The Year of The Man

I've been debating writing about this - mostly because I don't want to give him any more attention. But it was such an epicly awful New Years Day, after such an awesome New Years, that it's almost comical.

See, for the past month or so I have been talking to an ex. He and I broke up years ago - when I moved to New York. He always said he couldn't keep up with me. But I've spent the past six months in a dating moratorium, thinking about what I actually want out of a relationship, and I thought I had the answer. (My mother, of course, says I was just lonely. There may be some merit to that). He and I had the best connection of any man I'd dated - and the longest relationship. Sure, it was fraught with complications. I was very young and very reckless. He was also very young and quite irresponsible. Together we had some incredible adventures. We would spend hours on the phone (remember that?) and hours upon hours in bed. It was the absolute hands-down unequivocally best sex of my life. Most people in the world don't ever have sex like we did. But even at the time, I knew to savor it. For some reason, I thought, you don't marry the best sex of your life... probably because you wouldn't accomplish much else! And so, I moved to New York and said goodbye.

The breakup was horrible. I cried once, in my new apartment. I took a picture of my tear stained face and resolved to never feel that badly again. After all, I was in New York, and I was determined to have fun. We didn't speak for three and a half years. I actually swore I would never contact him again. I became very good at forgetting him.

And then... I fell in love for the very first time at age 26, and had my heart broken for the very first time at age 27. It basically took me the entire year of 27 to move through the pain. I felt like an open wound. Towards the end of it, I found myself wondering how I got here, and who I used to be. I remembered the past fondly - the time when men were in love with me and I felt no pain. The time when it took me no longer than a month to get over someone. I wanted to get back behind that glass wall. So, I emailed him. I hadn't really thought much past the initial email. I was almost sure he would write something horribly mean and that would be it.

To my surprise, he was quite willing to reconcile. He even seemed to think that I had been planning this for a while, even though I insisted I hadn't. We spent a lot of time reminiscing, but soon the conversation turned serious. He kept pushing me to make these grand declarations about our future and my intentions. Pretty soon I was promising that I would never hurt him. I went to visit him for a quick 20 hour period one weekend. Almost immediately we fell back into bed. Seeing him was great... and wierd. It was such a time warp. Plus, he lived in Philadelphia. I hadn't been back since graduation and it felt so strange, and quiet there. Almost like time was standing still. I quashed those misgivings and kind of threw myself into the whole thing. After all, I had made all these promises that I was different. He told his family, I told mine. They were both horrified. Still, we pressed on.

I went away for Christmas break and when I returned we spent New Years night together. We went out for a four and a half hour dinner during which time we discussed my work with SAVI. He said some truly uneducated things about rape and domestic violence survivors. At one point, I excused myself and went to the restroom. I looked at myself in the mirror. Half of me wanted to leave. I wondered how I could build a life with someone who didn't understand something so fundamental to me. But I was determined to be a better girl than before (I was always running away) and so I returned to the table. He said that he was glad we could have discussions like this. I smiled and agreed. He toasted me, saying I was the most important person in his life besides his family. I blushed.

We met his friends at a nightclub for the new year. I was totally out of my element. We actually had to go through a metal detector. Writing this now, I don't know why I didn't listen to my gut saying that all of this felt wrong. I guess I was still blinded by the chimera of our previous relationship. I told myself I could do this. When he couldn't get a cab, we walked the 20 blocks home, laughing and messing around the whole way. We spent the next four hours in his room, listening to music and going through his memory box.

The next day, before I was leaving he and I talked about another girl he was casually dating. He told me he hadn't slept with her since me... that they had gone out to dinner, but not gone home together. I didn't believe him and I told him so, calmly. He told me that he wished I actually got jealous and had an emotional reaction. I said, there's no point to that. (Plus I was supremely confident that he would want me - after all I was his first love & the one to whom he compared all others) He looked me right in the eyes and told me he wanted me to be his girlfriend and that he was going to end things with the other woman today. We spent our final hours laughing and kissing. I remember him holding me before I left. I looked into his eyes and I felt so safe and cared for. I floated back to the city.

That night, I was called into the hospital on a domestic violence case. I texted him before I went in, but didn't hear anything back. I assumed he was sleeping because we hadn't really slept at all during my short visit. I was painfully naive and dead wrong.

The next day, I still hadn't heard from him by 4pm. I was exhaused from the hospital and didn't really think much of it. Then he called. Apparently, while I was empowering a woman to leave her boyfriend and create a new life for herself, he was having sex with the other woman. Not even four hours after I left, he had the other woman in his bed. I was revolted.

I sat there and listened to him ramble on the phone. It felt like he had planned this - like he wanted to hurt me any way he could and since I wasn't jealous before, he upped the game. I should've pretended I didn't care and hung up. Instead, I cried. I hate that I cried for him.

The next day, I resolved to move on. Just as before, he didn't deserve my time mourning him or the relationship that barely was. I was in New York, after all. And I'm determined to have fun.

This year is The Year Of The Man. I resolve to date a ton of guys, to be carefree & unafraid to try new things. No more time wasted crying. I've done enough of that.

Of course, I will be writing all about the dates here. It's going to be so much fun!

*scorpio*

Also, no more ex's. EVER.