"Post Script," Alternate Title: "He Remembered Things," AlternateTitle: "Let It Go"

"If you would have given me a few more years, I would have married you."

Christopher was typing into Facebook messenger. I had heard from him two or three times over the years. All of those times he was incoherent either from alcohol or mental illness or what have you. I don't know why. But this time he was clear.

"I gave you a year and you wouldn't leave your apartment!" I typed back.

"That had to do with me. Not you."

It was the first time that he acknowledged his depression.

He remembered things. Bits of conversation that I had long forgotten. Shared jokes. Moments.

He had also learned things. Said he wanted to play kickball, something I started after I dumped him. Wanted to go to some place I had visited. Get a puppy the same breed as the Femme Fatale.

He sounded like me in past relationships.

When I realized he sounded like me, I knew what he was looking for. Christopher needed closure. I had always fawned over him until I didn't. Then I met someone and got married. It took about 8 years, but I had left Christopher behind.

I told Christopher that I tried with him--that I had wanted us to work--but he wasn't able to love me in that way that I needed to be loved. I left out the parts where he got drunk and claimed that girls were stupid and when I asked about marriage, he was totally against it on principle. I left out the part where he was completely unsupportive of my life. Where he refused to meet my mom. Where he was a nice person, just a shitty boyfriend.

I guess I deserved his attention because I put up with his behavior, excusing it the first time because he was hot and the second time because whatever he was, at least he wasn't S.

I had turned cold so quickly on Christopher following my 29th birthday that I left him spinning. He left Atlanta and moved home. He remembered things that I let go. He was finally ready for me, he said.

None of that matters anymore because I'm finally happy, I said.

Take the Cake

I'm not a big fan of Facebook chat. Mostly the incoming messages startle me while I'm creeping on my news feed. I think the main problem with Facebook chat is that it's never someone you actually want to talk to.

Yesterday it was Christopher. I hadn't heard from him since last Valentine's Day when he sent me a friend request. I had sat on it for a week, accepted it, and then forgot about the whole thing.

His time stamp said he was in Puerto Rico. I'm not sure if you can hack time stamps, but I was wary. He talked about his vacation a bit.

"I see u have a dude. cool," he wrote.

"Yeah! Long time now!"

"Oh yea? cool. Will You let me buy you an awesome ice cream Birthday cake to make up for that birthday I had no money to buy you anything cool? you have to pick it up lol"

Christopher never got it. It was never about the money or not having a birthday cake. Just read the posts if you haven't. He didn't know where I lived. He proclaimed to my 10 closest friends that he just wanted to be a rich playboy. He told everyone he didn't love me. It was his treatment of me that caused me to end things. It was never about the money; it was about me feeling unsupported and alone.

I paused. That was a weird request. Christopher had moved out of the state a long time ago. His current time stamp reads Puerto Rico. It's not my birthday. Why order me a cake?

"That's all water under the bridge now," I typed back. "Besides I'm working out really hard and don't need the calories."

"Too bad you have one ready for pick up tomorrow after 5. I didnt personalize it so your bf wont freak or anything. You can tell him anyone sent it like ur dementia grandma lol"

"I don't keep secrets from him." The truth was Abraham already knew that Christopher IMed me. Abraham knows the story about the terrible birthday.

"That's weird," Abraham wrote to me.

"I know, right? We aren't eating cake right now and there's no room in your freezer, so I guess I'll just dump it at my apartment?"

"Wait. You're going to pick it up?" he asked.

Yes, because free cake? That's where my mind went.

"He doesn't live here anymore," I told him.

"Message me when you get the cake," Christopher wrote.

***

After work I headed to the gym. Christopher messaged me again.

"Did u get ur Birthday present?"

"I thought it was tomorrow after 5? I'm still at the gym."

"no tonight after 5 my dear"

"Ah well I'm not going to have time until tomorrow. I'm sure it will still be there."

Christopher: "no it has an exploding flavor flav clock on it"

Christopher: "u ruined it all"

Christopher:" u need it tonight!!!"

Christopher: "thats bs"

Christopher: "get ur fin cake lol"

Christopher: "If u dont get that fin cake im gonna flip out!!"

Me: "Dude. Chill. They're going to close before I can get there. Look at the convo. You said tomorrow."

At this point I was getting scared. I haven't spoken to him in years. I don't know if the Puerto Rico time stamps are real. Maybe Abraham was right. Maybe he ordered me a cake to get me to a specific location and time.

Christopher: "Not serious..Im on the beach drinking a pink umbrella drink..but darling Happy Birthday!"

Christopher: "Drinking a Nopalae drink with vodka..tyhis dude needs s breast reduction wtf"

Christopher: "itds pitch dark and i got stung by about 20 jelly fish"

Christopher: "]its kinda fun now when i dont"

Christopher: "im just putting them on my head now
numbing my brain"

Christopher: "sarah write a book about my life..lol"

Consider it done.

Where are they now?

Mark

Light Facebook stalking years ago revealed that he is married. She's not as pretty as me. Talk about wasted tears. At least I got a blog out of it.

Conor

Conor sent me a text back in April late one night. He told me he inherited a lot of money and was now independently wealthy but didn't want to tell anyone. He fished around as to whether I had a boyfriend. When I said I did, he stopped responding. He's had the same girlfriend for about 3 years.

Adam

Facebook had the last laugh.

Jack

Jack contacted me once via LinkedIn. Unfortunately I was in a really horrible place, so I sent him a weird response (i.e. "I'm good! I followed your advice, but I got laid off! And now I have cancer!"). Naturally he never responded. Nor did he follow through on any of my LinkedIn connections for a job. I have since deleted him from LinkedIn.

The Musician

Abraham and I went to go see his band last week. On the way there I was like, "Uh, so you should know that five years ago I went on two dates with one of the band mates."

I couldn't tell if Abraham was jealous or not. I thought he may have been since he told our entire party, including people I've never met, that I went out with the Musician. But on the other hand, the band seemed a little sadder this time. Five years ago the band mates were in their twenties. Now they're in their thirties, still working their day jobs as servers and still playing the same songs at the same venues. Five years later and they are no more popular. Nothing has changed for them except for their receding hair lines.

I don't know if The Musician recognized me or not. I've changed a lot since then.

S

Several months ago S' step-mom phoned me. S was back in jail.

"When was he in jail?" I asked.

Apparently he was sentenced to several months in jail for beating up yet another girlfriend. And he was being ordered back in for violating his probation and appearing in front of the judge drunk.

Christopher

Christopher. I don't know if he sold his email address or joined some marketing strategy, but I started getting those horrible, spammy emails from his address. The ones with a single link to Canadian Viagra.

I reported that his email address was hacked. I still got the emails. I sent him three emails kindly telling him to change his password. I still got the emails. So then I blocked him.

Valentine's Day he sent me a friend request on Facebook. I had deleted him after I dumped him years ago. I accepted and now he stalks from afar. LinkedIn reported a few months ago that he is now living in Illinois, so y'all are on notice.

Valdosta

I never heard from him since the night he dumped me. I've never looked him up. I don't want to know anything because I don't want to be sad. He will have to remain a mystery.

The Hungarian 

The Hungarian tried to have sex with me on our last date. I turned him down cold. I never heard from him again. Funny thing, it took me about 2 months to realize it.

Clemson

No one has seen or heard from him in about a year. I've been tempted to send him a text to make sure he is alive, but it's not my place.

Statham

Statham now lives with the ex-girlfriend, who is no longer an ex. They came out to Abraham's tailgate about a month ago and we were all drinking together. She didn't speak to me, but Statham was his usual friendly self to Abraham and me. Everybody acted like nothing ever happened.

Cockroaches

Around midnight after another epic Friday happy hour, I was shuffled into the parking lot and ordered in someone's car. I fell down in the grass only to stand up giggling and fall down again. It had been one of those nights.

The girl driving the car I met through dodgeball. I don't know her very well—it turned out I had been pronouncing her name wrong all evening—but I buckled my seat belt. Vince climbed in the hatchback of her Beetle and laid down, mumbling that he was being kidnapped. Only we kind of were. The plan was to go to Harvey's house, but the girl driving wanted to go to another bar.

We ended up at our dodgeball league bar. I stumbled into the small room that makes up the bar. I tugged at her shirt, "It's midnight and it's not a game night; we aren't going to know anybody. Heeeey!"

As soon as I said that, we ran into a guy on another team, one that I've befriended over the past season. He was standing with two other guys that I didn't recognize.

"Are your friends single?" I blatantly asked.

"Yes."

"For real?"

"Yes."

"Then come back to Harvey's. We'll play beer pong."

"But we only know flip cup!" he protested.

"It'll be fun!" I promised.

