talk

We had the big talk. Two of them, in fact. I've never cried so much. My face was actually sore to the touch and I became dehydrated. I suspect there will be many more tears in the near future, however.

I told Richard I am seriously considering going home. I think he actually suspected as much, ever since I excitedly told him of my business idea. He had braced himself for it, but it was still ugly. By the end, we were both crying and clinging to each other, not wanting to be parted but crushed by the apparent inevitiblity of it all.

That was Thursday. He had come up for a few days visit. I had taken Thursday and Friday off, and we were set to return to Glasgow for his grad ball. Everything was going so well, we were having such a good time, I was trying my darndest to postpone the TALK. But it all came out on Thursday night, while getting ready for bed. Needless to say, we didn't sleep very well.

On Friday, however, we woke up feeling better somehow, and the rest of the day was fine. Went to the ball, hung out with his classmates, who were gorgeously dressed by terribly behaved. Everyone was in fucking GOWNS and I felt terribly underdressed, but no matter. We left early, exhausted by the tears and lack of sleep the night before. We were fine.

Then it all fell apart the next morning.

No matter how bad the previous talk had been, I was still left with the impression that no matter what, things would work ou in the end. We've been apart for awhile now - mind, not an ocean apart - and I've been playing this awful waiting game, alone. What's three more years wait, in a different venue? That's how I saw it. Naive, romantic optimist that I am. (Yah, optimist; Bet you never thought you'd hear that label attached to yours truly!) Perhaps I thought that with a little time and distance, the boy would realise just how much he needs me and would come around. Right.

So when Saturday morning came 'round and we started nonchalantly discussing the idea again and he mentioned the word 'break-up' and suggested he would probably see other people, it came as a real blow. This may seem surprising to you, as in retrospect it's totally silly for me to think our relationship could survive such an upheaval, but remember my naivety. And unwillingness to face the awful ugly truth.

The reality of the situation was too much to bear. The tears, they started afresh, and with more ferocity than before. Richard was of course confused, as he assumed a break-up was my objective all along, and he calmly asked me how I envisioned us being able to stay together from two different continents. Fair question really, and one I couldn't answer, which made me bawl anew. He was right, totally right. This was it. The end. THE END.

I couldn't deal. I'm not ready. It's not fair. I seriously pictured this boy in all my visions of the future. He's my best friend, my everything. I can't just let him go. But what is my alternative? And he didn't seem to be offering any alternatives. He didn't even seem that upset. Okay, I know that was completely unfair because he was upset. And later, he would show me just ho much. But at that moment I was more upset, and angry. At him and at myself. For letting it get this far. For... I don't know what. He felt like shit as well; he felt totally responsible for my misery.

It's just not fair is all. It's like the gods are conspiring against us. Everything else in the relationship is stellar. Really, truly. Despite the distance, despite my moody bitchiness, despite everything! He's the best thing that's ever happened to me.

I told him all this, too. It wasn't all negative stuff. In fact, most of it was positive. Throughout the tears and proclamations, we reminded each other how amazing we were and how much we loved each other and all that. But in the end it came down to logistics. He can't commit. I can't stay without commitment, or at the very least a new work permit. I need change and opportunities and security, none of which he can provide, being only 22 years old and a student. He can't even make any empty promises. Bless.

When it got to the point when I couldn't cry any more and found myself just staring at the ceiling in a trance, thinking about how my life had gone so quickly from great to ghastly, I got up and left.

First, I went to the bathroom to take a shower, where I proceeded to have a big self-pity cry. Then, after the shower, I got dressed and went for a walk. I was meant to have lunch with an old classmate, but I canceled and headed to Kate's instead.

When I left, Richard was sitting on a chair, shaking, begging to come with me. I said no, kissed him on the forehead, and walked out.

It was a long walk to Kate's. I hardly cried. Amazing really. Instead, I considered things some more. I thought about how most relationships fail, about how this is my first real relationship and I was probably stupid to have such high expectations for it. About how it was probably doomed from the start. I wondered if this is how everyone feels at some point in their lives. I guess I was trying to depersonalise the situation. Then I thought about Richard's family and all his great, perfect qualities, and about how no one else could ever love me like he does and....for fucksake. You can see how helpful all that was.

By the time I got to Kate's, I was in a dumb daze. As soon as I saw her, though, the tears started flowing again. I collapsed on her couch and started incoherently babbling. Kate knows both of us very, very well. She knows the relationship very, very well. She's been there from the beginning, she helped get us together. If anyone wants to help us stay together, it'd be her. Which made it that much worse when she came to the awful conclusion that there really was no alternative but to move nack home and break it off. After a few months, the result will be either a) we realise how much we need each other and I resove to come back and make it work no matter what, or b) I get over him. Either way, I'm better off. Hmmm. She suggested I set myself a deadline of sorts. Keep doing all I can to try to get a job in the meantime, and try to make the most of my remining time with Richard. I agree that this is a sensible solution, but it will be the biggest struggle surviving at work until then. I think I have been subconsciously psyching myself up to hold out until July, when I would escape to Slovenia. I thought if I could just last until then, everything would be okay. But Slovenia is right around the corner, and there's nothing on the horizon after that.

Returning to work today didn't help matters either; I had an absolutely shite day and just wanted to chuck it all in right then and there. But that's another story...

Returning to Saturday... after about an hours worth of tears at Kate's, I got sick of crying and asked to talk about something else. Like Kate's imminent departure to Australia. Oh, isn't life just full of happiness? It did manage to distract me sufficiently, however.. enough to stop thinking about myself for a little while at least, which was very good indeed. She went on to tell me funny work anecdotes and by the time I left I was smiling again and determined to put this all behind me for a few weeks at least. But then I remembered how I had left Richard, and how he had probably spent the time stewing over things and feeling anxious and worried. Poor dear. I felt like a bitch, and I knew talking about it all over again was inevitable.

When I got back, he was waiting for me. He enveloped me in a massive hug and apologised a million times over. I told him he had nothing to apologise for. It wasn't his fault, and he shouldn't be punished for being honest. He still felt like shit, however, and was practically tripping over himself trying to make it up to me. Furthermore, he said he'd do anything he could to try to stay together, no matter what. Bless him. See why I love him so? See why this is so difficult?

I told him I wanted to forget about it for awhile, and just get on with things. A hefty request, I know. We went into town to exchange a pair of trousers he had bought. It was awkward at first. He held onto me as if he was afraid I'd disappear any minute, as if someone was going to take me away. I felt tired and weak. I didn't want to let go of him either. We went out to eat and I had a beer and nearly passed out. We then went home and watched a movie. We didn't talk much. He waited on me hand and foot. I felt guilty for letting him do it, but it was nice all the same. We didn't have any more dreaded discussions, just tried to get used to each other again.

Things were okay on Sunday. It was almost as if we were back to normal again, except maybe more aware and appreciative of each other. Does that make sense? Mybe it was the feeling of finality, that we had to make the most of the time we had left or something. I don't know. I was happy to focus on something different, and to pretend.

Unlike every other Sunday at leaving tim, however, I wasn't particularly sad to go. I was just mpatient to get the journey over with, to get home and into bed.

But now I have to face the rest of the week at work. Every day is a huge struggle. I dread waking up in the morning.

Tonight we chatted on the phone as if nothing had happened. I'mhappy with that. But I know deep down I'm just deluding myself, and delaying the inevitable. I'm the worst procrastinator in the best of situations.

I don't know what to do. What can I do really? Am I a wimp? What's more important, love or self-respect?