Ok … so as you know I was dumped. Yes, dumped… and its been about two weeks now and I have cried every day. Every day. Some days have been better than others. Some days a lot worse. I know that we were a couple for not a long period of time, but I still ache. There is nothing that doesn’t remind me of him. Nothing… I ache every day. The feelings that I have are as real as if we had been together years. You may deny or disbelieve me, but my feelings are genuine. And I know that it sounds like the jilted lover, but I am never feeling this way again. I told my mother a few months ago that he was going to be my last boyfriend. And if you knew my mother, you would understand why I think that’s important. Mom isn’t really all about the warm and fuzzy…especially when it comes to the gay thing. Not that she doesn’t support me.. It makes her uncomfortable despite what she says. But anyway, the importance of the last boyfriend statement is vast, and also explains why I have felt so bad. I love him. Nothing else really needs to be said about that. Its plain, its raw, and its true. You see, he was the last boyfriend because he was going to be the one that I spent the rest of my life with, or I am going to be alone. So alone it is. I am not writing this out of anger or to get sympathy, and certainly not to hear the oceans of platitudes about being single or finding the right one. I found the right one. But he didn’t find me. I write this because its cathartic for me on a few levels. One, because writing is something that I am good at, and its an expressive outlet that I can make clear my feelings, fears, and frustrations. Two, because a public forum takes away the power of the hurt. Secrets hurt. Secrets hurt the keepers and those that they keep them from. I grew up in a family of kept secrets and I hope whatever few there are left die with me. My brother and mother still have secrets, a fact that I am sure both would deny. I think that my niece and nephew have broken the cycle and are honest “good” people. No more secrets.
So back to my break up.
The reasons for it are, as the usually are in these cases, irrelevant. I basically received the “its not you, its me” speech. Wasn’t the first time, but again, it’s the last. You see, every significant relationship that I have had with a man, has ended with some variation of that speech. If you hear something enough, you start to create legs to support the table of truth, but only if you are stupid. And one thing I am not, is stupid. You see, all the men that I have dated (and I say all… there have been 4 or 5 significant men in my life. 4 or 5 depending on semantics). All of them have been different people, different situations, and different relationships. The constant in all of these is obvious. Me. So what choice do I have but to believe that it is in fact me, and not you? I am not saying that I am not a catch. I am not saying that I am some troglodytic mutant. I am saying that I am not relationship destined. I don’t know what characteristics I have or lack that put me at a disadvantage in relationships, but clearly there is something. So instead of desperately seeking to find my Achilles’ tendon of love and wear some dumb-assed ace bandage around it, I have made the conscious, deliberate and intentional choice to not only not seek love but to shun it. Yes, I am in mourning now for the love that I lost (no black Sophia Petrillo veils as yet) and that’s important to experience.
More importantly is that I need to mourn the death of Love. That’s right Big “L” love. I am sure I will be met with “you’re just saying that now” objectors. I am not doubting love’s existence, power, wonder and grace. I wish love for those who want it and can find it. I am saying that love does not want me. And strangely, I am not alone in that. On that note, I wonder if Tom Wopat is available ?
Things that Rock:
My friends who have been there for me. Old and new. I hope you read this and know who you are.
