He came home at the end of March and I met him at the airport.  It was awkward at first, neither of us knowing how to react to each other.  I was getting over 7 months of pure torture and he was recuperating from 7 months of fun and sports.  There was a huge surprise birthday party for his dad the following day, so his coming home was a surprise to everyone but his sister & I.  I cooked dinner, we went to see some friends, and upon coming home, had very awkward sex and fell asleep.

The party was nice, but I felt invisible.  I spent the entire time contemplating our relationship.  Our reunion was not at all as I’d imagined it.  I wanted him to sweep me off my feet and spend every moment with me. He wanted to sleep. So I made a decision during the party that I wasn’t going to force this to be more than it was.  He seemed pretty uninterested in me and I was going to play it cool. Leaving his parents house that night, I told him I’d see him whenever.  He said he’d call early in the week and we could get together.  Fine with me I replied, knowing I’d probably not hear from him again. 

He called on Tuesday, met me at my office and we went out for a drink.  We talked and drank for about 6 hours before finally going back to my place. The minute we were inside, the clothes were ripped off, the “good” sex began and our relationship was back in full court. 

Our sexual escapades must be saved for a more detail-oriented franchise and I shouldn’t get to graphical as I hope to have loved ones read this, but I must say, the sexual side of our relationship was about as close to perfection as you can get.  I have never, ever felt such total satisfaction as when I was with him.  I felt as though he were actually made to fit inside me perfectly, both mentally and physically.  

Besides the sexual side being so awesome, the other aspects of our relationship were above and beyond anything I’d ever even dreamed about.  We could sit for hours and hours and never run out of things to say to each other.  Our personalities meshed so completely, that we’d often know exactly what the other was thinking and interject sentences into each other’s stories. We always seemed to be the life of the party, trying to out-voice everyone else with our witty anecdotes.  We both shared the same sense of humor; the same knowledge of worthless trivia and the same passion for having fun. We were constantly finding ways to make each other laugh.  Once I came home to find him riding around the apartment, buck naked, on a mountain bike.  When I asked him why, he claimed he just wanted to see how it felt to ride naked on carpet.  Another time he tried to come to my rescue after an intruder was lurking on our back porch.  But before he went out to get the alleged intruder, he grabbed a spatula and carton of cottage cheese.  I don’t even think he could explain why he felt he needed the cottage cheese, other than maybe be thought our intruder might be hungry and he could lure him out with the tempting smell.  In any case, it was the silly stuff that we always had fun with.  Since the first time we’d met, no subject was taboo and nothing was ever held back.  If either one of us felt the other was acting unreasonable about something, we’d let them know.  I always felt that what was so great about our relationship was that we were so honest with each other.  

He got a job downtown and we continued to see each other as often as possible, with him spending an incredible amount of time at my place.  Upon his return from a weekend trip to his alma mater for a Fraternity Drink Fest, he told me he loved me.  Isn’t it amazing that you can always remember every single detail about when a man tells you he loves you?  We were sitting in my car, in my parking spot in the back of my apartment building.  It was late April, with that cool chilly spring night air.  We had just come home from our favorite pub and as I was getting ready to get out of the car, he stopped me and said he had something important to tell me.  He took my face in his hands and pulled me close as he kissed me.  He was practically shaking and he said he was crazy about me.  I said I felt the same and he said, “No – actually, I love you”.  I told him I loved him too and he said, “No – I mean I love you so so much”.  I was like, “Yeah, me too – I know”.  Then we had sex on the back porch.  Really, really good sex. 

Our relationship continued to get more intense, finally culminating in August when my roommate decided to move out.  We talked it over and he said he’d like to move in.  To say I was ecstatic is putting it mildly.  My life was complete.  I was going to have him EVERY day for the rest of my life.  For me, this was the beginning of our “dream”.  His version was much different. 

I should explain that he was (and is, as he’s not dead yet) 2 years younger than me.  He grew up in a close knit family and left his Mom & Dad’s house only to go to college.  After Yale, he went to Europe for football and then straight back to me.  So basically, he went from Mom to me.  This was not a great idea.  This guy never had a chance to do anything on his own.  First he had his Mom to take care of him and then I became this girlfriend/mother hen.  I didn’t do it intentionally; it just sort of worked out that way.  It was really cool to take care of someone.  I thrived on cooking his meals and ironing his shirts. I thought that was what made me so special.  I was an idiot. 

