“The Love Of My Life” Left.
My last post was logically weird — that is to say — flawed — at best. I sort of implied it was either “The Love Of My Life” or the apartment, and that isn’t the case, exactly.
I could have had both. If things had happened differently.
It is “easy” for me to say that “The Love Of My Life” terminated our connection. But that too is not accurate.
I let him.
I fucking let him terminate us.
I gave up.
I stopped fighting for What We Had.
This break-up was really my decision to throw in the towel, and say to “The Love Of My Life,” “I yield [to your rash conclusion in the middle of a horrendous argument that has been going on for days instigated and re-initiated at random times by both of us whenever the wind blew one way or the other — and at the climax of everything that had been said — the crux — I said the line there was no turning back from — after having been threatened days before that a separate accusation of mine could not ever be forgiven by him (rather than the apology or at LEAST a discussion I had hoped would transpire) and leading to his judgment and verdict that our connection would be terminated].”
This isn’t a love story where I can look back and say, “there wasn’t anything I could have done differently, we gave it all we could.”
This was a love that I abandoned for an easier situation.
I knew someone was interested in me, and I leveraged that to force “The Love Of My Life” to make a decision about where he would be in — a day — a week — a month — a year. And he did.” The Love Of My Life” readily took the bait and told me he could “never trust me again because he knew I had feelings for this other guy all along” (100% false), but enough for him to justify his next move. He left quickly and without complaint.
Every time I could talk to him after that I tried to get more information about what went wrong. But he was a rock. And I leaned toward my new “boyfriend.” And I feel shitty about that every day. (I have already broken up with him, for the record.)
But I swear on my life I did all the above for “The Love Of My Life.” And I swear I did it for me too — for both of us.
I remember one night, the new “boyfriend” went outside to call his Mom, and I sat in the kitchen “The Love Of My Life” and I had literally BUILT — handcrafted — hours upon hours upon hours to fit our apartment’s space — EXACTLY — together (see below) and I called “The Love Of My Life.”
I knew his work schedule still, and that he’d be asleep, so I knew I’d be talking to voicemail. To the best of my extremely emotional recollection I told “The Love Of My Life” (in several voicemails because that “your time has run out, goodbye” robot is a dick) that I was in Hell. I told him I didn’t want what was happening to happen, and that it was killing me. I told him that the new “boyfriend” meant nothing, was simply a tool to set “The Love Of My Life” free. I told him that I started dating the new “boyfriend” because I knew “The Love Of My Life” needed a reason to say goodbye. And as my voice caught and I held back the sobbing I was barely able to choke out the words I said.
That was one of the hardest (several part) phone calls I have ever had to make.
“The Love Of My Life” was civil and then cruel to me in the end. He called me things like “bipolar” and “stupid.” I was cruel to him too. I accused him of Gaslighting me for a significant amount of time by this point. My best guess is that neither one of us was happy with what was about to happen and neither one of us could handle it well because neither one of us was really ready for this move.
This wasn’t the first time “The Love Of My Life” attempted to terminate our connection.
This was just the last time.
Because I let him.