If you’re reading this then I decided to hit Publish.
Our plan for him to stay the night didn’t happen. Instead, as soon as he came over he told me we needed to talk about our relationship. I set my gym bottle down by the sink with a thud that matched my stomach’s.
In three years he’s never instigated a conversation about “us.”
Last night, as he was telling me how stressed out he was about his life, I half-jokingly asked if he wanted to take a week off. Now he was saying it out loud. For real. “One or two weeks…”
I bounced around the apartment not knowing what to do with myself. He’s not happy, he’s unraveling at the seams due to stress, he’s anxious when we’re together, have I noticed how little sex we’ve been having because it’s not a good sign.
I burst into tears and sobbed ugly sobs. I also sat stoically and let the tears stream down my face. I asked questions and got upset. It’s not fair for him to say it sucks, but not tell me what the matter is. I mean, I know it’s sucked, but it was getting better, wasn’t it??
His eyes were red and filled with tears, some slipped down and disappeared into his beard. He has no answers. He’s just… ambivalent, unhappy, anxious. He didn’t say it, but the bottom line is he isn’t happy with me.
Me, I’ve thought this was just the heavy lifting of a long-term relationship: boundaries, expectations, hammering out all the details to have a [mostly] water-tight relationship in the future. Him, my occasional anger and upset traumatize him; he is uncomfortable with the conflict and somewhere deep down believes it means there’s something wrong with us.
I don’t know what this means, but it feels like a preamble to a break up. That’s not at all what he said, but it feels that way all the same.
He told me he still loves me and that I’m his favorite person in the world.
And then we hugged because he was going to leave. And we cried some more.
Two weeks of absolutely zero contact. He wanted to call every other day. I said No. I didn’t want him to half-ass this. If he needs time away to get his head on straight, then I want him to have it. I will never be with another man who doesn’t want to be with me. I will never convince someone to stay again. I don’t want him to leave, but if he doesn’t want to stay then he may go. He’ll have to.
I am devastated. Gutted. Embarrassed. Just yesterday I wrote a post about broaching the subject of living together. I’m a fucking idiot is what I am.
He said he’d make contact, “In the morning of the 11th! No, Tuesday night at midnight!” but I don’t know why he said such a thing.
Frankly, I’m afraid to see him on February 11th.