I haven't spoken to my ex-boyfriend since we broke up in July. He had moved out in mid-June, because things just weren't working out between us and he was angry all the time, but he still thought we could continue to date. I knew differently. If he was moving out, it was only a matter of time before we would be apart completely. The writing was already on the wall.
Since he'd moved in exactly a year earlier, he'd been threatening to leave. The very first weekend after he moved in, he threw the first of many huge, dramatic fits over god-knows-what anymore and that is when he said it the first time: "I made a mistake. I should never have moved in here. I need to leave." I spent the rest of the night so upset, I was curled up in a ball in my bedroom, sobbing, while feeling completely confused and lost. I knew that I had abandonment issues (when your ex-spouse cheats on you, you can't avoid it), but he keyed in on it and seized the opportunity to exploit that issue to the hilt to heighten the drama of the night. I didn't know this at the time, of course, but I do have to admit it was effective. He got exactly what he wanted, with me crumpled on the ground, desperately begging for him not to leave me: he got to feel needed.
Someone who was given up for adoption at birth, whose adoptive parents never understood him and now have nothing to do with him, obviously would have a huge hole in his life. He
needed to be needed. I can see that clearly from where I am now, but in the heat of the battle, all I knew was he was making me crazy with all of the drama. I'm an intensely independent person, mostly out of that fear of abandonment, I keep others at arm's length. This particular trait, however, was probably silently pushing his own buttons and partially causing him to stir up the drama all of the time.
I did try to help him in the best way I could at the time. I'm a naturally mothering type, and a reformed Florence Nightingale, who has a huge soft spot for strays... of course I wanted to help him, too. I learned early on that he had high blood pressure and I tried to encourage him to get him help for that, while watching his sodium intake and encouraging him to quit smoking and drink more water. Not only did I want him to live longer, I also hoped it would fix everything... but that wasn't it entirely. I also knew he most likely had ADHD, from his own admission of what he was like in school and how he couldn't stay focused long enough to read a book. So from knowledge of my own middle child, I know that ADHD folks can be adrenalin junkies... stirring up drama is a craving, really, something they do unconsciously. But there is a deeper psychological need for such behavior as a fully-formed adult.
I now realize that as someone who is super independent, I was clearly the wrong person to be helping him with that any neediness issues. I know this now, because it's easy to see from a distance... but don't think for a second that I understood any of the psychology of it while I was mired in the middle of it. I was always searching for clues, but it was all just too close to be seen in its entirety.
That first explosive weekend of living together set the tone for all of the months that would follow. Every week he would have some sort of drama, often work-related... but sometimes related to the stress of living with three teenagers under the same roof... and I would have to spend many precious hours of the weekend making him feel loved and appreciated, until he could finally do the same in return. It was exhausting. As a result, I began resenting him little by little... for ruining our time together... for being such a selfish two-year-old. I already had three children... I really didn't want another.
About once a month, his drama would escalate to the point of him threatening to move out entirely. About a month before he actually did move out, we had one of these same fights, but I told him to go... and in the middle of his screaming and stomping, I actually grabbed a bunch of large, black trash bags and started packing up his clothes. Although he ended up apologizing and staying (of course), those bags never were unpacked. Like I said: the writing was already on the wall. But because he always left his clothes all over the floor anyway, the garbage bags in the bedroom were frankly an improvement.
He did say at the end of that argument, "You know, I was going to marry you." This was one of his techniques of warming back up to me: treat me like dog poo for several hours, stomping, slamming doors, screaming... then say something extremely sentimental, and
reeeeeeel me back in. It always worked, too. Was I a sucker? Sure. But I was also just relieved that the fighting was over and the nice guy had returned again. I now see how manipulative he was being, but this is how he loves.
His move out in June was inspired by me asking him a simple question on one of our silent morning drives to his work. He didn't have a functioning car since January and refused to ride the bus, insisting that I drive the 35 miles round-trip every morning in my failing 13-year-old vehicle or face more of his wrath and temper tantrums every day. I yielded, of course, but begrudgingly... scared that my old van was getting worse with each drive and he wasn't kicking in extra funds to keep it running. By June, there was much resentment between us about this drive to his work -- with me wanting him to take the bus, and him indignant that I didn't love him enough -- that we just stopped talking during the drives entirely.
The question that I broke our silence with was simple, but loaded: "In your many past relationships, when did you know a relationship was over?" I don't even remember what he said exactly, except that it involved him knowing it was over when he began fantasizing about other women. I told him that I found myself fantasizing about my life before I met him... not about another man, just about being alone again. He said nothing for the rest of the uncomfortable ride. He was silent when he returned home that night, too, and went to bed without saying a single word.
The next morning while he was in the shower, his phone rang and I saw that it was a call from his former landlord. That's when I broke the silence again by asking, "So what? Are you moving out now?" It was only then he admitted that not only was he moving out in just two days time, but he was managing to move right back into his old apartment, which was 40 minutes away... AND he'd managed to get his old job back, which was only a mile from his old apartment. I was floored, because I expected he'd talk about what he was going to do next... not rearrange his life in the course of one work day!
