The Preamble Ramble

It's kind of funny when I think of the times that he used to mention that he was a bit dismayed that I never wrote about him, the way that I wrote about boyfriends past. I would remind him that I tended to only write about them when it was over, or when things were going wrong, so that I could understand myself in that time better. And I would assure him that he should count himself lucky that I didn't need to write about him in that light, because I felt our relationship was different... sacred, even. I know that I meant it when I said it, because I wanted to believe it. But the truth that I wasn't willing to acknowledge to him or to myself was that I was just as miserable as I was happy in our relationship. Also, I am not capable of glossing over such things when I express myself to others... not even in the written form. So I just didn't write. I thought at the time that I was having writer's block. Really, it was denial.

And it's funny now that it's over and I want to write that I still can't pull the words from my head. For the last 4 months, whenever I've sat down at the keyboard to put it all into perspective, all that comes up is a jumbled, murky mess. Then I get discouraged and drop it entirely.

Forgive me if this comes across as disjointed, too, but I am forcing myself to move past this block... in very much the same way that I have been forcing myself to move on with this life that I'm supposed to be living. I'm not doing a very good job of either, I'm afraid, but I have to stop letting both of these blocks stop me in my tracks. My hope is that by getting it all out now, this will take the form of catharsis or therapy, allowing me to move forward at last.

We met almost two years ago now. I did manage to write about that at the time, before beginning what was to be a year-and-a-half of not talking about anything, really. He came along at a time when I was disillusioned with dating and considering removing myself from the sphere of online dating entirely. All I wanted was to meet someone with whom I felt comfortable and whom I could adore. I still do, frankly. Then we could shift to immediately spending quiet nights together on the couch, watching movies together and putting the whole ugly dating world behind us.

That is sort of what happened. I had been craving long-term monogamy at last, after something like 8 years of short-term dating and not much serious. You should be careful what you wish for, as they say, because you just might get it. And in this case, what I got was a serial monogamist with two decades of long-term relationships under his belt... most of whom he'd lived with for 1-3 years, but none of whom he'd married. I didn't know why that was at the time, but I don't believe he lied to me. He just honestly refused to accept that any of that was his own fault. His belief was simply, "I guess it just wasn't in the cards. But you're different. You're perfect for me." I'm sure I was different... just like the girl before me and the girl before her, etc. Still... he managed to sweep me off my feet from our first date. I've been trying to find my footing ever since.

When he contacted me, he was only two weeks out of a nine-month, live-in relationship, which had followed close on the heels of a three-and-a-half year, live-in relationship: a pattern that he'd been repeating his whole adult life. I didn't know this for the first several months, because his own mental timeline of things was so skewed, he actually believed that there had been longer gaps between relationships. However, when I finally got him to nail things down, he basically had almost as many girlfriends as he'd had apartments and jobs over the years. A dozen or so very serious, long-term relationships is a lot for a man in his late-30s. I hope that doesn't sound judgmental. I'm not putting any value on that, but one should wonder why that sort of thing should happen... the psychology behind such a pattern.

I never understood at the time why he'd had so many long-term relationships, and he couldn't understand why it would bother me. I felt like he was just shacking up with another broad (me), which made me rather insignificant in the scheme of his life. When I would tell him such, he would swear how different I was from all the others... but the trouble was, I didn't feel different. As a matter of fact, he often seemed to be reacting towards me over stuff that had happened in years past in other relationships... like he couldn't keep in mind that I was separate from all of that. His love and his anger were both at levels that were disproportional to the amount of time we'd spent together. He also could never keep it straight that we were the exact same age. He was born only six weeks before me, and yet he'd talk like he was so much older than me. When I'd remind him each time that we were the same age, it would catch him off guard and he'd then say, "But I think of you as being much younger than me." I know he meant that as a compliment, but again... it didn't feel like one.

Meanwhile, I had remained single and mostly-unattached for the 8 years since my divorce at the time that I'd met him... and I hadn't lived with anyone else in all that time. As a matter of fact, the last time that I'd moved in with someone had been my ex-husband and that was 1993! I was hoping that living together would be a huge, significant happening in both of our lives... to be celebrated, to be taken seriously and with much compassion and honor. I wasn't expecting it to be treated as mundanely as having a bowel movement. That part still bothers me to this day, that he was so nonchalant about it all, like it happens all the time. For him, I guess it does.

What I came to realize only while living together was that this "force to be reckoned with" of a man seemed to be suffering from Borderline Personality Disorder. Correction: he didn't suffer from it; it was the people in his life who were the ones afflicted by it. He could bounce from one mood to the next, as easily as flipping a light switch. Sure, he could be a lot of fun; but it was just as likely that the could be the cruelest, crankiest man you'd ever met. And often all in the very same day... sometimes even in the same hour! He wasn't Bipolar, because he didn't have the mania where he'd get a lot done, nor did he have the extreme depression that would bring his life to a halt. He just had much shorter, slightly less-extreme (although no less confounding) mood swings. I called it his "Jekyll and Hyde" persona, because I never knew who would be walking through the door each day, which left me feeling like I was walking on egg shells all the time.

When he was good, he was very, very good. On his current dating profile under "Things I'm really good at," he lists: "Making you feel like a million bucks." It's true; he can do that. But what his profile doesn't say is that he can also make you feel like the pile of dog shit he just stepped in, without any effort on your own part at all. I'd never cried so many tears of frustration in my whole life as I had in that 18 months we were together.

And why, you wonder, would I put up with that for even one month of those 18 that we were together? I still don't fully understand it myself, to be honest. I think that because he was capable of being so loving and so much fun and such a good fit when he was "Dr. Jekyll," it made me crave those moments all the more when he was "Mr. Hyde" -- and I longed to be back in his good graces. Plus, when he was "Mr. Hyde" often for several hours at a stretch, he would come down from it so well... all apologetic and sweetness, usually somehow leading us to having make-up sex again. That kind of yo-yo relationship was probably very addictive for him, but I am not cut from that same cloth. It was all very foreign to me and left me so confused that I never knew which way was up anymore. It felt like I was always putting out fires and calming him down, just to get to some moments with the sweet, funny man whom I adored.

On occasions when I managed to keep him calm all weekend, he would thank me profusely for having such a great affect on him. He would also tell me how different I was from any other girl he'd been with before... that I was the first to not be dependent on drugs or alcohol, and the first to not be completely crazy... that I was the first to make him think about his actions, rather than cause drama. For most of our relationship, I thought his behaviors had been trained into him, reacting to these inebriated, ill-mannered women. But by the end, I realized that he was the one bringing out their dark sides... much the way he brought out mine. I hated myself at the end of our relationship. I had to become like him just to survive all of the battles, even though I am not the kind of person to ever resort to name calling or yelling at all. By the end, I was doing just that with him. And I knew it had to end.

He was a powerful force to be reckoned with in my life. It took me being completely drained and empty to finally have the strength to let go. But even after letting go, I learned that I would have to cut all ties to finally be free of him. It is that process that has me writing these words today. As of this date, I can't honestly say that I am completely free of him, but I am trying.

This is one of many steps already taken... hopefully, it's one of the last before entering a new era for me.