I know what that looks like on paper.
Here's the problem: I screwed up to set myself free. I've done it a million times in life, I'm just really fucking good at it. It's the only way I know how to solve problems.
Mr. P and I were a problem. I tried very hard not to see it that way, but it's what we are and what we were.
I don't know if we will stay together. Isn't it funny how we say that? As if we have no control over whether it will happen. But the truth is, I don't and have not felt in control with him. What I want doesn't matter to him and I've let him make all the decisions.
If I tell him what I really want, he will leave me.
If I say what I really think, he will leave me.
If I do what I really want, he will leave me.
Repressing one's desires is not the same thing as not wanting anymore. I was an utter fool to think they were the same thing. The good news is, the entire thing wasn't fake. I did detach from the outcome in some ways. But then I see mallorca bread at Starbucks and I think of beautiful Puerto Rico.
In very painful ways I know I have not detached from the outcome, that is to say I have not detached from not being with him. I don't want to say that I know this breakup will be the most painful for two reasons: you can't quantify pain so there is no way to compare, I don't want to admit it or else it might come true.
The truth is, all those days he was away, I had to let him go or the agony of not being with him would've been too much. I never developed the skills I needed to have this kind of relationship, where when he's here, I'm his girlfriend. And when he is away, I'm not. I'm not...and I know how weird it sounds. But I'm not who I am with him. I don't live where I live when he is here. I don't even eat what I eat when he is here.
I have this sick way of becoming whatever it is I need to be to keep who I am with close. I absolutely blame my father for this.
I can't have this conversation without mentioning Peter.
Peter torpedoed me. And I knew before I met him that it would be this way. I knew from the way he stood up to meet me and the way he said that the best people in the world always come from one of two places: Cleveland and Rochester. I knew it when he got up and sang a duet of 'It Had to Be You' with the piano player. I knew it when he said I was brave for telling him about my divorce and my son, and I knew it when he told me he was divorced and has four children. I knew it when he told me that commitment isn't bullshit. I knew it when I asked him if I was talking to the Peter who runs one of the most powerful political media outlets in the country, or the Peter from West Virginia who was once beat up by racists for being too dark. I knew when he told me he was being just himself with me. And I knew it when he told me, "you never know until you ask". I knew it when he knew about Mr. P and said he thought I deserved more, that I deserved whatever I wanted in life.
And at some point in the evening, I knew I'd rather be alone that night than in Mr. P's bed, waiting for him to come home from New York, the way I said I would be. And so he called when I wasn't there and I said I was coming.
But I never did.
And I never told him I wasn't.
"Why did you want to get married again?" I whispered.
"I wanted a partner," he said.
I want a partner, too.
Peter isn't my soul mate.
What matters is that I forgot that it's okay to want things. It's okay to say what I want, and it's okay for Mr. P to leave because of it. And I didn't forget it slowly, over time. I actively and purposefully forgot. I forgot so that I could make something out of nothing.
Saturday we were supposed to have brunch with our friends for my birthday. Mr. P says he doesn't have time to talk about what happened until Sunday, so I assume that means he has plans other than brunch. I think he thinks it's over, too. It hurts worse thinking that he is done with it more than thinking I am and that's how I know the power dynamic in this relationship is off. I have his keys, but he won't let me come over to get my things in exchange for them, either, even though it's fair. I know it's because he doesn't want to talk to me about this. I know he is angry and he has every right to be angry, what I did was rude and inconsiderate.
We have talked and talked and talked and talked and talked. Relationships are more than love, more than conversation. They are really hard, and there is a reason people don't want to do them. Mr. P and I have been doing them halfway and the pain that is caused by doing it that way is just too much to handle. I don't know if the damage is done. I don't even know if I want to be with him anymore or not. You'd think at a minimum I would be able to say that. I want to forgive myself and I have no idea how long I'm supposed to be mad at myself for having to arrive at this conclusion in such a destructive way. Why can't I just do these things like a grown up?
Why couldn't I have done this better? Why do I have to hurt people to figure out things for myself?
I love him. I never wanted to hurt him. I love him. I never wanted to hurt myself either. And at the end of the day, I love myself more, even if I don't always think I deserve it.
Mr. P is leaving out of town again on Tuesday. I think we should take some time to decide if we want to be together or not.
The regret is there. The heavy weight of all my fuckups are there, on display. The steamy guilt is making me sweat. I've ruined a really good thing. Or I've ruined a thing. I don't know.
I put it very simply to my brother. "I saw this man with his two divorces and shared custody and this beautiful house and I knew right away Mr. P would never give me any of those things. And yes, I'm an asshole. But so is he."
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