And just like that the boys left and picked up a case of beer and met us at Harvey's. I was surprised at the ease the situation transpired. I asked if they were single and they said yes. I asked them to leave a bar and go to someone's house that they didn't know and they said yes. The entire conversation took less than five minutes.

Harvey's husband set up the beer pong table and I played the two single guys with the girl who drove me around town. I won.

Just as quick as the boys decided to come to Harvey's, they decided to leave. The guy I did know thanked me over and over and said he had my number and he'd be in touch. Sucks for me that he was the married one. After they left, I received more texts about what a good time they had.

My phone rang. I didn't recognize the number, but I picked up the call, hoping it was one of the single guys I just met.

"Heeeeeeeey."

It took me a beat to place the voice. It was Christopher.

"Oh. hey."

He tries to casually start a conversation. My replies are terse.

"What's that noise I hear in the background?" he probes.

"I'm at a party."

"No, you're not. Where are you?"

"I told you. I. am. at. a. party."

Harvey hears my lowered and curt tone and turns around. Who is it? she mouths, silently.

Christopher, I mouth back.

"Hand me the phone," she says with her arm extended towards me, palm up.

I place the phone in her hand. She hangs up on him. Immediately the phone begins ringing again.

This is too much. The cute, single guys who boosted my ego had left. The one I don't want is calling. I'm drunk.

I left the ringing phone in Harvey's possession and ran upstairs to the spare bedroom. I flopped down on the bed and tears started rolling down my face. Stupid, nonsensical, drunk tears. I could hear Harvey talking on the phone downstairs and everyone laughing.

"No, you're drunk!" she shouts into the phone. "Fine, then say 'bank statement.'" Everyone cheers.

A few minutes later, I watch Harvey tiptoe up the stairs and peek into the bedrooms until she finds me. She crawls on the bed next to me and hands me my phone back. "I programmed the number as Do Not Answer so you won't accidentally pick it up anymore." As if to illustrate her point, Christopher begins calling again. She shows the phone to me, "See?" Then she hangs up on him. The phone rings again, and she hangs up on him again.

"He kept trying to tell me how much money he was making, but he was slurring the whole time," she said.

I sniffed.

She motioned towards the window, "Those curtains came with the house. Aren't they ugly?"

"Mmm hmm."

Another pause. "This is going to be the baby's room."

Great. I was lying on the bed drunk and crying in the baby's room. I tainted the baby's room with my bad ju ju.

"It's the farthest room from your bedroom," I tried.

"Are you kidding me? Do you think I want to be woken up in the middle of the night?"

I began talking. About everything and anything and nothing at the same time. I've spent so much time putting on a brave face that I just needed a release, even if it came through hard liquor and beer pong. Harvey listened silently, knowing that it didn't really matter what I was saying, just that I was saying something.

***

Yesterday I logged on Facebook to discover that S has now sent me friend request #3.

I had this huge accomplishment over the weekend. I got up and ran the race and finished in a respectable amount of time for my first attempt. I've felt so much personal growth over the last year and it's exhausting to constantly battle the roach infestations that are my sleazebag ex-boyfriends.

My ex-boyfriends are cockroaches. Where there's one, there's usually another one lurking nearby. Just when you think you got rid of them, they come back stronger than ever. They're nocturnal, vile and they'll outlive us all.

Unanswered

Text message received Wednesday, 10:03 p.m.:

When am I going to see you again?

It's from The Hungarian. Hmm. My newest mission was to get back out there and date. I tapped my nail on the screen of my phone.

Is this a date request or a booty call?

Let's call it a date. I'll call you Friday and we can work out the details.

Interesting. Okay then, I typed.

But there may be some booty involved, he added.

No. No. No. I haven't heard from him in six weeks. He does not get to assume he's going to get laid.

Not guaranteed!

Why not?

Because I haven't heard from you in six weeks!

So?

I left it unanswered. I am a person, not a vagina. He was making me feel less than what I already felt, not more.

The next morning, he sent another text: Booty still not guaranteed?

I never responded. He never called.

***

Christopher has resumed calling. I deleted his information awhile ago, so I picked up the phone when I didn't recognize the number. He was drunk; I was at work. It was 5 o'clock on a Tuesday.

Once again he was rambling about his new job and about all the money he was going to be making. He told me he could move anywhere in the U.S. He told me he was considering Texas or California. Yup, he said he was moving to San Diego in three weeks. I didn't believe him, but just gave him the cursory mmm-hmm as I typed at my desk.

"I am so happy, babe," he slurred.

The use of babe made my skin crawl. "That's great for you," I said, completely uninterested. And then I hung up the phone. I didn't pick up when he called back.

And now the 4 a.m. phone calls have resumed. Being woken up completely bewildered when I have work the next morning really pisses me off. Of course they don't happen when I'm at Valdosta's. When the late night phone calls didn't work, he started sending me e-mails. All unanswered. He had me and he treated me like he didn't even want me.

***

S's step-mother has begun calling me again, leaving messages. All unanswered. I haven't spoken to her since probably May of last year, so I know something must have happened with S for her to start calling me again. If he had died, she'd probably tell me on the voicemail. However her voicemails don't indicate death so I can't be bothered. And really that's the only news I can stand to hear about S.

It's never who you want to call, is it?

Agreeable Me

Christopher has done it yet again: I leave the state and he contacts me. He did it when I was in Texas and again when I was in South Carolina. He did it about three weeks ago when I spent the weekend at the lake house, and he also did it last weekend when I was in Florida.

The last two times I sent a text back stating I was out of town and then ignored any further communication. Last night he sends me another text: Thought ud call me on my birthday.

I had completely forgotten his birthday, which was fine because I doubt I would have acknowledged it anyway. Besides, I hadn't seen him since he ruined my own birthday. I owed Christopher nothing, but I felt guilty because I was his only friend in the city and, to me, birthdays are a big deal.

But I also resented his text. It was accusatory and guilt inducing. It was too similar to the Hope your doing good e-mail I got from S. My mom encouraged me to not call him and wish him well on his birthday, but I said I wanted to be more like Harvey and just be nice and happy no matter the circumstances.

And I tried. I said "Oh, that's cool" to anything he said. Instead of poking holes through his lies, I counted them. Seven. Seven lies.

But then he turned his TV on and I could feel the skin on my arms and chest and face crawl right off my body. It is said that smell is the strongest sense that induces memory, but for me it might be sound. The sound of a beer can pop-top opening gives me chills because of S. I can't stand it. And I can distinguish the difference between coke and beer, so I know it must be psychological. With Christopher, it's that damn TV blaring in the background. Because he was unemployed the whole time I was with him, that TV would be on—loudly—for 24 hours a day. Literally. His electricity was included in his rent, so he never turned anything off on the principle that it was "free."

So he turned that TV on and once again the TV audio was louder than his voice and my voice. Something in me flipped and I could no longer be fake cheerful. Lie number eight came. Then nine.

"I bought a pair of Calvin Klein corduroys at Wal-mart, I mean Target."

"NO YOU DID NOT. TARGET DOES NOT SELL CALVIN KLEIN."

"Yes, they do. And they had my size, size 32."

He's a 36. Inhale. Exhale. I clenched my teeth, "Oh, that's cool."

Then he starts talking about his new job. As he goes through each advantage, I realize it's pyramid scheme. He's the guy that stands in front of Best Buy to try to get you to sign up for Direct TV. The more people you recruit to do this job, you receive money for every sale they make. He finishes, "They told me when they hired me last week that they want to hire college-educated people to become managers of these posts. He says I'm going to get 5 posts with people under me and I get $10 for every sale they make. I'm making sales now, but my managers are getting half of my commission."

I rolled my eyes. "So it's a pyramid scheme."

"No, it's not. I asked."

"You know who says it's not a pyramid scheme? People in pyramid schemes," I offered.

"He told me up front, on his own, that it isn't a pyramid scheme."

"Look, it's the same thing as transvestites on Jersey Shore. If you have to think about it, it's a pyramid scheme. All I'm saying is that when I sat down for my job interview, my boss did not have to explain to me that it wasn't a pyramid scheme."

"But the marketing company is called Full Circle," he protested.

"You want to know why they call it a circle? To detract from it really being a pyramid."

I could not let this go. I couldn't be like Harvey and be all I'm so glad you found a job! You rock! He lies and he lies and he lies. And when people lie to you, it's an attempt to control you. The battle I happened to pick was the damn job, at which I'm totally sure he's going to be making $220,000 a year selling Direct TV to people walking in hhgregg to buy an A/V adapter. Far be it for me to block him from is money-making destiny.

Christopher tries to change the subject. "So... who is your service provider?"

"Nope. Not going to do it." I said flatly.

"No, really I want to know."

"If you are going to ask me about this, I am going to hang up the phone."

"Ask you about what?"

