Anatomy of two heartbreaks

The first time she broke my heart was December 1996. I didn't know it at the time, but she chose the man who ended up being her husband, a man she would have in her life for 22 years and is still tied to in her heart and by their two children. 

Though it was many years ago, I remember the last conversation we had on the phone. When I hung up, I knew that would be the last time I talked to her (and it almost was, as 20 years went by). I remember she got angry at me for something. I thought it was because I brought something up she didn't want to talk about. Something difficult. She stopped talking to me for eight months. She did send me a letter, however, when she learned I was moving with my parents to another state. I threw it in the trash and never responded. I was still dreadfully hurt by her. And I was angry. 

The second time was much worse. After enjoying each other immensely for a few months, shortly after the first time we had a weekend together, I could feel it. This was May 2017. It was about a week after we spent time together. She pushed me away, later apologizing. I erased the conversation from my phone, but I couldn't shake it from my head. It would have been okay, though. But it turned into a pattern. She kept pushing me back. By the next and last time we saw each other a few weeks later, she said she felt she had to give her marriage another try. I should have walked right then, but I kept hoping she'd still be mine. But it wasn't about him. It was about me. She was rejecting me. 

Another pattern I saw develop, which reminded me of our first stab at a relationship, was her reluctance to talk about difficult matters. If she wanted to have a conversation with me today, I wouldn't even know what to talk about, there are so many things that are off-limits. It's not like I want to talk about those hard things, but I know I'll be better able to talk about things I do want to talk about if those are first put away. If they aren't dealt with, it's a possibility they could turn into a relationship cancer of sorts. Pretending something isn't wrong has never made a situation better. Unless there's nothing that can be done about it. In which case, why are you in a relationship anyway?

It went further than that, though. When I would try to have silly conversations, she would shut those down as well. When I tried to be playful, it was no use. She didn't want anything to do with me. Something happened in her, and I was the last to know. She was done. I just hung around for, oh, almost another two years. She severed all lines of communication until none remained. I had become the relationship cancer. She cut me out. The final severing of communication was when she stopped reading my blog, which I don't blame her for doing. It's an ugly mess, as therapy often is.

I do see patterns here. They tell me there isn't going to be a third try. She's even told me as much. Why do I keep hoping? That's what love does. Love believes all things, hopes all things, blah blah blah. Still, those patterns are hard to ignore. 

What's interesting to me is how cavalierly I dealt with the first heartbreak. It was clear she didn't want anything to do with me, so I moved on. It hurt. I remember that. I was angry. I allowed myself all of those emotions. And then I fell in love with the woman I married. By the time I got the letter from Cindy, I was in a relationship. Her letter said she loved me. I didn't see any point in pursuing that, especially since we hadn't talked in eight months. Especially since she made it clear she didn't want anything to do with me. I didn't know about the other guy, but if I had, that would have been another reason not to contact her. I saw myself respecting her wishes to not have anything to do with me. I was respecting my new relationship, as well. Yet, every time I think of that letter, I want it back. 

I didn't let go so easily the second time. I still haven't let go, though I have to respect her wishes to be left alone. I still love her, yet have zero contact with her. So from May of 2017 until now, I have kept that door open, hoping she'll change her mind. But we all know, dear reader, she has made up her mind. The second time, I respected her decision, yet my decision to love her remained. That's the biggest difference I see. I wasn't in love with her the first time, though I thought I could fall in love with her, and I would have had our time not been cut short. 

The thing that's the same is I'm the same person. The way I love is the same. The first time, I wasn't in love, which made it easier to walk away. The second time, I was in love. Both relationships she ended, and in a similar way (ghosting). Both times I respected her wishes, though reluctantly the second time. We were the same people with the same ending both times. Clearly, some people (thumb to the chest) never learn. 

I don't know the exact moment the last relationship ended. It was more of a whimpering death where it goes off in a corner and quietly expires. Maybe it was the moment when she told me she couldn't even be my friend. Maybe it was the time she told me she should have protected her heart and she wanted to put her family back together. Maybe it was the time she said talking to me made her want to kill herself (holy shit). Maybe it was the fiftieth email that went unreturned or another strange, stumbling text conversation, or the eventual end of those things. Maybe it was the moment I realized I was tired of missing her but it was clear she didn't miss me at all. She was having a ball. She was busy having conversations that didn't suck with the people she enjoyed. She was busy not missing me. And, you know what? I blame her not a bit. She deserves the best. She deserves to be happy, and it was clear I did not make her happy. She did the healthy thing, the better thing. I can see that. It's just hard to accept.

I don't want to write about this anymore. I want to let it go. This should be the last post that relates to this heartbreak so heavily. If I still have any readers left, thank you for wading through this meandering, two-hearted river of heartbreak. If I choose to write more, I hope I find something much more life-affirming. Thank you for reading.