it’s strange how one action can hurt in such a variety of ways, whatever the circumstances are. I’ve been in relationships that have fizzled out and others that ended in a big bang. I’ve been the person to end it, and I’ve been the person who’s been dumped. It seems that no matter the manner in which it happens, breaking up is always hard to do.
You first encounter the pain of breaking up when you’re very young, although you may not realize it. I don’t mean that in the Freudian sense, where leaving your mother’s womb will leave with you a feeling of betrayal and hurt that you’ll carry with you for the rest of your life. No, I’m referring to that toy that you just loved so much, or that item of clothing that you could never go without. In my case it was my precious red t-shirt. That t-shirt meant the world to me: I’d sleep in it, wake up in it, go out with my friends wearing it, and the only times that it ever left my skin were when I had to wear my uniform for school, I had a shower, or my mother would steal it so that she could go downstairs and wash it.
The day finally came when I was too big to wear it, but I was adamant that the shirt and I were one, and wherever I go, it goes. My mother of course tried to steal it and throw it away, but I knew what she was up to, and every time she’d sneak into my room, I’d be there first, protecting what was mine. But, as I was saying, the day finally came when the shirt had to go. It had started making threats already, allowing itself to collect a few holes here and there, tearing at the seams, letting little threads fall away. But I felt that I had given too much to our relationship to simply let it end there. Every stray thread was placed back in place, every tear stitched up. I simply couldn’t allow the thought to enter my mind that the shirt and I may be through. Still, no matter how hard one tries, you can only hold the inevitable at bay so long, and then, you simply have to give in.
There was a big row, of course, between my mother and I but, in the end, reason shone through my argument and I had to let it go. I spent that last night like a man condemned. The shirt and I stayed up reminiscing, remembering all our adventures (and at times misadventures) together. When the time came I remember feeling depressed, let down, and maybe a little betrayed, but most of all I remember thinking “What am I going to do next?” Well, that analogy brings me to the topic at hand rather nicely.
There is a reason I picked this topic to write about. Though you may not believe it, there is some sort of rhyme and reason to all of this: I just broke up. Hold back the gasps of disbelief – it’s true. Of course you’re most probably wondering how anyone would leave someone who could cling so tightly to an item of clothing, someone so evidently loyal, loving, and if I do say so myself, a bit of a fashion icon. Well the reasons we broke up are long and varied and I don’t have the time to write them, as I’m sure you don’t have the patience to read them. To cut a long story short, my partner and I just broke up for the second time in a relationship that spanned two years.
The first time we broke up it was because things had started getting boring, and there were more and more petty arguments. At first we thought that maybe it was just a phase and that we’d just bear it out, but eventually I could see that it wasn’t working out and I decided to call an end to the whole affair. It was harder than I could imagine. At first I felt relieved, I was single and free again, I could do what I like and see whomever I wished, with no thought to the brooding presence hanging over my shoulder. That thrill ended very quickly though, as soon as I realized that all I wanted to do was be back in my love’s arms, and the only person I wanted to see was the one person I denied myself from seeing.
Every time I went out, I’d see her face wherever I looked. All of a sudden famous film stars began to look familiar, and I’d realize that they looked a bit like my love (I tried not to pay attention to the fact that everyone else thought that they look nothing alike). Every outing to the cinema, every lunch at a great restaurant, every long drive was missing the most vital ingredient. I decided to give it another go. Well as you can imagine I went back to her and found that the flame still burned bright in both of us. We got back together and things started going really well. We went out together all the time, we were always on the phone, and we thought about each other all the time.
Eventually though things stopped being terrific, and became merely good. Good in turn became mundane, mundane turned into annoying, and in the end annoying turned into horrific. The petty fights started again, the bouts of depression, the name calling, and the long moments of silence on the phone. After just a few months things became unbearable again and we both decided to call the whole thing off, saying it would be better if we ended it now as friends, rather then wait until we couldn’t stand the sight of each other.