In mourning

I have been a brave girl recently, and I’m taking the pain at the moment.

Regular readers/listeners to my whining will know something of the person I have held a torch for for...wow, more than a quarter of my life. The silly, overly romantic section of my brain (is there a romance gland? If not, I am christening it the Austenium) allowed me recently (when once again, as before, contact with him was re-established) to nurse that twinkle of subsumed hope that perhaps, maybe this time, he’d come to his senses and want me, demand to have me properly, realise he loves me. Maybe. Just maybe. So I agreed to see him.

Seeing him wasn’t so bad. I was a little worried that someone would wimp out; that one or other of us would pick a fight and the whole thing would collapse (yes, he makes me act irrationally, so that was a concern). Actually it was lovely. He used the word ‘date’, which threw me. But that’s what it was, I suppose. Perhaps it would have been better if it hadn’t been so nice; it wouldn’t have fanned the flames of the ever-hopeful Austenium. But here’s the grown-up rational bit of the brain exercising its seniority. At about 2am I woke up, rolled over, looked at him and had an epiphany of my own.

I didn’t want him. Well, I didn’t want this. Obviously, I want(ed) him. But I can’t have him, because he will never be willing to give himself to me the way I want or need. He’d sold the thing to me as wanting me to be his ‘mistress’ – I laugh when I read that back, as it sounds so silly when I try to apply that word to myself. But that to me implies something a little deeper than just an occasional fuckbuddy relationship. Anyway, I talked myself into it; I felt (getting déjà vu once more here) I could take what was on offer for the time being, as inevitably he’d realise what a mistake he was making keeping me at arm’s length and want to be with me properly. That’s how I rationalised it to myself; that’s how I’ve been rationalising it to myself the past seven years.

But, even if I did become his mistress or regular fuckbuddy, what would be the point? (quoth my truly rational section of brain). He claims to be very happy with the girl he’s with (ouch, maybe I shouldn’t have pointed out to him that seeking out someone else to have sex with doesn’t indicate true happiness in a relationship...) and isn’t going to leave her, and it would all be on his terms. I would be dissatisfied with the level of intimacy and attention I was getting; he’d be feeling guilty and be on pins all the time, particularly when we were together. I’d want more from him, and there is only a finite amount he could give even if he did decide to open up to me. And what if/when I met someone else? Someone who could give me the time and affection and openness I need? Could we expect that the guy would just hand me over, or be willing to share me?

So the rational brain assesses the options:

1. Accept this status quo, and hook up when he deigns to visit; continue ad infinitum waiting for him to love you (with the niggling but probably correct worry that he only sees you as an occasional fuckbuddy). Possibly die alone, eaten by cats.
2. Say you’d rather not have this relationship right now (I don’t know, make something up about a boyfriend or something) but know that by staying in contact it won’t be long before he propositions you again.
3. Call it all off. Do it now. No matter what the pain. It might save you future agony.

So, blow me down, I went for Option 3. Ouch. Would rather have not had the conversation on MSN, and/or whilst at work, but he pushed me for my thoughts and I was honest. I feel guilty that I might have hurt his feelings; well, mine are pretty much destroyed right now, although I suppose that’s cold comfort to him.

And I suppose that’s it. I’ve killed the thing I nursed for almost seven years. I’m officially grieving. There are actual physical symptoms. And I’m eating far too many Bakewell tarts, and they are only helping in the short-term. I should stop before I turn into a glacé cherry. But at least it was me who did the heart-breaking, so I can’t blame anyone else.

EDIT: Turns out I did the right thing. Several months after this, I found out that while he was over here trying (successfully) to get me into bed, then afterward trying to get me to continue the arrangement his partner was over in their foreign home. Heavily pregnant. I was out of the loop on that particular gem.