"If you try to sell me Direct TV, I am going to hang up the phone."

"But you don't have to actually get it, if you could just fill out an applica-"

Click.

In an attempt to be nice, I hung up on Christopher on his birthday. So I'm not going to be on the cover of How to Win Friends and Influence People anytime soon. I want to be more agreeable like Harvey, but this is going to take some work. For now I'm disgusted that I used to have sex with someone who just tried to sell me Direct TV.

I can't be disingenuous. I'm simply going to have to be satisfied for the meantime that this is a good thing.

Delayed Anger

Christopher returned. It seems like he has some radar for when I leave the state. I was sitting in the back of my father's SUV, sandwiched between my aunt and my step-mother on a quick drive to Hilton Head Island for the day. It's actually quicker to make the journey by boat, but I've read too many local books about people dying in the Port Royal sound, so I won't make the journey (yet. It's coming, I'm sure.)

My phone chimes and it's a text message from Christopher. I open it up and displayed in all of its MMS glory is a picture of an obscenely obese fat woman... or man... I couldn't tell and I deleted it before my aunt could lean over for a quick looksee. And now my phone is forever tainted because that was its inaugural naked photo.

The message made me angry. I don't think that the naked person intended for his/her picture to be sent around like that and I've seen too many Dr. Phil episodes of teens crying and attempting suicide over such a gross misjudgment. So I did what I suspect Christopher wanted me to do. I responded and told him in no uncertain terms did I want to receive any sort of message like that again.

Then he responds, "Sorry about the Homer Simpson pic." No it was not Homer Simpson. Homer Simpson is a fictional cartoon character. He sent me a picture of a living, breathing person that somebody loves. He won't even accept accountability for it.

Let's do a quick recap of Christopher's contacts since I broke up with him in the beginning of May:

• Called me and told me he was hanging out with a friend from college who coincidentally lived in the area but I had never heard of over the past year. Then he said he won a TV at his friend's pool party. I scoffed and said what kind of guy needs to give away prizes to get a friend to show up for a pool party, so then he changes the story to it was his friend's neighborhood's party, and then he finally admitted it was his own apartment building's party. That was a really long way of writing that he lied.
• Texted me and told me he was hallucinating off of Cymbalta, which was also a lie.
• Texted me a photo of an obese naked person.

This is the behavior of someone who is unstable. These stories scare me, because these aren't Christopher stories; they are S stories.

I get that he's desperate and trying things to get me to make contact with him. I know he wants me back. Of course he would. I too would want the only person in the 6 million-person city who would talk to me and hang out with me, occasionally bring over groceries and pay my way every time we went out. I would eat that up.

But I also wouldn't treat that person like crap.

Whenever I do think about Christopher, I get angry. It's some sort of delayed anger that's settled in now that I have had time to reflect back on it. The story that stands out most in my mind is this one. The one where I randomly show up at his apartment and turn on his shower and act all cheerful so I can take him out to lunch and pay for him. And he said no. He got back into bed, ordered me to turn the shower off and told me to leave before he pretended to go back to sleep. That is clearly not the action of someone who wants to be in a relationship with someone else. I remember feeling so hurt that I wasn't worth waking up for and I cried in front of him. Please, please go out to lunch with me. He just closed his eyes and rolled over in bed. Friend or otherwise, I have never had someone care so much about me that he/she shows up at my door when I'm acting depressed (not that I have in a long while, but still.) He said no.

He said no.

HE SAID NO.

He had his chance to be with me and he did not treat me or the relationship with care. If I could go back to that day, I would have stood up, smoothed my clothes and told him that this was no longer a relationship and that I was out. That was the moment I should have ended things. (I also feel like I owe an apology to the commenters who tried to be gentle and tactful, but I didn't see it because I was still emotionally entangled. You were right. I was wrong.)

It all just makes me so angry. I'm angry at myself too for just going along with it. My friends and I are usually only really active in the summer, so I was going long periods of time without them as well. I think if this happened in the summertime, I would have peaced out and met my friends for drinks on the patio and laughed at myself. Instead I let myself get caught up in that craziness.

*Deep breath*

Boys suck.

Update on Christopher

About 3 days after I broke up with Christopher, he was laid off from his third job this recession. I say laid off because that's what he told me, but I have my doubts. His story is that the company he was working for decided to discontinue the use of all of its contract workers. Considering it is a business that depends on contract workers and contract workers are cheaper because of not having to pay for benefits, I really find this story unlikely.

I remember one morning while we were still dating, he called me before my alarm rang. He said he overslept and would be late for work and he didn't know what to do. I rolled over in bed and said very plainly to call his boss and say he was running 20 minutes late. Duh. He said that it would make him look bad. I said the company would rather get some work out of him then none, so he better get a move on. Instead he concocted this huge story about how his car broke down and it would require the rest of the day to repair, and then he promptly sat at home at watched TV all day. And because he is a contract worker, he doesn't get paid days off, so he lost a day's worth of pay because he didn't want to be 20 minutes late. I think that says a lot about his work ethic. And I also think that is a contributing factor as to why he got fired a month in the new job.

So he tells me he lost his job and I wish I was able to kiss myself for being so lucky that I already broke up with him. It would have been harder breaking up with someone who was also professionally dumped.

He has also been telling me other things, like he's sorry for never telling me he loves me, because he does. He also says that he misses me. But these are messages coming through in texts. He hasn't spoken them out loud. He hasn't driven to my apartment to tell me in person. I'm not a big fan of the text message and it all seems a little too little, too late.

I'm writing about this in one lump, so it seems like we talk all the time, but we don't. About once every 2 weeks when he calls me. The majority of his texts go unanswered by me.

I got a phone call at 4 a.m. He left some long, rambling message on my voicemail that his apartment is haunted because there was a spot on his carpet that if he touched it, it was wet and soapy, but if he didn't touch it, it was dry. I deleted the message and ignored it. The timing seems about right. Now that he is unemployed again, he's staying awake all night, probably drinking beers, and got the guts to contact me at about 4 a.m.

A couple of days go by. I get another early morning text message. This time it's him apologizing for the voicemail, saying he his doctor prescribed him the antidepressant Cymbalta and it made him hallucinate.

I sigh and roll over in bed again. Only it's not my bed. These aren't my pillows or my comforter or my hardwood floor. My bedroom has carpeting. I'm in Dallas visiting my brother and I'm in his guest room and this craziness has just traveled through time zones with me.

He and I both know that he's lying. The week prior, I just finished a huge research project on anti-depressants for work. I can't stand liars, so I contacted him to call him out on it.

"You've never taken anti-depressants before so your doctor should have put you on an SSRI like the majority of users. Cymbalta is an SNRI."

Cymbalta is also brand name and he's unemployed, meaning he doesn't have money for a brand name when generics are readily available, and Cymbalta doesn't currently have a marketed generic form.

"Threw them away. They made me hallucinate."

"Hallucination is not a side effect of anti-depressants."

"It says to call your doctor if you hallucinate."

I sat and thought about this for a second. Hallucination is indeed not a side effect of anti-depressants, but it is a symptom of serotonin syndrome, which can happen with an overdose of anti-depressants. He must have picked that up from the Cymbalta commercial, that just says to call your doctor if you experience any of these things.

Serotonin syndrome also has other symptoms, such as diarrhea and vomiting and the reason you are hallucinating is because your brain is DYING. It's a very serious disease. It's the equivalent of having an anaphylactic reaction. If you had it, you were going to the emergency room. And you aren't going to have little friendly carpet hallucinations, you are going to have paranoid ideations.

I was fed up. I knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that he was lying, so I didn't even bother to respond to his last text. I wasn't going to explain serotonin syndrome to him all the way from Texas just so I could prove that I was right.

I sat on the edge of my brother's guest bed and felt sorry for myself for a minute. Christopher wasn't always crazy, but he ended up that way after I broke up with him. I have crazy ex-boyfriends. Even worse, the crazy followed me to Texas. I rubbed my toe on the hardwood floor and wished I could have normal ex-boyfriends who aren't that into me.

And then I had a thought. There is a really easy fix to get the crazy out of my life. Delete, erase, wipe out. So I did just that.

Look at me bein' all healthy.

Epilogue

Christopher called on Monday.

"You sound off," he said.

"I know. I have been telling you for a month now that I feel off and I think it's my thyroid medication," I said exasperated.

"Well are you off towards me or off in general?" he asked.

I shrugged. "I dunno."

"Yes, you do know," he pressed.

Dammit, he did know it. He knew exactly what was going on because I didn't call him at all that week and barely returned his calls. My phone log usually reads 20 calls placed to Christopher, 8 calls received, and 4 missed. Now my phone read 4 calls placed to Christopher, 20 calls received and 15 missed. He knew, hence the I miss you text from the night before.

