Before I begin, let my just say that the Now-Ex-BF wrote a blog which is a better ode to the tumultuous glorious explosion that is our relationship than I could ever dream of writing:
So as not to be redundant, here’s MY version.
On Sunday morning, 11:30 am-ish (EST), my now officially ex-boyfriend and I had a pre-planned Skype date during which we simultaneously un-relationshiped ourselves on Facebook. How now? You wonder. Didn’t you sob in the aeropuerto as you said your official goodbye? Yes. However, though the casual breakup seems possible and sophisticated in theory, in practice it fucking sucks. Let’s discuss.
The issue that arises when deciding to end what has largely been a long-distance relationship is that the initial separation period doesn’t register as anything different than any other separation. For example, I spent two of the last three months of our relationship in southern Mexico and Guatemala. Though we were still together, we weren’t physically in the same area. A relationship of this sort, though no less valid, does mean that you spend a lot of time alone, annoyed, frustrated, and lonely. Additionally, on a brighter note, it means that not seeing your BF/GF for a week or two isn’t some heartbreaking travesty.
The issue, then, is that the beginning of the demise of a distance relationship can simply feel like another period of being in apart, especially when the love sentiments of both concerned parties have not changed so much as their geographic locations have. Indeed, the first few weeks back felt like something transient, exactly like the past two Christmases: dinners out with friends, city romps, meals, gossip, and a shit load of television. Even when I started working, which I thought would solidify my awareness of my stagnancy (both geographically and progessively), I was in a vaccuum: It was two years ago, I’d never been to Mexico, it was late spring 2008 and I’d just finished college.
So I romped and I chatted, dined and drank, cavorted and pretended to forget that a few weeks earlier I’d said goodbye to what could potentially be the love of my life through a curtain of tears in an airport. This was very easy, as he had no computer or internet connection, so we simply didn’t talk. Like pushing a dead mouse under the couch. Out of sight, out of mind. We didn’t even bother updating our Facebook relationhip stati to “Single.”
And the corpse, as they do, started festering. I went out last Thursday with a fabulous friend, just two girls out on the town: High heels, small bites, and a bottle of wine in the center of the universe, downtown Manhattan, throbbing bars and clubs, young people with the world at their fingertips, and me not knowing what the fuck was going on. While people go out for a variety of reasons, one of the large ones is “To Meet People.” While my vacation self, happily in a romantic situation, could easily hang out without being bothered by the fact that everyone else was on the prowl, my now-back-in-NY self realized that I could not go on in this manner: Saying “Te Amo” once a week with no communication in between, as though not talking would make the time not count; leaving myself in a relationship on Facebook even though it wasn’t true in life. It felt like saving a used condom after having sex with someone who you know will never love you just to have a part of him there. Maybe a little less creepy. But something felt off.
Let’s be honest: I have NO idea when I will see him again, or, frankly IF I will ever see him again. Let’s be honest: People are madly in love, but people also move on. I remember walking through Central Park in 2007 crying hysterically because I’d been dumped by my ex-French BF. I cried at school, at work, on the train; I spent the better part of a month crying hysterically because I’d lost the love of my life. Then one day I started hooking up with a well-endowed Jamaican and I couldn’t even recall how to spell “Bonjour.” I’m not disputing the love; I’m simply calling attention to the fact that we live in a day and age where we dramatize everything. Everything has a show and a contest and we have actually gotten to the point where the chopping of vegetables and meats has a television program that reduced people to tears and nervous breakdowns. The times are not normal. The kinds are not all right.
Why, though? Why the hurry? We. Are. Young. We want to grow up so fast, and having dramatic romances is the fast track to adulthood. I’m not disputing the excitement of such choices; my life has been a fucking novela since I graduated high school. I’m not denying the love, the experience, the joy, the pain. Our relationship was the best all-inclusive deal available in Mexico, maybe in the whole Western hemisphere. But, as we’d said when we initially broke up, I didn’t want it to end in drama. I wanted to have a respectful but clear discussion in which we acknowledged the cold hard truth of the situation: We are no longer together.
And thus we did. In an utter ripoff of Teddy’s “I AM A WIDOW” proclamation on Grey’s Anatomy, I made him say “WE ARE BROKEN UP.” I said it, too. We are no longer in a relationship, in Facebook or in life.
The fucked up thing about the Internet, though, is that your exes will potentially see their successors all over your wall/feed/blog/etc. As someone who gets great pleasure out of writing about, well, pleasure, it was of utmost importance that we make clear the blog situation. I refuse to literarily censor myself in the event that I ever have sexual intercourse again simply because he has no desire to know. I suggested unfriending each other.
“I’ll still love you if you fuck other people,” he said, “but not if you unfriend me.”
And thus you have the most romantic sentence anyone has ever said to me in my life. I see no point in moping, as the future is nebulous. I do like to think, in the small yet strong romantic part of my brain, that there’s some hope for this relationship yet. I don’t know when or where, but it just seems that these feelings shan’t dissipate.
So I find the term “break up” confusing. Nothing feels particularly broken, not even my heart (though mildly achy at times). Nor do I feel separated from him; we’ve spoken and it’s totally normal. It seems more like a pause, an agreement in time. I try not to say “I love you” but it pops out at times. I’m not sure what’s the appropriate number of times a week to talk. I can very easily imagine having sex with a different guy, enjoying it, etcetera, but I cannot see a foreseeable point at which I’ll meet someone who I respect enough to have the relationship that we had. Have. We’ll see.
But for the meantime, looks like I’m single again…Uh oh.