It was like a drug.
The way he talked, laughed, was – I couldn’t get enough. He made me feel better… and worse. And I couldn’t get enough because, well… he wouldn’t let me. If he let me, I might leave him. And he wasn’t ready to risk that again. And more importantly, I wasn’t ready to just take what I could get. I needed all of it if I was going to have any of it. I couldn’t become separate and compartmentalized like that… and in the end, I think, neither could he.
Maybe that’s why he was always keeping me at a distance. Maybe that’s why it seemed that while he was drawing me nearer he was always very adamantly pushing me away. Maybe that’s why he seemed so disappointed whenever I left… because he wasn’t ready to ask me to stay. Maybe it was doomed. Certainly, it was dead.
Well, almost dead. The thing about these kind of relationships-that-weren’t is that just when you think you’re ready to pull the plug, someone moves a finger. All of a sudden, all you can do is stare at that hand! “Did I just see a twitch? A flinch? ANYTHING?” And how could you ever let anything die that was giving you even the tiniest inclination that it wanted to live? How could you ignore it? How could you ever just walk away? HOW?
I’ll tell you how. You tell it you are dizzy and nauseous and that you might need someone to cover the rest of your shift. Because if you tell it that you are in pain - that you might, in any way, need it’s assistance, it’s help, it’s actual, intentional presence in your life – and it doesn’t respond… then you know. Then, my friend, you can finally let it die. Becuase it wants to. Because it deserves it. And because, god-damnit, so do you.