Look, I will waffle. I will take forever to make up my mind about something, but once I do, I immediately act. I decided I wanted out with S on a Sunday and I broke my lease and moved out the next morning. There was no talk and then cohabitating and yelling and sleeping on couches. I was gone.

So I told Christopher. I recounted how he told me and my friends that he's the next George Clooney and he never loved me. I told him I didn't think he could come back from something like that. I told him that I've been unhappy. I told him I polled people over the last week and not only do 100% respond that it's weird he's never driven me, they also think it's indicative of our relationship.

And he denied the whole thing.

"I didn't say that. I didn't say anything about George Clooney. I didn't say that I didn't love you. You're crazy."

This was the same argument S would use. He would deny, deny, deny and then tell me I was crazy, indicating that the problem was me. I HATE this argument. Mainly because it deflates me. What do you say to that? "Nuh uh, I'm not crazy!"

"Yes, you did Christopher," I pleaded.

"Your friends are lying."

"You said it to me," I pressed gently. "You looked me in the face and said it."

Maybe he was so drunk that he didn't remember, but obviously he did to bring up the whole marriage argument with Harvey the next morning.

Then his next tactic was to argue with the statement "My 10 closest friends." He insisted there were 6 for some inexplicable reason and that this would make a difference. I got sucked into it and started counting my friends on my fingers.

"Look the bottom line is that love and marriage and children are in my life plan and it's not in yours," I stated, trying to steer the conversation back.

"Marriage is an institution designed to-"

I cut him off. "It's what I want."

"I can't believe you of all people want to get married with the way your parents' marriages turned out."

That hurt. That really hurt.

"It makes me want it more than ever so I won't be like them."

"I can't believe this is a deal breaker for you."

"It is."

He huffed. "You should be mad at your friends. They turned you against me. Girls are mean like that. You should be angry with them not me."

"I have thoughts independent from my friends," I said meekly. "The driving thing bugged me, not them."

"Then I'll drive you. I'll take you out in a limo. I will spend all the money I have on you," he pleaded.

"It's not about the money. It's about feeling cared for."

Then we circled the argument how he doesn't drive because he would rather drink beer and he doesn't want a DUI. So I say exactly, he's always chosen beer over me by not driving. He shoots that he likes to drink when he goes out and can't just have one. I stick with the beer is more important than me line.

He said abruptly that he still wants to hang out and be friends and I cheerfully respond absolutely. He's a good person and he makes a good friend, he's just a lousy boyfriend. And apparently it was too soon to switch in friends gear because he took real offense to the last statement.

I hung up the phone, cried lightly for half of an hour and then was over it.

People keep asking me how I am. I am disappointed. I am disappointed that we could have been so much. I am disappointed that he didn't take care of the relationship, he didn't take care of me. I am disappointed that he didn't live up to who I thought he was. I'm disappointed he's going to be just another guy, like I feared.

I'm not heartbroken. I never spoke of him or our relationship in terms of forever. I never daydreamed of us moving in together. I don't think that my father knows that we were still dating because they haven't heard me say a word about him since Thanksgiving. I think I knew all along that this was going to be summed up to one, giant disappointment.

Sigh.

Choosing

It was at this point that I started questioning my intelligence. Here is a 36-year-old man who publicly declared that not only does he never want to marry anyone, but also he doesn't love me. If this wasn't the warning sign I needed to know the relationship has run its course, then I don't know what it would take.

Intellectually, I knew the relationship was over and I had to break it off. Emotionally, I was still lingering. Yeah, he is very self-centered, but he does care for me. I know he does.

My friends started treating me like a victim. M-Joy text messaged me a few days later to make sure I was okay. Harvey greeted me with, "Heeeeey, how aaaare youuu?" and a sympathetic head tilt. I don't want to be viewed as a victim; I don't feel like a victim. If I was going to feel like a victim, it would have been when I went through the verbal and physical abuse. This? This was nothing. This was just me being embarrassed in front of my friends.

I met up with Harvey and a few others a week later while I was avoiding Christopher. It was the boys of the group who were incensed by the George Clooney comment, not the girls.

"This guy is still saying he's George Clooney?" laughed Government Mule, who wasn't even at my birthday party. "He's been saying that since Thanksgiving."

I did not know he'd been telling my friends this since Thanksgiving. For the record, I've never heard him say the George Clooney comment at all. Whenever he spoke to me, he always used the Kurt Russell and Goldie Hawn example.

I shook my head. "Man, Thanksgiving, that was back when things were good."

"Except for the whole hitting on Katie thing," reminded Harvey.

"Oh, you mean when he hit on fill in the blank?" smirked Government Mule. "It was every girl there, not just Katie."

I did not know that either. Christopher always denied hitting on her, but I know what I saw. And I know it wasn't one of those I don't realize I'm flirting things. He kept sitting down next to her and putting his arm around her. I called him out on it and told him to stop. And when she got up and sat in a chair, he followed her and squeezed in the chair and put his arm around her again. He actually asked my permission and told me he was going over there to talk to her. About me.

Then Harvey's husband stands up in the bar we were at last weekend and starts doing his Christopher impression. I also didn't know there was an impression among my friends. I had stopped taking him to Harvey's parties because he would always get too drunk to the point where he was falling down. I wasn't even falling down on my birthday. I felt a little protective Christopher during the impromptu impressions.

My friends insist I can do better. They say I deserve to be driven on a date. I deserve to be treated like a lady. It shouldn't always be me doing things in a parent-child relationship. They say I deserve someone who can take care of me. That last remark rubs me the wrong way a bit, because if anything, I have proven I can take care of myself if I'm taking care of others. I run my own house, keep with with my finances, set my own goals. I don't need someone to swoop in and do it for me. I just want some emotional support when I feel overwhelmed. Maybe that's what they mean, for me not to try so hard all the time.

Anyway, I agree with them. Whenever I watched 16 and Pregnant, I always saw a lot of similarities between Christopher and the teenage fathers who are little more than sperm donors. I remember the episode where one girl was actively giving birth and the father said he was bored and asked the girl to scoot over in the bed. While she was having contractions. And I distinctly remember thinking that that would be something Christopher would do. He doesn't see other people's emotions, only his own. When I told him that something was wrong with me medically because of my thyroid medication, he said he needed to get checked. He showed no concern for me. I don't have a thyroid; my life is dependent on drugs and it scares me. And he didn't care. I recognize he isn't a partner. He isn't someone who would ever support me in the way I want to be supported.

So I had to choose. Do I want the possibility of the life I always imagined I would have, or do I want Christopher?

I chose something that may never happen.

The Terrible Awful Thing, Part 2

Katie and her sister Jenna were the first two people at the hotel bar. Katie's hair changes color every time I see her. "Your hair!" I smiled as I picked up a newly darkened lock. "It looks great. My hair was flat-ironed too, but it washed out in the walk from the bus stop."

Katie frowned and exchanged a look with Jenna. "We parked in the hotel deck so we didn't get wet."

Christopher nudged me. "Katie thinks she's too good for the bus," he whispered.

"Yeah. That Katie," I facetiously muttered.

I chose that hotel bar because I wanted the party drink. It serves up to four people and comes in a bowl with super-long straws. I wanted my own bowl and just have that be my drink for the night. Economically it was justifiable because it's 4 servings for $23. Any single drink was in the $8-9 range, so I was saving money too. Win-win.

I looked at Christopher, "Don't worry about my bill here. I got my drink."

"Good. I wasn't going to get it anyways."

I ordered my drink. The waitress asked how many straws to bring. Sightly embarrassed, I held up my index finger and watched her eyes get as big as plates. "It's my birthday!" I explained. She smiled.

Then Christopher ordered the exact same thing. This time the waitress groaned, "Oh Lawdy, tonight is not going to be a good night."

"I ate! I promise!" I called after her.

It was like having my own bowl of hunch punch, crushed ice included. Friends filtered in. Birthdays are such a big deal to me. Anytime someone invites me to a birthday party, I always go no matter how well I know them and how much it is going to cost. It's the one day of the year where you can celebrate an individual. And I certainly felt loved.

MamaBear came. I felt a pang in my chest when she walked in because I just missed her so much. She is one of the highest quality friends you could have. I can't say enough about her. She is a type of person to show up to your birthday party when you haven't seen each other in close to a year and it's like time hasn't lapsed. And even though she doesn't really have the money, she'll buy your $23 drink.

MamaBear stood up to leave with her wife. "Bye!" I called. "Thank you for coming. Seriously, it means so much to me." They waved and turned.

"Have fun with your dildos!" Christopher then shouted.

I screamed his name and slapped him on the leg. I was mortified. I can't believe he said that to one of my dearest friends. And when Harvey found out what he said, she slapped him on his other leg. It's not cool to make fun of my friends.

