Well, how the fuck did we end up here?
A lot of shit has happened these last four years. Truly.
Japan happened. Twice. But those are stories for another blog entry…
I’m now an assistant web designer instead of a Japanese translator. Never saw that coming…but I do enjoy it.
And, more recently…
My beautiful, sweet boyfriend of four years – whom I gushed about in previous posts (with shades of foreboding anxiousness) – has left me.
The short version? He didn’t love me. Says he hasn’t “consistently” – whatever-the-fuck that is supposed to mean – for the last two years, give or take.
Also, my potty-mouth has worsened somewhat. And I’ve adopted a more chat-like writing style of short pithy statements and sarcastic oneliners. Thank you, MMORG obsession!
So…just what the fuck happened between us over the last four years?
When did shit start to go so…sideways?
If I’m honest with myself – TRULY honest – I’ve always felt this wretched, nagging feeling in the pit of my stomach whispering negativity and warnings. The same feeling that pinched like a tiny paper-cut whenever he blew me off, said something insensitive, or generally acted oblivious as men are wont to do. But it was different with him, you see – he was the child of a psychologist, now at long last a budding counselor himself after many years of stubborn refusal to accept what he could only be good at as a psych major with a psych father and a fucked-up childhood. In other words, he should have had the insight to know better. Long and circular were the discussions we had about the meaning of life, the meaning of love, our feelings and fears…and yet still he failed to understand the value of an apology, the importance of showing me his love for me over his “commitment to the relationship” (all of which we discussed – at length).
He should have KNOWN better. He should get it.
And I never thought I would have to explain this to him – but he fucking dragged it all out of me, in the end, didn’t he? Over and over and over again we talked about it. First, my anxiousness and despondency over his inability to be there for me and treat me like I was important…and then later, his simple ability to do it because I finally DID have to out right ask him to treat me like someone who adores me maybe just enough to go see that stupid movie I want to see even when he’s tired from all that terrible unemployment leisure time spent playing video games.
He should be able to talk to me like the “best friend” he keeps telling me I am. He can banter and joke around like the crass and crude little boy all men are when they get together, but he won’t shoot the shit with me without either taking offense or simply refusing to play at all.
But you know, goddammit, in spite of it all – I wasn’t unhappy. As our talks became arguments followed by weeks of tip-toeing around each others feelings followed by more arguments, I was still happy, in the in-between. There were periods of time where he wasn’t in some emotional crisis and I wasn’t being forced to relive my darkest fears about our relationship and then defend them to him – times when things were good. And still, I was okay with that, you know? I loved him, and I accepted it all on the one condition that he loved me back. We would survive this ridiculous downward spiral of circular arguments and indefinable unease so long as we loved each other…is that not what love is?
Let me interject here briefly on another hugely asinine and inflammatory subject that was often the crux of our arguing: MY VIDEO GAME HABIT.
Are you fucking kidding me???
Yes, so, allow me to summarize. I started playing an MMORPG called World of Warcraft (one he has been playing obsessively for at least a year) just before my second trip to Japan in an effort to 1) take an interest in the things he likes (if you can’t make your boyfriend quit being a tard and pay attention to you, join him and play the damn video games yourself…) and 2) to give us a mutual activity to participate in while I’m in Japan (since we can play together in the same “world” no matter where we are physically). After I came back, I really took to the game and actually became pretty good. Of course, we preferred completely different styles of game-play: I enjoyed combatting other players as a damage-dealing ninja cat, while he preferred playing a healing role with a group of players versus the game world content.
Anyway, that probably makes no sense unless you play a video game of some kind. But the point is that where, for a time, he thought it was totally boner-inducing awesome that his girlfriend played (and did not completely fail at) video games with him, he then decided he played too much and, treating it like a form of addiction on par with his alcoholism (oh, did I mention I stood by him through that as well? AA meetings and all) abruptly threw away the years of time and energy he’d invested into the game, cancelled his account and stop playing games of any kind. But this was not before he basically ditched me and did his own thing and refused to do anything that I liked at all because it “stressed him out” (because I’d become a better player than he had, you see…).
Not soon after I begin to get the “looks” of disdain and mild disgust that I’m continuing to “waste” my time on a computer game. As though I did nothing else – not going to work every day while he wallows in unemployment and makes plans to further increase his debts by going back to school, not going to school myself, and most certainly not trying to hang out with him or go outside in the REAL world and enduring his ever continuous brush-offs….more importantly, as though he had not done exactly the same thing since he was a child. Before this, I’d played one or two Nintendo games in middle school, but nothing else for damn near half my life.
And do you know? He asks me to quit. He has the fucking NERVE to ask me to quit something I enjoy as much as he did. After all the years I put up with him not only playing day in and day out but actually blowing me off in favor of it – during which I only ever asked him to spend more time with me, not quit the thing he enjoyed so much – and he dares act like “well, its just a game, why can’t you just quit because I’m asking you to?”
One day, as I’m driving him to work in MY CAR, he even goes so far as to tell me “I’m really turning into a loser.”
You can bet I dumped him out on the sidewalk and told him to walk his ass to work for that. That’s not to say it didn’t hurt like hell, to have the man you love describe you as a loser, even though I could hardly see straight for the injustice of it.
I think things reached a point of no-return the first time he suggested we go to couple’s counseling.
My reaction…was less than diplomatic.
I recall my exact words were: “ARE YOU FUCKING KIDDING ME??”
