Friday, September 30, 2016

It's Not My Fault

It's been about a week since I moved out of my Ex's apartment, and things are going... ok. It's honestly a struggle to sleep, because this is the first time I've been alone at night in two years. But in those quiet moments, before I fall asleep, my mind goes back and asks, "What could I have done to keep the relationship alive?" or "How come I was such a shitty boyfriend?". I've said in previous posts that I'm a high functioning depressive, so during the day, nobody knows that it feels like my arm has been torn off because I'm smiling, laughing, and joking. But in my head, I've been berating myself for being a horrible, shitty boyfriend and that I should have tried harder. I should have made more time in my schedule, I should have told him how much I love(d) him more. I should have done this, I should have done that, I could've been better, I didn't try hard enough. The litany of mistakes keeps marching through my head, shod in lead boots so that I can't ignore it.

But then I really start thinking about it. I know that the mind has a propensity to romanticize the past and start to gloss over the bad. When I remember that, I start to really, truly think about our relationship. Did we have good times? Yes. Did we make each other laugh? You betcha. Was it the relationship that was going to be life-long and make both of us happy?

No. When I remember that I couldn't see myself marrying him, I remember the parts that drove us apart. The fact that he loved to go out on the weekends with his friends, and I preferred to stay home. The fact that he wanted children and I did not. The fact that he hates big cities and I want to live in Chicago. The fact that he "needed to relax", even though he was only working at the time, and I was working, going to school, and taking on increasing responsibility in my Fraternity. I remember the irritation and resentment we felt (and probably still feel towards each other) about our differences and the different ways they pulled us apart.

I love him, and, as trite as it is, a part of me will always love him. However the break up is neither of our fault's. We tried for two years to make things work, even though our demons couldn't stand each other. I'll be honest, I want to hate him. I want to be angry, throw things, and scream curses at him. I want to be angry because it's an emotion I understand, and I know how to deal with. But I can't. He was gentle and kind in the last days, and we laughed and had a good time. And I just can't do it. We both knew it was time for us to split up, and so it just comes with quiet acceptance.

So, I know it will get better. The days will start getting brighter, the pain will gradually fade, and next year, when we see each other at Pride, I think that we'll be able to laugh about the past. But in the mean time, it sucks. I miss having him in the bed, and I miss talking to him a great deal. I miss getting coffee with him on Sunday mornings, and I miss walking the dog with him late at night. But this too shall pass. I've got to jet. Stay humble, don't stumble, and I'll see you next time.

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