The punch bowl started to take full effect. M-Joy and I switched places at opposite ends of the table so I could grill her date. Harvey took this time to grill Christopher. I took my punch bowl with me, even though there wasn't much left. I tried to ask her date questions, but I couldn't think any harder than What's your favorite color?

Christopher got jealous that I was talking to another guy. M-Joy had to inform him that the guy was actually her former boyfriend of 2 years and that there was no threat there. During her grilling, Christopher told Harvey that he has no plans to every marry. That he thinks marriage is a stupid institution and he wants to be just like George Clooney: a rich, single playboy.

By this time, my punch bowl was empty and I had returned to my seat. I kept thinking about the missed directions, the empty box and the card with just CHRISTOPHER printed inside. I was drunker than I had been in years. I looked at him as squarely as I could manage.

"Do you love me?"

So fine. I was that girl who got drunk on her birthday and inappropriately asked her boyfriend in front of her 10 closest friends if he loved her. It was a terrible spot to put him in. But really, all I was asking for was the truth.

"No."

My friends' faces dropped. In the last two minutes they watched my boyfriend declare that he doesn't love me and he wants to be a playboy. On my birthday.

"M-Joy! Bathroom!" I shouted.

"Got it," she called back. Not only did she follow me, but so did every other girl in the group.

"Oh my god, are you okay?" They all asked as if a family member had died. Hugs were passed around.

"Yep. I'm fine. I'm okay." I said curtly. And I was as fine as I could be without seeing straight. I certainly wasn't heartbroken. I was just mortified that the secret was out. My 10 closest friends just saw me get treated like crap. Poor Sarah, who always has problems. The only one in therapy. It was like getting on the bus in front of them. It was like getting on the short bus in front of them.

If that doesn't kill a night, I don't know what does.

I meekly asked Katie for a ride, so I didn't have to take the bus home. She agreed.

Back at my apartment I told Christopher that things were over. That he didn't love me and the relationship wasn't going anywhere because he didn't want it to, so there was no point in continuing. I flopped down on the couch and told him he could have my bed.

"But I do love you," he said. His voice sounded like a petulant little boy who was in trouble with is mother. I was disgusted. I didn't want to hear it in these circumstances. I didn't believe it in these circumstances.

"No you don't. You told my 10 closest friends you didn't. What changed between now and half an hour ago?" I mumbled from the couch cushion.

The little boy teetered off to bed.

The next morning, I was grossly hungover. Things didn't seem that urgent anymore, so I got off the couch and climbed into bed. Christopher woke up.

"I can't believe your friends are so adamant about marriage. They think just because they are married and happy that everyone should be."

I know Harvey, and I know that is not how she talks. I immediately got back out of bed and went back to the couch. And when I started throwing up an hour later, he never got out of bed to check on me.

He got up several hours later. I had already eaten lunch. He acted like nothing happened the night before and it almost convinced me that maybe I did blow things out of proportion. Then, just like he always does, he asked for a ride home.

The Terrible Awful Thing, Part 1

There was a cab involved. Christopher took a cab from his apartment to my apartment since I refused to drive to his place. But since he has never driven to my place, he got lost on the way there. All a mile and a half away. Two streets away. Three minutes away. So he called to ask if he was on the right street. He wasn't. Then he called again to figure out how to get to the right street. By the time he arrived at my door, my feelings were already hurt. My boyfriend didn't know where I lived.

He thrust a plastic bag towards me. Not the gift bag kind, but the kind with THANK YOU printed on it three times. "Here," he said. "I hate shopping and I can only stand this one store, so this is the only thing I found there for you."

I sat on the couch with the bag in my lap. Because he got lost finding my apartment, we were already late for our dinner reservation. "Do you want to just go?" I asked.

"No. Open it first."

I reached my hand in the bag and pulled out an empty box. It was a decorative box covered in a black floral wallpaper of sorts. The price on the bottom said $11.99.

"You can put stuff in that," he offered.

"I see." I was trying to act like I wasn't holding an empty box on my birthday, but that kind of disappointment is hard to hide.

"I was going to say your knitting stuff, but I guess it won't fit."

"Well my mom made me that really expensive knitting bag since my last one was stolen..." I trailed off. He knew the story. He was there when someone smashed in my car window and stole my XM radio receiver and my knitting bag as I later discovered. He was there when I cried to him about my bag. He saw the replacement one my mom made me 2 months later. I forced a smile and put the box down. "We've already missed our dinner reservation."

"Ok. Let's go."

We get in the cab and I'm silent. Missed directions. Empty box. Birthday. Christopher resumes his conversation with the cabbie. He's from Morocco and has been here for 6 months, driving a cab to live the American dream. In front of the restaurant, Christopher starts haggling with the cabbie.

"So... half price?"

"No, I can't afford half price."

"Fine 12 dollars."

"No."

"13 dollars."

"No."

"14 dollars."

"No."

I get embarrassed by the 15-dollar offer. "Christopher," I plead as quietly as I can. He stared me down and continued all the way to $20 dollars, the original price.

Christopher hands him his card and it's declined.

I wanted to melt away in a puddle. Christopher talks the cabbie into making a carbon copy of the card and running it later. The cabbie accepts.

Dinner was nice. It wasn't the original plan for Christopher and I to go to dinner. I was supposed to go to my mom's house, but the day before, my grandmother fell and broke her hip and my mother rushed out of town to be with her, leaving me without my mother on my birthday. Without dinner plans and without her annual chocolate birthday cake. I had been sobbing from the disappointment at work and people had been scrambling to help me feel better. My coworkers decorated my cubicle. Christopher offered dinner. I made my own cake.

We leave the restaurant. It's raining outside. I'm not surprised since the weather forecast involved pictures of angry-face clouds and lightning bolts. There was a tornado earlier with hail. I unclipped my super-mini umbrella from my evening bag and looked at him apologetically, "It's not big enough for two."

He didn't believe me until it opened. "What kind of umbrella is this?"

"The small kind that can fit inside an evening bag." It's not one of those mini-umbrellas, it's a super mini. (Target, $17.99 and INVALUABLE.) He tried to squeeze under with me, but the only thing that fit was his head.

"You knew we were walking half a mile to the bus stop and you didn't bring an umbrella?" I asked.

"Hold on." He darts inside the restaurant next to the one we just left. "Excuse me, Miss, can you check the lost and found to see if someone put my umbrella in there?"

I frown and immediately take two giant steps away from him. I don't really want to be associated with this. No umbrella in the lost and found, so he walks into two more restaurants and repeats. I wait outside in the rain.

No one has an umbrella, so he gives up and starts walking in the rain. He won't take my offer to partially squeeze under mine again. Every person he passes, he offers to buy his umbrella. Most people say no, except for Homeless Crack Guy.

"How much?" Christopher asks.

"10 dollars."

"How about 5?"

"No."

"6."

"No."

"7"

I outwardly groan. I feel like we just did this. Once again, Christopher ends up paying full price. Homeless Crack Guy now has 10 dollars and Christopher now has Crack Umbrella. It's nasty with writing on it and the ends of the umbrella aren't on the pegs. It doesn't close and you have to hold it open. Christopher is pleased. "10 dollars! Can you believe it?"

But he wants to see if he has a deal, so he continues to ask everyone he sees if he can buy their umbrellas. One not- homeless guy in a covered bus stop says $5. Christopher is upset.

I close my eyes and repeat in my head that I will be with my friends soon. As soon as I'm with my friends, I can relax and everything will be okay. I just want my friends.

On the bus, Christopher tries to get out of paying for both of us. But the lady isn't having it. He swears he already paid and the lady has a digital reader that says he didn't. Because this is going on, we overshoot our stop by at least 3 blocks. It's now another half mile to the hotel where my party is.

The wind whips and ruins my perfectly blow-dried, flat-ironed and hair-sprayed hair. It flips Crack Umbrella inside out, forcing Christopher to toss it in a dumpster.

I just want my friends.

Never Have I Ever

I spent a lot of time this weekend thinking about things. I have to end it; there is no other outcome. And of course Christopher senses it, or the Universe senses it, because all of a sudden Christopher has started calling me every day. The same time every day before I go to bed, like clockwork. And then last night he sent me a text saying he misses me.

Son of a bitch. I have been waiting the last 10 months for that from him. All the times I went out of town and all the weeks where we didn't see each other, I have been waiting for something, anything from him that proves he has some kind of emotion. That proves I mean something to him. And the minute I deem him a lost cause, he does it.

But a text isn't enough. He still does't love me. He still hasn't made any sort of effort like getting behind the wheel for me. I am a pretty low maintenance person. I didn't complain one bit when we took the city bus in the rain to my birthday party, nor when he didn't figure out the right stop so we had all these extra blocks to walk. In the rain. (There is a whole lot else to this story that I can't bear to write until after I pulled the trigger and end things.)

