a testament to the fact that we don’t ever know how whole a thing is until we test its strength, until we relax our weight into it and see if it holds. We don’t ever expect to get that close to anyone only to find out that they’re too broken; that they collapse. And maybe that’s the reason He’s gone—because admitting that truth is impossible—it would mean it wasn’t.

And maybe like that chair I never should have wanted because it merely took up space on my deck, he seemed like something I’d like to have but shouldn’t because it wasn’t the right fit anyway. Whereas my relationship resume included a seven-year marriage to my best friend, an almost-proposal after two years with a live-in lover, and a heart-shattering first love, his listed verbally abusive stalkers, breaking-and-entering bitches who wore too much perfume, and one femme fatale who hickied his left cheek. All indicators showed he was afraid of relying on anyone, still shell-shocked from the numerous hurts he’s had to endure.

Aside from that, another relationship is the last thing I need right now, but being free is difficult. It’s a struggle to believe I deserve everything I want, to keep pursuing a career while hoping to have babies and a partner to share my life with. It would be easier to complain about being miserable—to have stayed married, to have known I mattered at least to that other him. Starting from scratch means having to learn and hurt, to ache and heal, to grow.

For the first time in my life I only have myself to worry about. I am no longer completely preoccupied with The Him who went away, though my ego still wants answers she’ll never get, and I have to learn not to indulge her—to stop her from asking “why?” because it never ends well, and the answer is always the same: only He knows. The bright side of this break is that I no longer spend five days out of the week trying to forget Him and two days fretting that He’s forgotten me. Instead, this last week I spent five days feeling joyful without anyone but myself to credit and one and a half overwhelmed with being alone.

I can only change my mind. Everything else in the world is chaotic, fleeting, and potentially damaging—even the really good stuff can clog your arteries and break your heart. I vow to myself: I am going to make 2011 the year of me. I’m going to stop frantically searching for another him to care for. I’m going to work on matching my insides with my exterior, and until I can see myself in a mirror and not feel surprised, I am not going to have sex with anyone. You heard it here first: the sexual camel returns, and it’ll be fine. I am well-practiced in the art of masturbation (mental and otherwise).