Breaking Up

When I enter into relationships, I never anticipate the end.  Well, perhaps I do in the abstract sense: I never assume the person I am dating will be the one I marry in the future.  That position of holy matrimony is always reserved for Mystery Man X, who I always seem to visualize as tall, lanky, and sporting shaggy brown hair (why I never picture myself marrying a short, stout, blonde man is a shallow, subconscious mystery to me).  In the concrete, present tense, however, I am never prepared for the inevitable break-up; I can never accurately anticipate the turbulent, gnawing misery of losing human connections, rejecting/being rejected, and hurting others.  *Author's side-note* Sometimes I wonder if forgetting the pain is biologically fixed inside of us to encourage further pursuit of relationships and eventual mating, as to ensure our survival as a species.  I'm not sure if I would pursue relationships any longer if I remembered with vividness how my insides felt like they were melting into a pool of miserable sobs quickly gyrating out of my control.  But fortunately (unfortunately?) I have forgotten this weeping, whirling sensation and will likely feel it again. And again. And again.

Strangely, these feelings were not imposed on me; they were the product of my own choice.  I broke up with my boyfriend recently; refraining from doing so would have prevented the intense emotional suffering of a break-up.  Why did I do it then?

Being broken up with is certainly more strikingly, enduringly painful than breaking up with someone--I would argue that the latter, however, is more morally/philosophically distressing--at least it was for me.  The idea of breaking up with my boyfriend tormented me, even though I was sure that I wasn't getting what I wanted out of our relationship anymore.  It tormented me because I cared deeply about him, and didn't want to erase him from my life.  I sometimes felt I should stay in it just so I didn't lose him completely.

After talking with a close friend of mine, however, I realized that this was a very selfish idea.  I was essentially wasting his time and mine, locking us into a relationship that I felt was going nowhere, but was too afraid to say so.  I wouldn't want to remain in a relationship with him if he felt the same way I did.  It felt too dishonest.   

My decision ultimately boiled down to two options: hurt now, feel better later, or hurt now, hurt more later.  I knew the end was near, and I was just prolonging the suffering.  I also knew that I wasn't prolonging the suffering for anyone's benefit; it was simply out of cowardice that I avoided the inevitable end.  I didn't want to be in a relationship anymore, but I didn't want to take the necessary action to end it.  

And I didn't want to do it, up until the end.  When I dialed his number, I half-hoped he wouldn't answer.  It would be another temporary pardon from the terrible task before me; another reason to prolong the suffering and delay the misery.  

But he did answer.  And I used the dreaded line "I just want to be friends." He sounded hurt but not too surprised.  And we talked about following through with our plans to go to the zoo, plans that will probably never really transpire.  We exchanged a few more awkward lines, and quickly bid farewell.  

We agreed to be friends, but I'm not sure how long it will take.  In my ideal world, we would be friends now, going to the zoo platonically and talking on the phone about Dexter and sand cats.  But I know this is not my ideal world, and I know he's not ready.  

I miss him, and went through a period of mourning.  I even contemplated regret, and mused over the possibility of getting back together.  I couldn't change my facebook relationship status for days.  With the help of friends, sassy music and shopping, however, I have come to accept my decision.  I still care about him and hope he knows it.  I wish I could give him a hug right now, but I am aware that I am not the right person to console him in this situation.  I find solace, however, in the fact that he will, undoubtedly, be okay, for:

"We never did too much talkin' anyway / Don't think twice, it's alright." - Bob Dylan