I purposely didn't see him this weekend. It actually wasn't that hard since he never actually called and invited me to do anything. Friday night around 10 he started to call, Saturday around 8 pm, and Sunday around 7:30. I ignored all of those calls, but even if they were invites, he waits until date night has already started to see what I am doing.

I saw my friends on Sunday. They are extremely angry with him (goes back to earlier story I can't talk about yet). Harvey spat that he was a piece of shit with the same intensity that she spoke about S. The boys in the group, who I can't even really consider my friends, all told me that they think he is an asshole. M-Joy and her date are still indignant about the bus episode, but really, that was the least of my problems on my birthday. Like I said, there is no other outcome.

He's not a bad person; he just isn't right for me. Except for S, all of my boyfriends have dumped me. I have never been in this position before. This breakup will be a defining moment for me. It will come from a place of strength.

It's still sad though. Regardless of all else, there is a bond. He is a good pal. A buddy. Just not boyfriend. I'm being a weenie about it because I have made up my mind and haven't yet done anything about it.

So, normal people, any advice on ending things?

Fantasy versus Reality

RUBY: How many girls get to date their fantasy?

FELICITY: Yeah, but the fantasy is beautiful and

shallow. The actual relationship is a whole

different thing.

~Felicity

I'm confused.

What do you do when you get everything you thought you wanted, and yet it's not what you want?

Christopher was my dream guy. When we dated in 2006, I obsessed over every detail. I admired him. I adored him. He was incredibly handsome, magical in bed, intelligent, fit and lived in this amazing apartment in Midtown. He had it together. I thought if he would just commit, if he would just say that I was the person he wanted, then I would just be the happiest and luckiest girl alive.

And then he found me. When I was so low from my relationship with S that I didn't even feel human anymore, much less a woman, he found me and he saw all the things in me that I thought S had destroyed. That maybe even I had destroyed. He gave me back myself.

It was beautiful and shallow.

But now the little things are starting to add up and feel like big things to me. Like he's never, ever, in the history of the world, driven me on a date. I drive 100% of the time. Oh, he has a driver's license and a car, but he refuses to drive so if we ever go out, it's up to me. This is compounded by my relationship with S, who had neither a license nor a car, so it's been a minimum of three years since I have been driven on a date. I really wanted to put "Be driven on a date" on my 30 things list, but M-Joy told me I needed to raise my standards and then I got embarrassed of my need to be driven around town, so I let it go.

Also on that list, I've paid. I've paid more than I should have paid. He was unemployed and I wanted to do things, so it only seemed right that I paid. And I'm not really bitching about that. I'm bitching that now he is employed, he has bought me two meals, one of which was my birthday dinner, and he went out for drinks afterwards with my friends, and my friends paid for my birthday drinks. He had placed three calls me to me, questioning the price of the bill at all three places. "Why was the bill this much? what did we order? How much did I tip? Is that amount correct?" It feels like such a guilt trip. He called me at work about the birthday drinks. He told me my friends lied and didn't pay for my drink, and I flat-out told him he was wrong. I saw his bill; he only paid for himself. Yet I'm getting another call and guilt trip over money he spent on himself. He didn't realize that because the party was of 10 people, an 18% gratuity was added, and then because he was drunk, he added an additional 20% tip. He asked if he could call the restaurant and get that money back.

He wanted me to drive on my birthday. I refused. So he said he would rent a cab because he was planning on drinking as much as I was drinking on my birthday. Then he asked to split the cab. I said it was his decision to drink and if he couldn't get me to my birthday gathering, then I would call M-Joy, who would gladly pick me up, and I would go with her. He called me back and said we could take the bus. So we did.

And when we go out, it feels like we only go to the places he wants to go. I don't know how fair that statement is, and I know a lot of couples feel that way, but I feel like adding it to the list right now.

He hasn't met my parents. He hasn't told me he loves me. He is against marriage. Six weeks shy of our one-year anniversary, I feel alone. I feel single if I were being truly honest. We only see each other one night a week. If I were having a bad day, he isn't the kind of person to come over and hang with me and bring a pizza because he refuses to drive.

I switched my thyroid meds in the beginning of April and I've been having a really difficult time with it. I feel noticeably off. I sleep all the time and I'm weepy. I took a day off of work this week to go to the doctor and have a blood test to see if I'm hypo like I feel that I am. I told Christopher this. He responded, "My mother and brother have hypothyroidism, so I should get that checked. I probably have it too." I held the phone away from my face and thought, Did we just really make this all about you?

So that's it. That's my entire list of complaints about him. We don't fight; we actually get along very well. He doesn't call me names or throws things. He doesn't do drugs. He is a good person. I just don't feel like my emotional needs are being met. I feel single, but unable to date.

Which makes me think of 5k guy. He was the guy I was trying to impress when I drunkenly declared I was going to run a 5k with 5 weeks notice. He sent me an e-mail the next morning saying he would see me there. I blew him off. I went to the 5k, but still felt messed up from the thyroid meds and extremely unmotivated, so I purposely didn't meet up with him and walked half the race before quitting and going to get a smoothie. That's right, I am a quitter. (And then I watched The Biggest Loser this week where a 400-lb man with a SONY WALKMAN did a 5k in 50-something minutes and I felt shame.THE SHAME.)

5k guy sends me another e-mail after the race and told me he missed me. I sent a lame response, but gave just enough detail to indicate I was actually there. That was that, I thought.

Then I post my 30 before 30 list on my Facebook page at the request from my friends at birthday gathering. M-Joy read the list out loud and my friends cheered and clapped with every item like it was pure gold. When M-Joy hollered "Take a dance class" over the table, Harvey shouted, "We should do a belly-dancing class! No! NO! A POLE-DANCING CLASS!" It was momentous. Everyone in my life has met my list with an overwhelmingly response (My step-mother wants to shoot a gun with me, and we planned the swimming with the dolphins trip in August.) Everyone at my birthday wanted to go to the mountains for the rip-line adventure (Thanks for the tip!). They are pumped about rafting the Oconee river. Christopher, in hindsight, was silent.

So I post my 30 before 30 on my Facebook and 5k guy sees it. He leaves a comment with all the items he can help me with. Like change a tire, and doing the 5k thing right. He wants in on the rafting. I've met this guy once then blew him off, and yet he wants to help me meet my goals. Christopher did not even mention it.

5k guy isn't the messiah. He isn't the answer to my boy problems. But I bet he would drive me on a date. But I don't know anything about this guy: he could be a pot smoker who likes to refer to women as bitches. He could be against marriage too. Judging by his Facebook, he's way more active than I am. I don't really care for his dog's breed (wiry-coat dogs are just not fun to pet like my lovely, fluffy husky).

I've always felt more like a Charlotte (Pride and Prejudice reference, not Sex and the City). I always felt comfort in being safe. As evidenced from my list, I'm not much of a risk taker.

I don't know. I'm just thinking. Actual relationships are whole different things.

Men are still people too

One of the reasons I rode out Christopher's unemployment with him is because we've done this before. I knew him back in 2006 when he had a great job and was working full-time. I remember laying in his bed and watching him get ready for work in the bathroom. He'd put gel in his hair and make the Zoolander Blue-Steel face while he distributed the product. Every morning this made me erupt in giggles and every morning he would respond by slamming the bathroom door shut. I knew he wasn't another couch-surfing boyfriend.

Work hasn't even begun yet and he's been mentally and emotionally and physically available. Actually he's been that way since he started calling again and I went on my trip to the mountains without him. We've gone from watching the Sex and the City movie last year when he told me to never tell him I loved him, to watching The Blind Side last weekend when he told me to never decorate our house like that when we buy one. His kisses have gone from puckered whisks to sloppy open mouthed greetings.

I've changed too. For the past few months I've been wanting to share feelings with Christopher more than I have. I've been wanting to talk about my therapy and share some of the S incidents (not anymore, but while they were still relevant) so I wouldn't feel like I'm going through everything alone. But I've been withholding and slowly resenting him for not feeling like I could come to him about those things. I think it stems back to when I originally told Christopher about the true nature of my relationship with my ex. I was just so disappointed in his initial response that I decided that Christopher could not handle the truth about my weaknesses. He doesn't view weakness as an opportunity for growth or change. Furthermore, he won't show his. The only time he will admit something embarrassing about himself is if I lead the way with my own inadequacies.

So I stopped. And so did he. I started to become resentful.

My therapist offered Christopher free service with one of her practitioners when he was really depressed. He refused, presumably because of the stigma of asking for help. I thought it was irrational because he knew I went to see one. I realized though he still felt the stigma because I never talked about it. I may have even perpetuated it.

