I broke up with my boyfriend last night, over the phone… which was pretty shitty of me. But the necessity of doing it just sort of fell out of me and it had to be done then and there. He is great: he’s handsome; he’s very sweet and patient; clever and a good dad to his son. He worked hard to do a second degree while in full time employment. I felt a wave of positive and lovely things when we were together but something, and I’m not totally sure what, just didn’t sit right with me.
I have a feeling some of my family and friends will think I’ve deliberately sabotaged this relationship because, well, that’s what I do. Wreck it myself before it all goes tits up. Get the pain out of the way sooner rather than later. They’ll think I’m crazy to let such a good man go. And maybe I am. But for the first time, in a long time, I feel I’ve done what’s right for me, at this point in my life.
The crux of the matter is that, in my current state of piecing myself and my life back together, I need to be on my own. I’m just not ready. I always thought that was such absolute bullshit when guys (let’s face it, it’s usually men who pull out the “I’m just not ready for commitment” card) and I feel massively sorry that I failed at this relationship that had the potential to be so secure. But no matter how I try to rationalise it, my insides contract at the thought of being accountable to someone else; of someone else depending on me; of domesticity; of sharing duties and emotions; worrying about someone else’s kid; hoping not to piss off someone else’s ex. In the words of Sex and the City’s Berger : I can’t do this, I’m sorry – don’t hate me.
How ironic that my best friend christened my ex with the derogatory nickname of Berger and now, I’m the dick.
I don’t know why I am this way, or do I? Of course I do. I’m 35 and I have a child who is 16 years old and I’m nearly done with the intense parenting phase. We are best buddies and we have a tonne of adventures we’d both like to embark upon, both together and separately. I’ve had some shitty relationships in the past. I’m just getting on top of a BPD diagnosis and dealing with the Rape Crisis Centre for a long ago event(s) that fucked me up beyond reason. I’m doing ok, I’m doing more than ok. I’m fit and healthy. I sleep most nights now. I don’t need to nap for 2 hours every day. I don’t starve myself because I’m so disgusted by my body and I don’t have any urge to cut it or kill it. I’m working hard on building my little educational empire and, any day now, I’ll start writing the great idea for my book. I might even enter a poetry competition if I can find the iron nerve. I’ll be in the States for 5 weeks and then tour guiding my American family around our little green island for 3 weeks. My darling big sister (she’s LITERALLY my cousin, but that doesn’t describe our “special bond”) and her daughter have just visited and we’ll be going over to them in London in late summer. I’m in a choir and I’m meeting up with a drama group this week to see about joining up. My life is jam packed and it feels good. Apart from everything else, I’m not sure I have time for relationship. But more so, I don’t want to have to compromise on anything that I want. I’ve always compromised. I’ve always put the guy first and been quick not to make plans or to cancel my plans to suit the boyfriend/husband of the hour. I resent having to do that, not that this boyfriend wanted me to but the very nature of a relationship is that you share – I don’t want to share right now.
Selfish? Hell yeah. But even though I feel guilty and bitchy and cruel, and even though my feelings for him were genuine and I wish I could have made it work, I know that I’ve put myself first. And I’m proud of me for that.
Don’t hate me,