I think we are breaking up. I said I’d sleep on it, and I will.
It’s hard and shitty and sad. And I’m not sure. But it’s been a long time coming. We started to get frustrated talking and decided to sleep on it. It’s murky. I know I love him. I know that I love spending time with him and talking to him and doing things with him and fucking him. I know I love his sweetness and his intelligence and his lovely dirty mind. I love podcasting and talking about bloggy things. I love how good he is at so many things. And I love his interests. I’d like to have him in my life.
But I can’t keep doing this. And I feel TERRIBLE for it. But it is simply the truth. This hurts too much. We don’t really have the room to have a relationship and it just doesn’t work. I want it to, but it doesn’t. We’ve had this talk before and I asked for things, the bare minimums for what I thought I needed.
I need to spend the night with my boyfriend. I need to see him more than once a week for a dinner and a fuck. I need to see him on the weekend or have time doing normal shit too. And we did. For a bit. I got the weekend time I asked for, kinda. I got trips to Ikea and some time at trivia on dates with our friends. Mostly weekend time was Sundays. And it was nice. It was. But asking for and getting minimal “compliance” and having a couple of Sunday evenings (not too often now) thrown your way still felt bad. Because it’s not numbers of overnights or calculated and tabulated weekend hours that make a relationship. It didn’t actually make our relationship more a relationship to have these things, these spelled out asks, and it’s just not possible for many of them to happen anyway.
So I thought maybe it’s me. I love my time with him. I do. Maybe I just need to want less. So I tried to scale myself back internally, not really change anything, expect less, want less. I stopped making him my priority and scheduling things around him.
Because it hurt.
It hurts to fall for each other like that and then to squash it. It hurt to be giddy and falling for each other.. kissing and kissing and kissing and making plans and thinking of all the fun things we’d do… to take welding classes and walks and build bookshelves and all the things we’d like to do. He thought he had that to give, and he didn’t. It’s life and it’s other things. It was scaled back and agreements were made that I was never told about. He promised no overnights and no weekends and assurances that I would forever and always be second. But he didn’t tell me that for a long time.
Back then, unaware, I asked him to do this or that or stay, or to go out Friday or Saturday and he was busy or “next time”. Months of this and I finally asked.. what the fuck? He was saying that he wanted things that never seemed to happen. Was it me? And he finally told me. Things changed. He isn’t available for a more full relationship. He’d like a side relationship. That stung. Why didn’t he want me anymore? What did I do? Why was I so unworthy? But I didn’t want to lose him and there was so much good. Maybe we could work it out? So we did for a while. And then there were hardships and we needed to be understanding. Of course I was. Of course. I suggested things to to make it easier. I shrank myself. I was happy to do it until I wasn’t. I couldn’t stay scrunched like that, not forever.
And we talked again and I tried to ask for what I thought I needed. That was the second time I asked for more access. I wanted weekend dates with my boyfriend. I wanted to sleep with him and not have him crawl from my cooling bed every single time. And he listened and agreed and shared his wants too.
I was becoming resentful. Even though he is a kind and loving man.. even though I love him.. there was this thing eating the edges. I was less present on our last couple of dates. I wanted to canoodle and kiss less. Sometimes I wanted to fuck less too. It wasn’t as exciting to hurry up and get one in before he had to rush home to his actual partner, his real relationship. None of this was conscious. But it was there I now see. It rankled me to picture him showering me off and crawling in bed to give those warm snuggles and afterglow to her. I pictured his warm smile and our kiss goodbye and then pictured the toothpaste removing the traces of me.. my kisses, my love, my passion, my pussy, my want. My warmth and my fever ran down the drain at his house. And it felt hallow. I kept busy or I didn’t. I thought making him less of my priority when I wasn’t his might help. But it didn’t. It just made me miss him on top of everything.
And then he told me how we couldn’t see each other again this weekend. And there it was, snap. I was happy, but this thing that had broken through those other few times broke through again. Jesus fucking Christ. Seeing my boyfriend for a normal fucking weekend night requires an act of congress.
There just isn’t room here for an actual relationship. I can’t make do any longer with the scraps. I know he loves me and I love him. I know this. But it doesn’t really translate. Because he loves me with what he has left and it’s not enough.
And I’m not strong enough for this. It fucking stings. It’s so painful to every time and in every way be so lacking. It hurts so much that it never bothered him to be so limited. He HAS his partner, his ONE. And then there is me. I am the icing, the extra, the other. I’m not his girlfriend. What couple doesn’t see each other on the weekends? What couple never spends the night? Makes no plans? Has no traditions and no hobbies and no time? We’ve never been to a movie, and maybe had lunch twice in our entire year and a half together. If it isn’t a big deal to spend the night and I shouldn’t care… well.. why can’t he spend the night then? Why were there agreements about this? Why is it such a rare and precious thing? It’s not the nights and the weekends and whatever. It’s what they represent.
In so many ways I was told over and over and over that I was lesser. In so many ways I lost.
But here is the shitty thing. They are NOT assholes. They are wonderful people. They were not doing any of this to hurt me. They were so kind to me in so many ways. But it hurt me all the same. Because there simply isn’t room. There just isn’t. That’s the crazy bit. If this had just been a sex thing that would have been fine. I would enjoy fucking him a few times a month. I’d enjoy that very much. Our chemistry even cooling off is white hot.
But we love each other. And there is the rub.
I can’t love you and be this little side thing. I can’t always and forever come second to the woman you actually love. I just can’t do it. It hurts me too much. I’m not made for that. I don’t need to be first, but I CAN’T always and forever be last. I just hurts. I’ve spent so much time being so fucking sad and hurt and lonely here in this relationship. And pulling away didn’t help Me making us not a priority didn’t help. Trying to want less worked, but it didn’t help. I love him but I can’t go there because he can’t go there with me. And I just can’t do that any more. I don’t want to.
This life is limited. I can’t and I don’t want to pour out my love to someone who can’t go there with me, even if he is thoughtful and sweet and kind and sexy. I was ultimately sad here. It tweaks my insecurities and it stirs something inside too that stands up for me. I don’t say this with ego or superiority or whatever but I do say it in honesty. I’m worth more.
Of course I could make a comprehensive list of my flaws, but I AM a good partner. And I’m offering Cleveland something he simply doesn’t have room for. He thought he did. He asked for it. I think he wanted to have it. But he has been spinning plates here for a while and something had to give and that’s me. I give.
I don’t know exactly what to do here. But I know I can’t keep doing this. I’ve never been a person who can turn love off like a light. Even after everything, after it all, I still love Hubby. I don’t think I’ll ever stop loving him. I don’t know. Cleveland and I are sleeping on it.
But it seems like the end of a season.