How Losing it Was a Sign that Things Were Over

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Abstract

h you,” and instead of feeling joy, I felt anxious. I started to notice differences in our personalities that gave me the impression that there was something missing. I loved talking about my emotions and he found it hard to express his, for example. We had different political beliefs that at first hadn’t seemed important, but as the country ran up to a general election, became more pronounced.Maybe we weren’t as well suited to one another as I first thought. We had some heated discussions about the future and what we both wanted from it. We agreed that we would like to travel more and thought about moving to another country together, but he wanted to “settle down” after that and have a family, whereas I was on the fence about the idea of having children.And then came the unforgivable moment. At the time, I hated my job and was in the process of applying for new ones. I remember meeting him one night after work at the tube station, (we were still living in our separate house shares at the time) and was annoyed as he’d showed up late without letting me know. I’d received a call a few minutes before with bad news about a reference that I was waiting for — my old boss still hadn’t written it and the job I was applying for had already called me twice to ask for it. I was worried that I’d lose the chance of the new job without the reference.As we walked away from the tube station, I sort of stormed ahead of him. My anger simmered. It grew out of proportion and I made no attempt to reign it in. We found ourselves in a small park with no one around and when he lovingly, caringly asked me what was wrong, I let rip. I shouted and I s

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creamed like never before or never again. I swore and raged, pulled at my hair and cried, all the while saying unkind things about him, about my old boss, about the world — none of which were really true, but all of which were hurtful, spiteful things.He looked at me, tears in his own eyes, and tried to comfort me, but I pushed him away from me. Not hard, but enough to shock him. I walked off again and he tried to catch me up.I calmed down slightly and now felt ashamed at my unjustified outburst. Cried and apologised. But there was something within me that knew that I had let myself get into that state because I actually wanted to push him away, emotionally speaking. I saw the writing on the wall, but didn’t know how to end it. He was just so lovely.Even after seeing me act like a mad person, all he felt was compassion, and a desire to help alleviate my stress. Rather than finding it endearing or reassuring, however, I found it suffocating. Was he really ready to accept all of me? Even the bits that were messy and chaotic and mean? Because the sad truth was that I wasn’t able to accept all of him.It took another month or so before we finally broke up. It was a painful month of talks and arguments, and even though I was the one to initiate the end, I was still devastated. I had lost a friend, a companion, and a vision of the future.Looking back now, I know that it was the right thing to do. We weren’t meant for each other. That doesn’t stop me from thinking of him every now and then, at how kind he was, and marveling at the good fortune I had to know him for a time.</article></body>

For the first and last time in our relationship, I properly shouted at my boyfriend.

I once had a boyfriend who was absolutely lovely. He was the sort of lovely that I couldn’t appreciate at the time. He was a gentleman. He really respected me and all other people around him. He always thought (and told me) that I was beautiful, even in those times when I empirically knew that I wasn’t.

We fell in love quite quickly. I still remember the first time that I told him that I loved him — about two months into dating — and it took him almost a full minute to say it back to me. During that minute I thought that I’d totally blown things — moved too fast — but he later told me that it was the first time that anyone had said “I love you” to him before (in a romantic way) and he was taken aback by it. He couldn’t believe that I’d said it first, and he couldn’t believe his luck that he’d fallen in love with someone who loved him too. Humility was one of his characteristics.

We were happy. There was a year, year and a half maybe where I thought we would be together forever. But slowly the doubts started to creep in. He gave me a card for my birthday that said something along the lines of “I hope to spend many more with you,” and instead of feeling joy, I felt anxious. I started to notice differences in our personalities that gave me the impression that there was something missing. I loved talking about my emotions and he found it hard to express his, for example. We had different political beliefs that at first hadn’t seemed important, but as the country ran up to a general election, became more pronounced.

Maybe we weren’t as well suited to one another as I first thought. We had some heated discussions about the future and what we both wanted from it. We agreed that we would like to travel more and thought about moving to another country together, but he wanted to “settle down” after that and have a family, whereas I was on the fence about the idea of having children.

And then came the unforgivable moment. At the time, I hated my job and was in the process of applying for new ones. I remember meeting him one night after work at the tube station, (we were still living in our separate house shares at the time) and was annoyed as he’d showed up late without letting me know. I’d received a call a few minutes before with bad news about a reference that I was waiting for — my old boss still hadn’t written it and the job I was applying for had already called me twice to ask for it. I was worried that I’d lose the chance of the new job without the reference.

As we walked away from the tube station, I sort of stormed ahead of him. My anger simmered. It grew out of proportion and I made no attempt to reign it in. We found ourselves in a small park with no one around and when he lovingly, caringly asked me what was wrong, I let rip. I shouted and I screamed like never before or never again. I swore and raged, pulled at my hair and cried, all the while saying unkind things about him, about my old boss, about the world — none of which were really true, but all of which were hurtful, spiteful things.

He looked at me, tears in his own eyes, and tried to comfort me, but I pushed him away from me. Not hard, but enough to shock him. I walked off again and he tried to catch me up.

I calmed down slightly and now felt ashamed at my unjustified outburst. Cried and apologised. But there was something within me that knew that I had let myself get into that state because I actually wanted to push him away, emotionally speaking. I saw the writing on the wall, but didn’t know how to end it. He was just so lovely.

Even after seeing me act like a mad person, all he felt was compassion, and a desire to help alleviate my stress. Rather than finding it endearing or reassuring, however, I found it suffocating. Was he really ready to accept all of me? Even the bits that were messy and chaotic and mean? Because the sad truth was that I wasn’t able to accept all of him.

It took another month or so before we finally broke up. It was a painful month of talks and arguments, and even though I was the one to initiate the end, I was still devastated. I had lost a friend, a companion, and a vision of the future.

Looking back now, I know that it was the right thing to do. We weren’t meant for each other. That doesn’t stop me from thinking of him every now and then, at how kind he was, and marveling at the good fortune I had to know him for a time.