I remembered a blog post I had written near the beginning of our relationship emphasizing the importance of truth, no matter how dirty or ugly it was. I gloated about its effect on our relationship. How my honesty made him honest. I haven't been living like that anymore.

So I picked up the phone one day and dialed Christopher. "I just got home from therapy," I announced.

"Oh yeah?" he asked, interested.

"Yeah. I'm kind of bummed out because we talked about my father." We talked about him too and his recent depression, but I decided not to lead with that. And Christopher listened while I talked about things that were unimportant to him. A few days later, he also listened when I brought up what she had said about his depression, including medical reasons for his physical exhaustion and recommended herbal supplements. He wasn't mad or pissed off that I had talked about him or his depression, and pretty soon he was asking me questions about it on his own.

The night I found out about my ex's arrest for domestic violence, I just told Christopher as if it was something we talked about more than the one time. He began going down the road of How could you subject yourself to that and I simply responded with I didn't tell him the latest news so he could come down on me about it; I just thought he would want to know.

He paused briefly. "Okay," he said. He said it positively, like he completely understood.

Christopher asked when was the last time S had tried to contact me. Honestly, I answered two weeks ago.

"But we were still together then," he whined.

I explained that he calls and leaves voicemails or texts or threats and I never return them. That it's not a big deal. But Christopher sounded like his boyfriend status was being threatened, like S might still have an impact with me. I can't imagine why he would think that way. Christopher was my dream guy that I wished and dreamed and prayed over. He has no reason to feel threatened.

It's been proven not once, but twice that honesty does amazing things for our relationship.

April 5th

*Cue music*

Christopher got a job! Yea!

He interviewed with a leasing company that required him to work 45 days out of town in different cities, and then be off for two weeks before leaving town again.

"So what do you think?" he asked.

I huffed. Being gone for 45 days at a time is a long time. I knew that if he took this job, I couldn't be in the relationship any longer. People can have entire relationships in 45 days.

"You don't want me to take it, do you?"

You know how in movies, especially romances, someone doesn't say what he or she is really feeling for some reason or another, so the couple doesn't get together and another hour of the movie goes by until the big revelation? Yeah, that's not me.

"For selfish reasons, I don't want you to be gone 45 days at a time and only be home for two weeks. That is not a relationship. But if you have to work and need the money, I understand," I qualified.

"It's just that if I take this job, I won't be able to keep looking for work," he said. "How in the world would I be able to interview if I am out of town for 45 days?"

"Well is this job enough for you to compensate you for not having another job? Something in your field? Would this be fulfilling enough to give that up?"

"No."

"Then I think you have your answer," I said.

So Christopher did not take the job. A week later I sent him a flurry of text messages about watching The Biggest Loser together at his apartment, to which I received no reply.

OMG, are you alive?! I finally sent.

Halfway into Biggest Loser on my own couch, my phone chimed.

Sorry, I was trying to nap because I have to meet with my recruiter at 7:30 tomorrow morning, he had sent.

I snorted, thinking he must really need his rest in that case.

Wednesday night I call Christopher while I was climbing into bed.

"How was the meeting with your recruiter this morning?" I asked.

He goes into this 10 minute explanation of all the tests he had to take at the headhunting company and the results on each test. He details how long the test were and how well he did on them.

"Uh huh," I mumbled while I was flipping through the Felicity DVD menu.

"And then I interviewed at a company and got a job," he finished.

"YOU WHAT?" I exclaimed. The boy likes playing with me, that's for sure.

"I start April 5th," he glibly said.

"WHY DIDN'T YOU CALL ME 10 HOURS AGO AND TELL ME THIS? OH MY GOD, I AM SO MAD AT YOU!" I shouted.

Christopher giggled.

It's a 9-to-5, Monday-to-Friday in the city suburbs as an insurance analyst. Not exactly his career path, but pretty close to it; it will look good on his resume. It doesn't pay his normal salary either, but it's a job that he can go to work and come home and still send out resumes and interview. More importantly, it ends his unemployment and provides him a regular schedule and a reason to get up every morning. It provides him with self-worth.

He and I are both counting down to April 5th. Four more work days. He's counting down to starting a new job and I am counting down for my week-long vacation to visit my sick grandmother.

Getting Life

Christopher and I had decided that a break was something only seen on Friends and thankfully it ended without either of us sleeping with the copy girl and dedicating U2 songs to one another. But I was still Queen of Space. Even though we decided to work on things, the problem wasn't magically resolved and I think he needed time to take a step back to straighten himself out.

Another week had passed. I was busy with training for my 5k and going to my knitting-for-charity group and meeting a new friend and going to happy hours that I didn't notice Christopher's absence much. Somewhere along the line, I had created a life for myself. All of the small steps I had taken since I started therapy last May amounted to whole new life. I learned that change isn't made by leaps and bounds, but small steps in a new direction.

And when Christopher called a week later, I was breathless.

"How are you?" he asked.

"I'm great! I am going to the gym three times a week to prepare for a 5k I signed up for. My group of friends and I planned a weekend trip to the mountains and we're in the talks of another roller skating night since the first one was so fun. And I just booked my spring break!" And I didn't lie once.

He was taken aback with how busy I was. I truly wasn't playing games with him; life had just fallen into place. It had been heading in this direction for awhile.

Christopher had been using his time wisely too. He told me he had been getting up early every morning to look for work. He shared enough detail about the jobs he had been applying for that I believed him. And then he asked to make plans. He came over on a Thursday night to eat dinner and do some laundry. While he was there, he asked if I had made any plans on Saturday yet. He's never asked me if I was already booked yet. He used to always assume I was free until I say, "I can't. My father wants to have dinner," or something like that.

Saturday I stopped at his place before we went out to dinner. We always bicker about who is going to whom's house to the point that sometimes we don't get together because neither of us will budge. I think my place should be the gathering place because I have cable TV, Tivo, a stocked fridge and central heating and air and my dog. He wants his place because that's where the beer is and his bed is bigger (but my sheets are cleaner).

Begrudgingly, I walk into his apartment. It takes me a few minutes to notice that he bought scented candles and had them lit in every room. In the bathroom was a brand new bottle of strawberry-scented bubble bath that I use when I'm over there. He tried to make it a nice place for me. I need to remember that next time we bicker over who is going to drive all three miles to the other person's place.

He smiled and kissed me at the door and playfully tugged me on the couch so he could finish Cops before we went to dinner. He was trying. It's all that I asked.

At dinner he ordered the same fruity rum drink I ordered followed by the same sandwich and side I ordered. "I must have good taste," I remarked.

"Why?"

"I ordered the rum drink and so did you. I ordered the lobster roll and so did you." I paused. "I like you and you like you."

"I like you too," he said sincerely.

Sunday morning I sit on the edge of his bed and begin getting dressed. As I tugged my last shoe on and stood up, he said quietly, "I have a job interview tomorrow."

I whirled around. "WE JUST SPENT THE LAST 18 HOURS TOGETHER AND YOU TELL ME THIS NOW?!"

He must have been wanting to tell me and waited until the very last possible second before gaining the courage.

He's trying. And it was all that I asked.

Make or Break

Christopher was not angry to see me on his doorstep, which surprised me because he just told me the previous night that he wanted a break. Showing up on his doorstep is not a break thing to do.

He opened the door. "Who said anything about forever?" I chirped.

We cross his apartment and take our seats on his couch. He pats for me to slide next to him. I do and he puts his arm around me. Showing affection is also not a break thing to do.

"So what you were going to write you off for not responding to your texts within 20 minutes?" I ask. "You've gone days and days without calling me back."

Christopher mumbles. His thumb is rubbing up and down my shoulder.

I try to talk to him, but all of his answers are "I don't knows" and shrugs:

"Do you want to take a break?" I don't know.

"Do you know why I got upset?" Shrug.

"Are you going to tell me what's bothering you?" Shrug.

I change my approach:

"Do I smell bad?" Shrug and a hint of a smile.

"Do you find me more attractive than unattractive?" Nod.

"Do you have fun with me?" Nod.

"Do you think you have been fun lately?" Shrug.

"Do you want to work on things with us?" Nod.

He eventually admits that he thinks we haven't been clicking lately. And he's right. It's hard to click with someone when you are not interacting.

He said he got angry with me for always trying to make him do stuff. "ALWAYS?! I squeak. "YOU LEFT THE APARTMENT ONE TIME IN THE MONTH OF FEBRUARY!"

Shrug. "It's the expectation," he explains.

So he's mad that I make the plans and then get angry when he doesn't follow through with them. I kind of understand that on some level, but I also think my intentions were good.

We leave it as the break is off and we're together, but I'm going to give him the space he needs to pull his act together. And I'm going to continue the path I'm on, because I've been feeling pretty good about myself these days.

