Two ghosts in two days
Haunted by the past, questioning my decisions, I am forced to wonder if I made the right choice — even as I'm reminded of why I left.
The texts came 19 hours apart.
I’d just settled into the audience of an event run by work, ironically one centered around dating, when Rachel texted me.
My ex was there. She’d just checked him in.
In shock, she’d said nothing. She just immediately shot off the message to me.
It’s a sign of where I’ve been for the past eight months that I even had to ask which one. Thankfully, it was Stephen. I breathed a sign of relief. That was one relationship I knew I wouldn’t miss. And, just like how he’d always been late in our relationship, late to our relationship, he was late to the event.
It was written everywhere. On Eventbrite, on our website, in the reminder emails.
6:30 p.m.
Stephen arrived promptly at 6:45.
Early for him.
The next text arrived a day later. Once again, I was at work. In the office this time rather than in an auditorium.
I froze the second I saw it pop up on my lock screen. I didn’t even want to open it.
At Rachel’s desk, the forever audience to my exes, I looked at her and said, “I don’t want to deal with this.”
And, at first, I didn’t. I opened my messages and sent a screenshot to Kirsten and Lisa, not of the message, just of its existence.
This message came from my most recent ex. I hadn’t wanted to break up with him. But I knew I had to. There was a laundry list of problems. An accusation that I treated my family poorly. An argument over his dog, who behaves destructively as a result of his decisions. Him simply dropping that he was “concerned” about something but then leaving it hanging in the air unresolved. Leaving me to deal with problems that involved both of us. Guilt over relatively minor asks of him. Feeling overwhelmed by how much he wanted from me. Shame as he said he missed me when I just needed a night or two or five without him. Not alone. Just without him.
He’d left it open when I ended it barely four weeks ago. If I changed my mind, Bryan would be there.
In the days after I left him, I filled my time with all of the things I loved. I saw movies. I caught up on my TV shows. I finished one book, read another and am in the middle of a third, with a fourth waiting on my shelf. I picked up Baby from my parents. I relished in the fact that he, thankfully, disliked having to share my bed with, well, anyone. Stephen had seen how Baby looked at him with disgust at being kicked out of my bed in favor of a man I’d only been seeing for two months.
We saw how that turned out. I broke up with Steven the next day.
So I was happy with my decision to break up with Bryan. I lived in peace.
And then that second text showed up.
The night before, Mom had wondered if Stephen was stalking me. I told her that, no, he was simply an idiot. He lacked the wherewithal to understand that it is inappropriate to show up to event run by your ex-boyfriend’s workplace.
Now, I called her after work and said it was all a conspiracy. That could be the only reasonable explanation, I’m sure.
If only.
The cruel thing about coincidences like this is that there simply is no reason. A conspiracy would give me purpose. It would make me angry. It would give me something to deal with.
Instead, I am left to ponder my choices.
I am left to consider about how maybe my decision to choose kindness when I spotted Stephen at a bar a couple weeks ago, my decision to talk to him, might have made him feel as if I wouldn’t mind him showing up to that event.
I am left to question whether I made the right decision in breaking up with Bryan. I know I did. On paper, it’s easy. Writing out the reasons make it more obvious than ever. Yet it was painful to consider. I’d just read an article where that mentioned there was no such thing as a perfect man, and that same person had also said that when you know it’s not right, you know it.
Which is it?
I know it’s both. I know there are some things you compromise on and some you don’t. But I was perfectly fine living in my bubble. I was happy avoiding thoughts of Bryan. I was happy to fill my life with distractions that meant I didn’t have to reckon with doing the what feels like the exact opposite of finding love, ending a relationship, even though rationally I know that it’s just part of the journey.
So as I left the office. I just wanted to scream. I wanted to create a protective barrier extending miles beyond me in the virtual and real worlds that at its boundaries said just three words.
Leave me alone.
Get away from me like the toxic jobs I’ve left, like the people I can’t stand, like the diseases I’ve fought at times simply to stay alive.
Get away from me like the advice I give to other people about how moving on takes time. Advice that is so hard to practice myself.
At first, I thought I felt violated by the reappearance of my most recent two exes. I realize now that it’s just painful to be reminded by decisions that caused both you, and the other person involved, pain.
No one ever told me that breaking hearts means breaking your own heart, too. I simplistically villainized my exes. It’s easier to see them as heartless bastards who stopped loving me even though I wasn’t done loving them.
Stephen was easier to move on from. I wonder how long before I actually broke up with him had I stopped liking him.
I broke up with Bryan because I had to, not because I wanted to. And I’ve spent the last month running away from dealing with feelings that were so obviously still there, hidden by the relief of escaping the problems.
The dilemma with ghosts is they never seem to die. They fade away into memories. You never know when they might materialize, when they might pass through the door uninvited, when they might text you out of the blue in an already fragile moment and say they miss your humor.
My humor, the hallmark of my personality that I love and rely on more than anything else to survive heartbreak.
I wondered when we broke up whether he knew me at all. He had a striking carelessness with which he sealed the words that drove my decision to leave.
He knew enough, enough to write a text that would make me want to respond even though I know I shouldn’t.
I just hope the desire to find companionship doesn’t leave me scrolling through my texts late at night, willing to breathe life into a ghost that should be left in the grave.
More than just my Love Story
ICYMI: My bar, my ex and the campaign event of a lifetime. (Just my love story, actually.)
Roxane Gay as Dear Prudence: My friend is dating an infamous grifter. (Slate)
An NYC matchmaking service that helps gay men find ‘The One’ — no pics allowed. (Gothamist)
Mixing dating apps and travel can be dangerous. Be careful. (Washington Post)