He brewed and pouted over that all day long, as he’s wont to do, of course. And of course, I apologized for my choice words (which he was too much of a fucking pussy to just argue right back with…but I didn’t tell him that) and tried to explain to him that *duh* I don’t think counseling is a good idea *duh* because I have a pretty strong stance *duh* as I’ve told him many times before *duh* that counseling in relationships is only an expensive way to delay the inevitable*duh* and is insulting because it suggests we – two perfectly intelligent adults, one of whom *him* might as well BE a counselor – cannot talk to each other *DUH*.
And after we’d screamed and shouted at each other and I told him he had no right to talk to me like a child when he couldn’t even kick his coffee habit and depended on anti-depressants and wallowed around unemployed, after he stormed off (strained his finger throwing down his bicycle in anger like the child he is) and we finally sat down again, he told me he didn’t think it was going to work out and maybe we should just end it now, I caved like the stupid, lovesick little girl I am and we went to counseling.
For damn near a fucking YEAR and who-knows how many hundreds of dollars we went to counseling.
And then, after coming to terms with the gaming thing (told me it reminded him of his mother and how she was “unavailable”…kind of like I used to hate how he played because my father was a dry-drunk who ignored us while he played…of course, like the addict he is, he now plays a single-player game that I cannot participate in all the fucking time), telling me he was “more committed that ever” and that “things were really getting better”…after I was there for him through his panic-attacks and anxiety about school and temp jobs and his AA meetings…after spending the whole month preceding this little shit-fest coming to my family home to enjoy our summer BBQs and birthdays and holiday celebrations, just barely a WEEK before I graduate from college (for which I bought tickets for him and his dad months ago), and with five months left on our lease, we go to counseling, like usual, in MY CAR, and the first thing out of his mouth when we sit down in front of the counselor (this is verbatim):
“I have some bad news…I don’t want to be in this relationship anymore…”
BAD NEWS. Bad fucking news???
Oh, but this is the second time – we almost didn’t stay long enough to even see our four-year anniversary, don’t ya know. The first time, he sits me down alone in our apartment and at least has the decency to be contrite and act like it actually pains him to do this. And when he says, “I don’t think I’m in love with you anymore…” its the worst thing ever, like a knife in the gut, and I recoil from him like a wounded animal, and I cry so hard I think I’m going to choke myself, and he cries, too, and it hurts so much and I feel so lost I don’t hardly have the strength to resent it and push him away when holds me and he tells me “We”re going to get through this one day at a time” , as though a fucking tornado had hit the house and now we just have to deal with it, like it isn’t his choice.
The deepest irony of it is that I begged him to come back to counseling, to give it one more shot. I bought myself 5 more months of lies…
But this time? Well, he’s already broken my heart, I realize, and now all I have left is the full fury of my self-righteous rage.
I can’t even really express to him coherently how fucking angry I am – I’m just stuck somewhere between numb and seething and even then, with the bitterness of my anger and the knowledge that now there was no going back, even then I couldn’t bring myself to give him my full, unrestrained, uncensored opinion of his bullshit. Certainly not in front of the counselor, who doesn’t say a damn thing, in the 15 minutes before I walk out and leave my beautiful, stupid and insensitive boyfriend (again) like the dumbass he is without transportation and to pay the fucking bill like a real man ought to.
And he doesn’t even blink. He goes to his dad’s apartment and doesn’t even call me. I know he made it back, though, because when I come home – ha, “home”, as if it were ever really that – his bag is missing and some toiletries are gone.
He emails me the next day, and here is exactly what he writes:
“I’m coming over Sunday probably in the evening to pick up some things.
I know its really hard right now but I’d like to talk about logistics at some point.
Feel free to just email if you don’t want to talk…
Four years. Four FUCKING years we’re together, and you decide to dispose of me like garbage, out of the blue in front of our counselor, in the midst of everything, and this is all you have to say? THROUGH EMAIL?? Like you’re talking to some business acquaintance?
“I know its really hard right now”
“Feel free to just email”
Speechless. Utterly speechless.
But you know, this is how he is. A real fucking professional shrink down to the bone. Notice the passive tone, the lack of acknowledgement of any suffering inflicted or fault, the utter lack of personal responsibility.
Like I said, you’d think we’d just had some kind of natural disaster. Like he played no part in this at all. Or even, that we’re both to blame and therefore no one is to blame…
When I respond I decide to tell him what a fucking shit he is and how he better fucking grow a pair and come talk to me like a real person, and he’s all, well I didn’t think you even wanted to talk, I’ll come over right now! Fucking oblivious.
And so he comes over, and the minute I let my anger show (even though he “doesn’t blame me for being angry”) he hold up his hands in a huff and stands up and says he’s going to just leave right now if I’m going to be hostile.
So I take a breath, tell him to sit down and I ask him, “Do you really want it like this? Do you really think it’s okay to come and be with my family and act like everything is fine and then dump me in front of our goddamn counselor?”
He tells me, well, you know, he LIKES my family and he thought the counselor was a good choice because then we’d have someone to MEDIATE while we talked it out…
LIKES my family? Completely beside the point. My family, not your family. You are a fucking guest, and you do not take advantage of their hospitality on false pretenses, you cocksucker…
And just what is there to talk about if you’re ending the relationship? Besides the fact that your timing is utter shit, what makes you think it will be good to go through it like this when you know how much I resent being counseled in the first place?
He’s completely dead-pan about this, eyes narrowed slightly in his now-usual facade of mild disgust and disappointment.
So I give up.
And I cry a bit more, after he leaves. But it’s hollow, mostly just a knee-jerk reaction to the pain from old memories. It feels empty and wrong, though – like someone is trying to force me to believe the sky is pink and not blue. But, like all those painful memories, that, too, is just me clinging to an old hope, the very same one that kept me believing he loved me and how could it be wrong?
Just another lie…