Queen of Space

Space? He wants space? Well I'm the Queen of Space. I think he just doesn't want any accountability.

So I send a few texts to MJoy and set the phone back on my nightstand to presumably remain silent until it acts as my alarm in the morning. I roll over in bed and resume watching my DVD of Felicity. It's early in season two and she's just cut her hair. It's been 10 years and I still haven't gotten over this.

Another episode begins. I would normally be asleep by this hour, but I'm not tired as of yet. I haven't cried, I haven't anything. My phone chimes from the nightstand. A text.

"Good night," it reads. From Christopher.

Queen of Space I think, and I go back to Felicity. I was always Team Ben. And Team Noel.

***

Monday I head over to MJoy's for some girl talk and shopping. We shopped together the day before, but now I had a whole other excuse to spend money on myself.

I'm browsing the racks at Kohl's when my purse vibrates. I fish out my phone, assuming it's MJoy who was on her way. I picked up the call before looking at the screen. It reads "C Dad," Christopher's father from up north.

Christopher's parents are older, which makes total sense because Christopher is almost 8 years older than me. But I still never get used to the sound of his voice. It's innocent and endearing, a grandparent's voice.

"I'm sorry to bother you," his voice shakes, "but I've been calling Christopher since 11 am and he hasn't answered the phone. I've called him at least 10 times. Have you seen him?"

I check my watch. It's 8 pm. "He's sleeping," I state matter-of-factly.

"No, that's impossible. I've been calling since 11 am."

"No, he's sleeping," I state again. I take a breath, "We had sort of a falling out last night. But he's had this cold--"

"I know he has a cold," the father defends his son before he even knows why.

"And he's been taking," I feel myself begin to filter my words, "an antihistamine to sleep off the cold. So he's awake all night and sleeps all day." I almost mention the temporary job that Christopher got then promptly quit, but obviously Christopher has been shielding his parents.

"Oh." There's silence. I feel stupid having this conversation in Kohl's with the background music playing. "I'm really worried about him," his voice shakes again.

I sigh, unemotional. "I am too. I've tried to take him out and get some food in him, but he doesn't want to leave his apartment. He's just in a real dark place right now."

I know his father knows of real, dark places too. I wonder if he knows that I know.

"I'm sorry for bothering you," he repeats.

I've never met him, but I love Christopher's father. I openly wish he was my father. I try to sound cheery, "It's no problem. You may call anytime."

I hang up the phone and for the first time I feel a rush of grief. Whatever chances Christopher and I had are now gone because I spoke to his father. I wish I had checked my phone first.

I called my mother in a panic. My previous experience with a boyfriend's family was traumatic. S's parents would call to talk and I'd talk back normally, not knowing S lied about this or was deceitful about that. He would find out and then scream at me that I'm not allowed to talk to his parents ever. If they were to call, I wasn't allowed to pick up. He would get in my face and scream at me to stay out of his life, which confused me because we were in a relationship and living together. I imagined that Christopher would send a text saying to stay out of his life and that would be the end of that.

My mother told me not to worry. That the father needed to know what was going on. She said I put Christopher's welfare above my own want to be with him by telling the father what I did. Didn't I want Christopher to get better? I spoke the truth.

MJoy didn't share my fear when I told her what happened. She's constantly telling me to not compare Christopher with S. I don't think I'm consciously doing that; I'm just drawing from my previous experiences.

After that I couldn't smile or even talk. She was shopping happily and I was unable to interact. When she asked what next, I said alcohol.

We went to her favorite bar, the one she always writes about. She spoke while I mainly listened. It took me two hours to drink two beers.

Almost home, I fish for my phone again to let MJoy know I was safe. There were three texts from Christopher. The first one was commentary on The Bachelor, the second one apologized for his father calling me, and the third read, "Bye forever."

"Bye forever" is a joke I use with him. If I'm, say, going to go get something out of the car, I'll wave at the door and cheerily call, "Bye forever!" But I can't read emotion in text and our relationship is in a precarious position and he is depressed.

I flip my left turn signal on and head to his apartment. I am the Queen of Space no more.

Maxed Out

I haven't written about it, because frankly I don't know how to present it, whether from my point of view (which I have been told over and over that it is WRONG) or from the correct point of view from friends and family (which doesn't make me feel any better) or the secret insecurity I've been harboring the past couple of days.

So I'm writing my thoughts as they come. Welcome to my mumbo-jumbo brain.

Christopher has been depressed. Not in the ways I claim to be circumstantially depressed every now and then, but medically, clinically, brain-not-chemically-firing depressed. We've been locked in a pattern for the past two months where he mentally and emotionally slips away, I'll call him out on it, and then he swears everything is fine and he puts on a show that I'm not even sure he believes. And then the effort he's been making will peter out and it begins again.

My grandmother got really sick in January. My family was speaking of her in weeks and months as opposed to years. Whats-his-face lashed out at me and temporarily halted my world. I wanted to lean on my boyfriend, but he wasn't there. He wasn't answering the phone calls nor making any phone calls. He was sleeping all day and awake all night. We stopped spending the night together because of his sleep schedule. I got angry (typically my first reaction) and called a friend who said, "Oh, he sounds really sick." And she was all concerned over him while here I was, angry because I was feeling abandoned with his incommunication.

So I went over to his apartment and forced a talk on him. He was meek and small and didn't say much and admitted to even less. I asked what kind of girlfriend he needed from me: someone to support him or someone to hold him accountable. He said supportive. We talked about what makes him feel better. He said going to the gym. He signed up for a gym memebrship and I bought him a year's subscription to Men's Health. He did quietly thank me for coming over and squeezed my arm when I was leaving.

The next day he called me and said he's been up since 8 am and has been applying to all sorts of jobs all day. Good, I thought. Situation fixed.

And downhill slope begins again. He wants to see me, but doesn't want to leave his apartment. So if I ever want to spend time with him, I have to go to his place and sit on his couch. I begin to hate his apartment. I detach. He starts getting colds one after another and I'm not surprised because he isn't eating or sleeping regularly. That was the one thing my therapist asked me when I started seeing her. Every meeting: Am I eating and sleeping regularly? "Yes," I said. "Good," she said. "You're fine." By this standard, Christopher is not fine.

After not seeing Christopher for a couple of weeks, I stop by his apartment at 3:30 on a Sunday afternoon. My plan was to kidnap him and take him out to his favorite place to get some food, sunshine and interaction. He answered the door in his boxers, clearly sleeping. I turn the shower on. He gets back in bed. I tell him the plan. He tells me to turn the shower off because he's too tired to go. I begin to cry and say I need this from him. He says he needs sleep. I dance around the depression word again because he'll never admit to him, but he agrees he's been "mopey" this year. I cry and say he never comes over to my apartment anymore. We used to cook dinner together and watch TV, but he doesn't do that with me anymore. He swears he will this week: Monday or Tuesday. He asks me to leave so he can go back to bed. When I linger, he goes ahead and pretends he's sleeping.

A week goes by. I stopped by with several job leads. Every day he sends me a text saying he's got a cold and can't make it for dinner because he's going to take a sleeping pill to sleep off the cold. I've never heard of nasal drip incapacitating anyone to the extent it's taken hold of him. I'm understanding Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday, Thursday, Friday and Saturday. But on Sunday we had made tentative plans to go out to dinner. 6:30, 7:30, 8:30 rolls by and I haven't heard from him. He doesn't answer the phone and I know he's sleeping. But I'm angry (again my first reaction). He can't make a single effort for me, yet says he wants me in his life. I feel rejected.

I send him a text that states this sleeping excuse is old and his behavior is unacceptable. An hour later I lessen the blow with saying I'm acting this way because I'm tired of having my feelings hurt. I get no response. I go to bed.

Close to midnight I get a text from him that says he really was sleeping and it's not an excuse. I can't read the emotion of the message so I call. He doesn't answer.

A few minutes later I get another text from him. He wants a break because he's not feeling it and he knows I'm not either. I laugh because this is the second time I have been broken up with by text. I hate texting and I was only able to do it again this year. I ask him to define "break." Does he want space or to break up. "Space," he responds "And I told you I didn't want to be serious."

That's my version.

Family and friends tell me that he's so depressed that he is unable to feel at the moment. That I shouldn't take it personally because he would be like this with anyone. It's not my fault and I didn't do anything wrong. They say he was depressed from being unemployed a year before he met me and that being with me gave him a high during which he was able to function. But now the high is wearing off and he's going back to being depressed because it's been an additional 9 months and he is still unemployed. Unemployment has run out and his parents are enabling him by paying his bills. His credit cards are maxed out.

Each one of them expresses concern for him. But me? I'm angry.

And the secret insecurity? Maybe he just doesn't like me.