He needed to live his life.  I wanted him to be this perfect boyfriend with the understanding that the dream would consummate with a marriage eventually.  He was about as far from being ready from this as you could get.  Looking back now, I see that he gave me signs, but I choose to ignore them.  He was afraid to hurt me and tell me it that our relationship was progressing too fast for him. So he acted stupid.  He baited me by drinking too much and spending all his time with his friends.  I pretended that it didn’t bother me.  I was afraid that if I got mad at the stupid stuff that he’d leave. 

Finally, the day after Thanksgiving, after spending a great day together, he told me he wanted to go out with his buddies.  I said fine.  About 4:22 a.m. (yes, I still remember the time exactly!)  I woke up and noticed he wasn’t home.  I figured I should get up and turn off the Christmas Tree lights (which we had decorated together earlier that day).  I don’t know why, but something made me look out the window.  There he was, getting out of a car.  He turned and kissed a girl goodbye.  Even though I felt as though the wind had been knocked out of me, I managed to walk to the door.  I called out that maybe she shouldn’t drive off so fast, as he’d need a place to stay that night because he sure as hell wasn’t staying at home. 

He followed me in and was drunker than I’d ever seen him.  He started screaming at me that it was my fault.  He said he was unhappy and I was suffocating him.  He told me he never loved me and wanted out.  I felt cold & dead inside as I said fine.  I went in to call my girlfriend to come pick me up and he just kept screaming at me that he couldn’t understand why I did this.  Trying to reason with a drunk man makes absolutely no sense, so I just ignored him.  This made him angrier.  He ripped the phone from my hand and told me I wasn’t going anywhere, he would leave.  Then he walked into the living room and passed out. 

The next morning he woke up to find me staring at him.  I threw a box of hefty bags at him and told him to be moved out by 2 p.m.  I said that I understood how he felt, and that I was glad the liquor finally gave him to the courage to tell me the truth. I also said that I was glad that he took that opportunity to bring another girl home, because that gave me the courage to kick his ass out.   I felt that he had said everything I needed to hear already and I wasn’t going to discuss this, I just wanted him out.  I went to my brother’s house and alternated between sobbing and throwing up until 2:30.  When I walked in and saw that he was really gone, I called my mom. She came over and stayed and held me all night.  I didn’t leave my house for 1 week.

The day after he left, he called to talk.  He wanted to clear the air and get things straight.  He claimed the girl did nothing but drive him home and they kissed goodbye.  He said he did love me in the beginning, but it was too much for him to handle now.  He needed his freedom, but he still wanted to see me occasionally.  He also wondered if it would be possible if he could stay over (in the spare room) a few nights a week so he wouldn’t have to go back to his parents in the suburbs after partying with his friends.  Though I tried to say it with all the dignity & courage I could muster, “Fuck off” still came out sounding weak through my sobs.

Two weeks after we broke up, he called me at work and asked to meet.  He really wanted to see me and talk things out – face to face.  We met at home, talked for several hours, cried a bit and then had mind-blowing sex.  A few days later we met again, and then again.  After our official breakup we probably had about 4 dates.  Each one started out as dinner but always ended with great sex.  Honestly, it seemed the sex was 10 times better than before, maybe because we both knew deep down that it was wrong.  Since the break-up, I had been unable to sleep.  I walked around like a zombie day after day.  As I lay wide-awake next to him that last night we were together, my tossing and turning finally woke him up.  He asked what was wrong and I said that I just couldn’t sleep.  He hugged me to him and said, “It’s ok, I’m here with you now, just relax and rest”.  I got out of bed and sat on the couch.  I realized that this was even worse than before.  He was here with me now!  Now!  He wasn’t going to be here tomorrow or the next day.  He really didn’t want me back and certainly didn’t want to move back in, he just wanted to feel better about destroying our relationship.  This was about making him feel better about the terrible pain he was causing me.  I stayed on the couch the rest of the night and in the morning, moved out of our old bedroom and into the spare.  Later that week, via the telephone, we both agreed that seeing each other again was not about to help.  It was over for good. 

Occasionally, I think about the pain I was in when we broke up.  What comes to mind the most is that a few weeks after he left; I was getting ready for work in the morning.  I went for my toothbrush and noticed his was gone.  I remember falling to the floor sobbing hysterically, curling up in a ball on the cold tile.  I can’t say how long I laid there, but when the phone rang and it was my work calling, wondering where I was, I figured maybe 4 hours. 

About 4 months after we broke up, he moved to New York to start a new life.  I moved to a new, smaller apartment and tried to regain mine.  