The most amazing part was that, essentially, he was resetting his life to exactly the way it was before he moved in with me. Even more amazing: his old boss was offering him a vehicle... the mid-90s Ford Explorer used for making bank runs and errands for the shop. So he even had wheels again! How in the heck did he manage that? I honestly don't know how many other people can make major life changes so effortlessly and so often. And that's basically how he'd lived his whole adult life. Lose one job, someone offers him another... lose one relationship, someone offers him another... lose one vehicle, someone offers him another. Truly amazing. Maybe that's why he never had patience, because things were always just so magically effortless like that. The reason he moved in with me in the first place was because he walked out of that old job and within two hours he landed another job in the same business that was much closer to my house, so living with me "just made sense" for the commute time. I didn't even have time to think about it, because he was so matter-of-fact... all I could think was, "Uh, okay. Wow. So we're doing this now, I guess."
And so I was left with the same reaction when he decided he was moving out... no input from me needed, so I just had to adjust. He was simply undoing the move/job just as effortlessly as putting on/taking off shoes. Crazy, I know. And yet, he wanted to continue dating me, which was probably the most baffling part. The night before his move was tear-filled and heart-wrenching. I was trying to let go, he was trying to hold on. He won. I didn't want to lose the good guy side of him, but to get rid of ugly, callous "Mr. Hyde," I would also have to get rid of sweet, affable "Dr. Jekyll."
Actually, after the garbage bag argument, when we were making up for the billionth time, we settled on separate names for his personalities... after he said something to the effect of:
"I wish you could let me know when I'm behaving well, so I can keep doing more of that. Like when I'm good, you could call me 'Reginald' or something like that."
I agreed and added the silly pet name that I'd given him early on in our relationship, using that as his last name, with a middle initial standing in for his real name. Thus "Dr. Jekyll" became: Reginald P. Donkeybundle. He soon regretted that "Reginald" had been the first name to pop into his head, because I used it often. "I love you, Reginald P. Donkeybundle. You are my favorite personality." When he was behaving badly, I was to use his real name to snap him out of it (that didn't work, of course). On the night before his move, it was Reginald who spent the night with me and wept with me over our failed experiment.
Unfortunately, his moving out did not make "Mr. Hyde" disappear, but it did mean the resurfacing of another personality, whom I hadn't seen in a while. Returning to his old life meant returning to his old
way of life, and with that came all the time spent drinking copious amounts of alcohol with his 22-year-old work buddy and being cranky with me for even wanting any of his time on the phone or otherwise. This in turn would leave me cranky and exasperated with him, wondering why I was even making an effort at all anymore.
Guys... can I give you a little tip? If you find yourself in your late-30s and your best buddy is 22... you might have a problem. Not if your buddy is remarkably mature for his age, of course... but if he still acts like a frat boy having a lost weekend and encourages you to do the same... well, you probably shouldn't be dating anyone older than your buddy. It's just not very sexy to anyone over the age of 30. So not only was "Mr. Hyde" not completely gone, but now the "Dance, Monkey, Dance" man-child was back, which is what I called his peer-pressured "altered" ego.
I got to meet "Dance, Monkey, Dance" for the first time about a month into our relationship, at a belated Xmas party at his boss's house. It was the first time that I was meeting his co-workers, who were also his only friends, and their significant others, so I was hoping to be accepted and find some interesting new friends. Instead, I was met with a pair of seriously immature boys who only wanted to "get their drink on," and their stand-offish girlfriends, who were apparently still attached to P's previous girlfriend. It was not a fun night... and didn't get any better with the more they insisted on getting P drunk. From the moment the frat boy crew arrived, they were making him pound Goldschlager shots, among other things. Yeah, yuck.
After a couple of hours, P was hammered and was suggesting that everyone take off their clothes and get in the boss's hot tub. The frat boys and their girlies jumped at the chance, because they were all as hammered as P was. I refused to join in their reindeer games, because I wasn't drunk at all (hello, driving!) and I was suffering some ill effects of shellfish poisoning (crabs and shrimp were the theme of this Xmas party, for some reason).
I tried to talk him out of it, as the nubile, young buddies started stripping off to their skivvies. Not just because it was January, and the hot tub was quite some distance from the house, after having to go down a long flight of deck steps, in freezing weather, with mixed company at his BOSS's house... but because I knew something that no one else there knew: P did not wear underwear. The last thing these folks needed to see was a bearded, hairy, over-weight, middle-aged man-child totally naked and wet in sub-freezing temps. NO ONE wants to see that. And after seeing that myself, I can say straight up that even I never want to see that again. Of course, he did it anyway, using one of his socks to cover his junk. Thinking it hilarious, the young boys eventually voted P to be the one to come up to the house to ask for towels... wearing nothing but that black sock over his junk... his other black sock, since he'd somehow lost the first one. And with a 4-year-old present in the house. I'm sure she's been scarred for life. I know I was.
Yes, if this were a sitcom (as much of my life seems to play well as), there would be uproarious laughter in this moment. Instead, it was met with mortification on my part and shouts of "What? No! My eyes!" from the others.
