So, we finally had a conversation. Actually, he did most of the talking. Apparently while I have been busy sobbing hysterically his friends and family have been reading him the riot act. And they have all come down to three main points: a) So, do you finally feel “free” now that this has happened? b) If not, what are you going to do about it? and c) You realize you are a complete asshole and she can never trust you again, right?
In good news, after her out of town company leaves on Sunday, his mother has offered to take him in while he saves for his own place and get him off the couch and out of my house. Just being able to not dread hearing his key in the door at night will be a major step for me, and at least I can start an all new round of crying about coming home alone. But this still won’t feel real until he’s gone.
His friends, according to him, have made some valuable points. Because he did everything he did with no thought about it even affecting another person, namely me, who he claimed he loved, perhaps he needs to look at himself and his actions. He gave a great set of examples on why he did what he did (tough upbringing, living on the street as a teen, his tendency to wall everyone off and go into survival mode- thus the additional cruelty of acting like he didn’t really care when I ended it). And owning up to the fact that none of that is an excuse for what he did. But, I have to say, I appreciated knowing he at least cared I was gone.
He went on to acknowledge that he could never expect me to trust him again and he knows he needs to move out. Because no matter how much he wants to “fight for this,” it would take years (and possibly eternity) to earn back all the trust he shattered.
And then he moved onto the part that stung. The grand gesture. The promise that even if I didn’t want to speak to him or see him, that he would do whatever it took and wait as long as it took to earn me back. The words I almost wished for four days ago. The ones I had accepted would never come out of his mouth. The almost enough words. Except that it took him this long to find them, and the advice of two of the groomsmen who are in long term relationships and his mother.
And I wavered. He was right there. Looking so sincere and heartfelt and devoted. And I was alone in bed (finally showered after four days) and aching to have this all never have happened. And then I remembered…
He’s right. It would take years (and possibly eternity) to earn my trust again. That I would spend the rest of my life playing Nancy Drew through emails and text messages and scraps of paper in jean pockets. That I would spend the rest of my life waiting for that moment where I realized I had been fooled again and humiliated again, mortified and miserable.
And I took a deep calm breath and told him that he could do whatever he needed to do, but that he would need to do it from his own place. And that he doesn’t get to expect me to do anything. Because he broke my heart and it took him this long to realize that he really wanted to be with me in the first place. And I deserve someone who doesn’t have to lose me to know I’m pretty great to have in their life.
And then I asked him not to tell me he was going to fight for us. Because, really, he doesn’t have much in the way of follow through and he makes great big plans and gives in when the going gets rough. And because it would only hurt me more to hear this grand win-back-your-love plan and have him give up in two weeks when he got bored or frustrated. Because I already feel pretty worthless right now, and it will make me feel worse that I wasn’t worth the effort.
And anyway- he can’t fix this. I loved hearing all the things I wished he would have said this weekend, all the things I thought he didn’t know to say. But, it’s just more of the same.
Too little, too late.