The mourning period for my lost love lasted far too long.  I was unable to come to terms with the fact that it was over.  I felt that something that had been so good could not be over so fast.  I was angry with myself for not following my head and taking it slower.  I knew that what I wanted and how I felt was not what he was ready for and even though I knew that, I still pushed.  I should have told him that living together so soon was wrong and that he needed to be on his own first.  I should’ve acted more like an adult and not a spoiled girl that wants everything.  But all those “could’ve” and “should’ve” ideas I had weren’t about to bring him back or take my pain away.

Thoughts of him consumed my soul. Every time I went to a movie or concert I would imagine what he would say about it.  I actually visualized what our conversations might’ve been. I would dream at night that my doorbell would ring and he would be there, telling me what a huge mistake he’d made and beg me to take him back.  He never showed up.  I would sit at work and every time the phone rang would convince myself it would be him asking me to meet him and work things out.  He never called. 

I spent the first year being scared and hurt.  The second year I was angry and bitter.  I felt cheated and I hated the world.  I couldn’t be around my friends that were in happy relationships, because they had something that I didn’t. I couldn’t be around my single friends because they’d encourage me to meet someone else and move on with my life.  I didn’t want to be around my family because they felt so sorry for me.  They did everything they could to make me feel better and when nothing worked, they became angry that this man could change their daughter and sister so much.  I forgot how to smile. 

Then one day, a complete stranger, a neighbor in my new apartment building, asked me why I was so sad.   He said every time he saw me, either in the elevator or laundry room or sundeck, I always looked like I was ready to cry.  Then he asked if there was anything that he could do to help.  It was at that moment that I realized that I had wasted two years of my life grieving over something that I couldn’t control.  I told him I was ok, just getting over a bad break-up, but I had just concluded that I was going to be fine.  Then my neighbor asked if I wanted to join the building’s “Melrose Monday Party”.  I did.  I went that night and something made me laugh.  The next week I went again, and laughed even more.

I began to realize that even though our relationship had failed, I didn’t.  Sure I didn’t do everything perfectly, but this really wasn’t my fault.  He was the one that wasn’t able to handle the aspects of a grown-up relationship, not me.  His choice to cheat on me had nothing to do with the fact that I wasn’t satisfying him.  His immaturity was what drove him to act the way he did and I had to stop beating myself up for his shortcomings.   I had to let go of the past and think about my future.  I didn’t want to end up a lonely, scared and bitter woman at 27. Once I started to look logically at our relationship as opposed to emotionally, I was able to free myself from the emotional hold that had taken over my life.

Months passed and I slowly became myself again. I regained my independence and courage and immersed myself in doing things that pleased me. I went to Europe for a fantastic vacation; adopted the coolest dog in the world and began to socialize again.  I started going back to Improv & Comedy Workshops and realized that I could still make people laugh. A healthier, stronger version of me emerged and my friends and family were glad to have me back.  I was glad to be back.

My only regret is how weak I became both when I was with him and after it was over.  It’s amazing to think that one person could change your life so dramatically, you’d become almost unrecognizable to even yourself. 

I’m completely over him now, at least 99% of the time.  I will admit to having fleeting moments where I think about him.  If something reminds me of him or I see someone that he resembles, I find myself lost in my memories. Occasionally I’ll find myself wishing he were there to celebrate a good time or help me through a particularly rough one.  Of course, I’ll always have the “What if’s”.  What if I’d never met him – how would my life have been?  What if I’d never woken up that night to find him with that girl – would we still be together?  What if I had met him 5 or 10 years later, when we were older, could we have made it then?  Even though I still carry the scars of losing someone that I loved so much, I feel better about what the relationship taught me about myself.  I’ve decided to keep the good memories close to my heart and I’ve tried to forget the bad times.  

When I attempt to describe how it was that he made me feel; how safe and complete I was when I was with him; and just how much I loved him, words can’t do it justice.  How do you explain the tingly feeling in the pit of your stomach or the way your heart beats faster when he smiles at you? 

He meant the world to me.  He was my sun, my stars and my moon.  There wasn’t a thing I wouldn’t have done for him.  When we were breaking up, I told him that I wished he had he just been honest with me, because I would have given him the time he needed to grow.  I would’ve stepped aside so he could have had his freedom because making him happy was what made me happy.  I believed in our love so much, I would have been willing to give him up then because in my heart I thought that we were meant to be together.  

He was my first true love, my soul mate and my best friend.  All I can say is that if you’ve ever felt that way about someone, you know exactly what I mean. 

I still have faith that one day I’ll find that kind of love again.  I believe in it.  I have to.  It was the most wonderful feeling in the world and I can’t imagine not feeling that way again.  Besides which, it’s not natural for me not to smile all the time. 

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