I should have thrown him back that night, but he begged me not to break up with him and to give him another chance. My gut told me that I needed to be done with him, but he already had my heart. He assured me that it would never get worse than it had been that night, and I suppose he wasn't lying for the duration of our relationship... at least for the drinking part (although he did come close on occasion). Not even during some of his late-night drunken visits to Kroger, where he'd attempt to hump me right in the middle of the frozen foods aisle, grope me in the check out line, and then go over to the gumball machines at the front of the store, get a toy ring, get down on one knee and promise to propose to me for real when he was sober "some day." Yeah, he would do those things. With time and persuasion (sex), I was able to curb his alcohol consumption. But with less of the magical elixir that kept "Mr. Hyde" at bay, his angry side showed up more often. I only realize now that he used alcohol to counteract the rage of "Mr. Hyde" and it worked, too... he was an affable drunk. Sober, however, he was a mixed bag of nuts.
Three weeks after his June move, his continued bad attitude proved to be too much for me handle anymore. Around about Noon on the 4th of July, I had been reading a perspective-changing book (EAT PRAY LOVE) when I began to cry.
"We had the eyes of refugees."
She was talking about her tempestuous break-up with her own on-again/off-again boyfriend and how she knew they needed to be apart, but it felt like she was talking about us. I couldn't hold back the tears... it resonated too deeply. When he heard me sniffling, he tried to give me a hug, but I resisted. I needed to talk and put it all on the line. I only had a vague idea of what I needed to say, but when I was done, I had said something to the essence of:
"If you keep treating me like this, you're only pushing me away and destroying what little bond we have left. And then one day I'll meet someone new -- maybe at a new job, who knows -- and he'll be kind and take an interest in me. And I'll be tempted to be with him, because our relationship is so rocky and frustrating. I don't want to be tempted by the kindness of others. I want to be adored by you..."
He wasn't listening anymore by the time I got to the point of saying that I didn't want to be attracted to anyone else. Instead, he was up out of the bed and getting dressed and grabbing up his belongings. He was angry at me for cheating on him in the future, basically. His exact words were, "So you're going to cheat on me. That's just great." Because that's all he heard me say before his indignation set in. And I didn't argue with him to make myself heard. Not this time. I let him go on being angry, because I realized that I just wanted him to go. And the fact that I wasn't begging for him to stay and listen to me seemed to make him even more angry. Out of context, that might seem very cold of me; but the fact is that he'd been trying to leave me for a year and I hadn't the strength to fight it anymore. His previous dramas drained that well dry.
My last ounce of energy for fighting him and trying to make things work had disappeared entirely the night before, and I even felt it slip away. He'd screamed at me for making a small purchase for my kids (3 previously viewed dvds for $20) because I still couldn't find work and he thought I was being frivolous. I was doing it because I felt bad that the kids hadn't had any good entertainment all summer, so I thought I'd get them 3 movies that I knew they'd watch over and over... I also felt that he was way out of line. He really railed on me and wouldn't let it go, after other cranky moments about all manner of things earlier that day, claiming it was just because he was hungry, I wasn't going to put up with it any more. That's when I really snapped in a big way.
To be heard and to shut him up all in one swoop, I shouted something at him as a direct attack on something completely unrelated about him being irresponsible, too. I won't get into the specifics of what I said, because it was a personal attack and shouldn't be aired here. The reason that I went there, however, was that this was a tactic he'd use on me whenever he felt the least bit cornered, but it's a tactic that I absolutely abhor. However, there I was, using the same counter-attack on him... and hating myself for it. Admittedly, it did the trick... it shut him up; but it also shut me down. That's when I knew I was done. The book was just the catalyst for what I already knew I needed to say.
On the afternoon of the 4th, as he headed for the front door, I directed him to an area of the garage where I'd been gathering the remainder of his things since his move out. This only made him angrier. Trying to bait me into an argument, he accused, "You've been planning this all week, have you?" I hadn't. I was just trying to gather his things for him, so he could have them at his place. But again, I didn't argue. I had no emotions left. I explained myself calmly as he grabbed up his boxes and shoved them into his truck. As he was about to drive off, I asked, "So are we done?" He replied, "Yes. You can change your Facebook status now," and then pealed out of the driveway in a huff. I hadn't been thinking about it, but since he mentioned it, that's exactly what I did. I can't say that it felt good, but it felt more permanent that way.
I also set about creating a memorial for the relationship, to give me some extra permanence. That part did make me feel a little better. We'd called each other "Mr. and Mrs. Awesome" from sometime around our first date, but really hadn't said that to one another in at least a year. Moving in together is what killed the Awesome's "marriage"... so I felt that creating their tombstone was only fitting ... especially since it was exactly a year earlier that we were
happily visiting Oakland Cemetery to see the tornado damage, while killing some time before the Tom Waits concert.
Too bad it wouldn't be as easy as making something in Photoshop for either of us to get over this ending. Yes, there would be more drama to come... but you already knew there would be, didn't you? Like zombies, some relationships refuse to stay dead... more on that soon.
