When we last spoke, I was full of moxie, brimming with self-assurance. I stated that I would accept a face to face interaction should the heinous party arrive bearing gifts and shit tons of remorse. Here’s what transpired.
I passed Tuesday in a fine manner, my first class having been canceled and my others fairly lax due to the impending holiday on Wednesday (Dia de los Muertos). I exited the class in Condesa at 9 pm and was met by the ex-BF; with minimal exchange of words, we headed to a bar on the corner.
- I’m so sorry.
- It was a mistake.
- I never meant to hurt you.
- She meant nothing.
This thread continued for almost three hours, from the bar to my house. I felt frissons of variations between cold, boiling, and nothing. We walked, him apologizing and me spitting fire about how he was rotten on the inside, a waste of life, a shameless fuck, a mommy’s boy who was basically still sucking on her tit and probably got his grundle stroked to fall asleep at night, an immature pussy who wasn’t even that good-looking. It went on. I punched him.
(People, let me take this moment to tell you that while I’ve never opposed violence, I’ve never really used it. I do hate guns, but I think that physical expulsion of aggression is logical and empowering. This was all a hypothesis until my right hand met his jaw and I felt tissue and bone shift under my knuckles. I want to be in a Fight Club. I want to do this every single day. A slap, though momentarily gratifying, is more about the noise. A punch is pure human anger, the momentum hate. I think we could figure out something quite ecologically friendly involving transfer of energy and saving raw fuels and whatnot could we learn to channel the physical output of spurned lovers into production.)
And then I felt bad. We arrived at my house and I heated up food, we killed off a fifth of tequila. We hugged. I couldn’t imagine living without him. The tequila kicked in and I got angry again. I passed out, forced him to sleep on the floor. In the moments when you’re trying to reconcile someone having wronged you with the amount of love you have for them, it’s like being on ecstasy but bad. Every negative and confused feeling is invading your body and you want to explode, shred windows, tear your own self apart from the inside out, to be perfectly emo about it. Most of all, you want someone to come and tell you what to do. To say: Forgive and forget, it was a relatively minor infraction. To say: Someone who does this doesn’t really love you, they are a disgusting, tainted individual who doesn’t deserve you.
The truth is, it’s a bit of both. All of us are, to a certain extent, tainted and constantly hurting other people, whether on purpose or inadvertently. We could all potentially rise above an earthly idiocy and say, I can move on. But how do you lay in bed with this person knowing that some part of him, however miniscule, was sitting around in bed diddling the ding-dong sending sassy messages to a slut?
Mind-blowing sex helps.
We did it, we had the make-up sex, and people, let me tell you, hope he does this again for the mere sake of those orgasms. It’s not just the fact of being together again that makes a reconciliation fuck so passionate, but rather the hope of the future, the fact that what you had could potentially be better, the desperation that you lasted during the broken period, however short, being brought to fruition in expulsion of waves and liquids. It’s the fact that you didn’t fail at yet another thing in life. It’s fucking hot as hell.
So I forgave him. Not for the sex, because had I still been boiling with hatred there would have been no better revenge than to have the best sex of our relationship and then kick him to the curb. I just can’t accept the fact that an almost year-long relationship could terminate because of something virtual. It’s so stupid. Nor could I accept the fact that this relationship terminate, period. It’s a good one, I thought. We parted ways – he back to Puebla for an exam, me to Xochimilco to get wasted on our day off. I spend the afternoon basking in sun and vodka, thinking that my relationship was saved and love triumphs.
Let it be stated that forgiveness doesn’t equal “relationship goes right back to where it started.” The beauty of a cold, hard reality check is that it makes you consider all aspects together. A minor infraction could easily be used as a pretext; had I wanted to break up with him for other, more serious reasons (the parents, the distance, the lack of being from New York, which the longer I spend outside my homeland the bigger fatal flaw I consider it to be), this would have been the time to do it. But those issues have been present since January, when we first started dating. They’re not reason enough.
The next day I receive a text which led to a phone call, the gist of which was: I love you so I’m giving you an out – I give you everything I can at this moment in time and I don’t think it’s enough for you, so if you want to break up, do it.
Well! This, in my opinion, was fucked up and nonsensical. After weighing all my options and the opinions of all my friends and associates, accepting his transgression and deciding to forge onward, this happens. He was suggesting it for my own good, he didn’t want me to feel trapped, he hates seeing me miserable when I have to come to Puebla. I was offended. We decided to forge on yet again. This has all gone down in the space of about five days, which is too short a time for too much to happen. As it stands, I’ve forgiven him, we’re still in love, but I’m still holding off on changing my FB status back to “In a relationship.” Maybe it’s my ego. I don’t know.
On a different note, I am spinning in circles with the different advice of compatriots, which varies from: “If I were him, I never would have touched you again after you cheated back in the day,” to “There are so many better guys,” to “Don’t let this worthless child stand in the way of you writing a magical memoir,” to “True love perseveres and you guys are perfect together.” Those who are going the “adios” route are those who have never seen us together. The people who are positive are people who have indeed seen us interact, with one exception. Apparently, his brother’s reaction upon hearing initial the story and that we had broken up was something like: “Well, that’s too bad. Forget her, move on.” Nothing like a little faith and knowing the in-laws truly care about you to motivate you to work hard for success.
The thing is, I do want to be with him right now. When I say “right now” I don’t mean that I intend to break up with him but rather who the shit knows what they’ll want to do in the future? But how awful to have to think of the future. Any relationship could potentially end for a variety of reasons and you can’t be in one and preeminently end it because you think one day it will should you actually 100% desire to be in said romantic liaison. I think if you enjoy the presence of the person in the moment you should stay with them until the joy ceases.
But the joy has not ceased. When we’re together, it’s fun, it’s sweet, it’s hot, and it’s imminently enjoyable. The issue isn’t even the FB emotional cheating but rather the fact, with the exception of 36 hours this past week, that we’ve been together for ten months to the day (happy anniv) and that, in my world, is a traumatically long time. The issue is that I have possibly the shittiest job in the world and I don’t know how much longer I can deal with it. That I miss New York. I did myself the disservice of watching “New York, I Love You” which reminded me how incredible of a place it is and how lucky am I to be from there. The energy, the diversity, the sheer fabulosity – maybe I’m just homesick. I know I’m still in love. Let’s see what happens.