I’m nearing the end of the break up process. I’m at the point where I’m surprised that I’m not thinking about him every day, and that feels good. So, naturally, I decided that it was time to call him to talk about the fact that I’m pretty much getting over him. It’s been three weeks.
He picked up when I called, and I made my usual demands for emotional validation in the form of asking for emotional denigration regarding a few choice issues in our relationship. I was ready to have him chastise me, because, hey, a little bit of masochism goes a long way in moments like these. He, being an adult, knew the game as soon as I started playing it and told me to simply, “Let it go.”
I cried because I wanted to feel something, and then I hung up. The immediate emotions I felt were limited to just frustration, which was frustrating, which in turn lead to a compounded sense of frustration. I didn’t want to feel frustrated. I wanted to feel empty. Or alone. Or hopeful. Or pain. Or regret. Or sorrow. Or loss.
Instead, I didn’t feel any of those emotions. Like a junkie wanting to get high off the emotional roller coaster of trauma, I realized that perhaps it was time to get off. The ride wasn’t giving me the same rush. I had gotten used to the twists and turns and sudden drops. Those emotions had become rote. Their relevance had dissipated into my own indifference. In some ways, I was free.
But maybe I don’t want to be free. As I sat there, soggy eyed, with my phone in hand, I realized: I wanted another fight. I wasn’t tired yet. I was hoping for some grand declaration, some emotional revelation. I wanted an answer. (Even though I was parading around, asking for closure. What a ruse.) I wanted him to say something big. And it didn’t matter if he told me he never wanted to talk to me again or that he couldn’t live without me. I wanted…a reaction.
He had defeated me. As I sat there, stewing, I knew I had lost. That emotional upheaval was the sickness for everything that cured me. It made me feel alive, in the thick of it again. Instead – the story is over. There will be no plot twist on next week’s episode. There will be no next week’s episode. There will only be me, starting over, on my own.
I’d rather be in pain with him than on my own, feeling nothing. Will someone please save me from the ennui of myself?