Over the past eight months or so, I've dated several women. For the most part, it's been two dates and one or both parties have become uninterested. I haven't had any truly unpleasant dates. I haven't had the horror stories I've heard from others, but to be fair most of those experiences seem to happen to straight women. On the whole, the failures have been those of mere chemistry, either physical or emotional.
There was one woman, we'll call her Mary; Mary was special. We dated off and on from March to August. She was smart, beautiful and had a sense of whimsy that I was instantly drawn to. She fascinated me with her passions for theater, cycling and music. While we dated, I found myself invested in her interests. I had a strong desire to join her in common experiences in a way that only Rose has done for me since Dahlia passed.
We went to her theater together. We'd bike across town and enjoy time in the park discussing our favorite musicians or podcasts. She found me interesting for some reason, and was actually willing to discuss my relationship with Dahlia. It may have been the thing that kept us together for as long as we were. She was a lost soul, as was I. In very different ways, we were both desperate to learn how to go about living, confused about how to carry ourselves in a world that didn't seem meant for us. We only differed in our ability to be honest about this fact. Though Mary may not have put it as bluntly, she was far better at admitting to her mental wanderlust. It was perhaps the thing that drew me to her the most and was certainly the thing that eventually pushed me away.
In between the trips to the park and beers at Brouwer's, I had become a literal shoulder for her to cry on. Her difficult job situation, a death of an old friend and her isolation from those she loved all made their way into a relationship I felt I needed to keep casual. She deserved someone to confide in, but as it kept happening my mind shut off to her needs. I tried to be a good companion, but part of me feared another tear. I had seen a lot of drama in the last four years. I wasn't in a place to be a support for someone else. I knew it needed to end but I lacked the courage to tell her.
Rose became a very good friend over this time, a better one than I deserved her to be. She became a confidant and a fellow commiserator. Despite the differences in what we needed out of a romantic relationship, she tolerated my complaints and mental ramblings. We united in our grief and formed a unique friendship. During this time, we discussed the differences between being "nice" and being "kind." A nice person tells someone what they want to hear in order to prevent hurting someone's feelings. A kind person tells someone what they need to hear, despite the consequences. Rose, in no uncertain terms, declared me as a nice person.
There's a bravery in being kind, and it's one I lack. If there's one thing I wish I could change about my personality, it would be my ineffectual state of being. I find it difficult to affect change in my life, even when that change would be overwhelmingly positive. In a case such as the one with Mary, where kindness would result in very immediate emotional pain before eventual relief, I really had no chance of choosing the right course of action. Rose and I talked about my situation in terms of harm reduction. A break-up, or whatever you call stopping a non-committal relationship, would cause less harm than letting it continue, but I was too afraid to call it off.
Mary saw the writing on the wall. While I have a difficult time expressing painful emotions, I'm also a horrible liar. That was my saving grace, if it can be called as much. My actions made it clear I was avoiding something, even if my words didn't. One morning after waking up, Mary confronted me about my distance. She asked what we were doing and why we were together. I froze. I couldn't answer the simplest of questions about our relationship. I couldn't say the words which were necessary to end things. After waiting to hear them for what must have seemed like an eternity, Mary stormed out of the house.
I don't have a ton of experience breaking up with people. Before this, I had broken up with two people, and one of them was Dahlia, who luckily took me back. I know it's never supposed to be easy, but it has to get easier. Left without the experience necessary to end a relationship, I kept Mary waiting for days after she had stormed out. After 4 days, I finally called her back.
I'm pretty sure she didn't want me to call her at that point but I needed finality, especially after not giving it to her earlier. I called her up and told her we shouldn't see each other again, which of course she knew. I spent the next 20 minutes receiving mostly deserved abuse. There are things I could have said to her, but it wouldn't have been useful to either of us. Her words hurt me, but it was necessary. I needed to hear a list of my failings out loud, true or not. Perhaps that's all breaking up is: just learning to take a beating. I probably have a few more to take in my life.
Uff-da. Learn by doing I guess.
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