A Brief History of My Undoing
Not my strongest fiscal quarter
It is my birthday. 29. And my life has never been worse.
In case you missed it, a quick recap of the last few months:
March 19th
Half of my back tooth inexplicably fell out. Gotta love Ehlers Danlos Syndrome. Many needles (nightmare) and drilling into nerves.
March 20th (yes, the next day)
Hit by a van making an illegal left turn while riding my electric scooter to work. Flung into intersection a la rag doll. Incredibly sprained and broken ankle. Immense pain and terror. More needles. Mom and dad fly in. Surgery (NIGHTMARE). Immobile. Lose 6 out of 7 jobs. Miss partner’s birthday party. Mom stays as caregiver. Pay for physical therapy and mobility aids out of pocket because insurance is a scam.
April 29th
Doctor approves me to start learning to walk again. Parental medical emergency out of nowhere (NIGHT. MARE.). Last-second flight. Crutch through airport. Doctors, but this time not for me. Would pay for out-of-town physical therapy but nowhere will take me. Stay at parents’ house instead of going back home because of upcoming teaching gig.
June 13th
11pm, night before said gig begins. A two-week arts intensive. Aforementioned partner wants to “talk.” Partner breaks up with me.
It is at this point that I must free myself from the confines of a list format to provide necessary context.
Some Context About This Idiot
Partner and I were about a month out from our 5 year anniversary.
Prior to dating, partner was my best friend for 8 years. That’s 13 years total, for the number-challenged out there. The last time I knew a life without this man I was 16.
Our whole lives were merged. Still are, really. A lot of untangling yet to go. He was my first everything. The only person (well, outside of Darren Criss) I’ve ever loved. Ever dated. Certainly ever sacrificed everything for.
2.5 years ago, I left my job and family to move across the country for him to pursue his dream. Then my family dog died. Then I suppressed my acute gender dysphoria because “he’s straight.” Then I got a wonderful job. Then I was laid off from that job. Then we adopted a dog. Then I suffered through months (Years? Idek) of poor treatment from him, still loving him even as he devolved into someone I didn’t like.
And that’s the part that really gets me. I know this fool like no one else. I’ve witnessed him make thousands of mistakes and dumb decisions. I’ve forgiven him time after time. Grieved him ad nauseum. Believed in him through a sea of red flags. Because he is also wonderful. Smart. Funny. Earnest. Cheeky. Weird. Thoughtful. Caring. Honest. Goofy. Kind. We were crafted for each other.
And I knew, to some degree, that if our relationship were to fail, it would do so along these lines. So did he. We talked about it many times; he would lose interest in me once the novelty wore off and at worst he would cheat, mirroring past patterns. In his own words, if we were to break, it would be entirely his fault.
And it was.
He did lose interest. He got his dream life. I was less important in the scheme of things than I was before. And in some ways, as a fellow dream-haver, I got that. I didn’t resent it. I had my own things to do.
What I didn’t foresee was him becoming a different person altogether. Getting enveloped by ego. Vices. Hedonism. Emotionally abandoning me. Hell, physically abandoning me. Disliking me as a person. Being cruel to me.
This person I’ve adored for as long as I’ve known him. This person who’s adored me for just as long. Who put so much effort into building a life together. My safe person. My confidant. We’ve had each others’ backs through our formative years. Our story was fairytale.
And, for a reason I still do not see, he sabotaged it. Discarded me.
“Incompatibility,” he said. “Feeling stuck.” “Choosing myself.”
I did openly laugh as those words came out of his mouth, fear not.
We Ball, I Suppose
All things considered, I’m actually doing quite well now. I mean I lost my home and belongings and insurance and dog and partner and work and city and friends after the lowest emotional and physical point of my life…but I’m okay. I’m functional. Happy, even.
The darkness only briefly swirls when a remnant arises. A shared calendar notification. A message from his mom. A Facebook flashback (masters of destruction, those things).
Now, as I sit here on my birthday, at 1:25am, looking forward to celebrating with my angelic family and friends in the day ahead, I am riddled with the guilt of wondering where you are.
I know today you’re attending day one of a two-day out-of-town wedding affair for your coworker. An event for which you did not receive a plus-one and for which you were thus going to abandon me…
Are you already there? In a hotel room? Are you awake right now? Where’s Gnocchi? (Our dog, not the pasta at large.) Have you even thought about it being my birthday? Does it cross your mind to reach out? Are you still in the “relief” phase? Completely cold and disconnected? Or has the weight of it started to seep in despite your carefully crafted distractions?
So That’s Been Weird
I swear I’m doing fine for someone with a gaping hole in their chest. Haven’t even shed a tear while writing this.
I’ve learned pretty quickly how to cope with his constant presence in the back of my mind. With still wanting him beside me. Still having the impulse to share things with him. Still reaching for my phone to call on my way home.
But the person I loved no longer exists.
So I’ll just keep him tucked away. Preserve the golden parts of him, of us, in my memory. While never forgetting the way he ruined it. Me—he ruined me.
And as I rebuild my life in the year ahead, as 30 looms, may I find peace in the knowledge that I was brave enough to give and receive true love, even if ephemeral.
I am a theatre person, after all.
Damn it. Now comes the tear.
Prof. Tyndall
’tism. t’eatre. teachin’.
