The Rundown, Part 17

J started out saying all the right things regarding my decision to travel alone. 

"I understand you feel uncomfortable."

"I'm so sorry that I ruined our romantic trip."

"I will support whatever decision that you make."

But when I began to actually book hostels and make plans, it became clear that he hadn't expected me to really go through with it. He expressed concern for my safety. He voiced his doubts in my ability to navigate on my own. He offered again and again to simply sleep on the floor at the hotel if I would just join him for the duration. 

It was soon obvious to me that he had envisioned an entirely different scenario-- one where I was hurt and delicate, but he won me over as we explored exotic locations and rekindled desires. Once again, I was jarred by the realization that J thought things would be fixed if he could have a chance to introduce more sex and romance into our relationship-- that those were the only things that had ever been needed to repair all that was wrong between us. 

I forged ahead anyway. I gave J a copy of my contact information and a vague itinerary, and when we settled in to our seats next to each other at the beginning of the 12 hour flight, I put in earplugs and slept the entire time. 

Once we arrived, I made sure we parted ways immediately. I went through customs alone. I bought an Oyster card alone. I hopped on the tube, found my hostel, then took a long evening walk in Regents Park alone. 

It was amazing, meditative, and surprisingly healing. (The whole trip ended up being that way.) J sent a photo of his hotel room and again offered to share with me if I felt unsafe, but I ignored him. I needed time and space to think, and his refusal to recognize that was offensive. 

I ran in to J just once. It was a few days into the trip and somehow, we both bought tickets to the same performance of The Woman in Black. Afterward, he walked me to the tube station. He was casual and charming, chatting away about things he'd seen and done and asking after me. I walked next to him, feeling increasingly tense and angry, until finally I blurted out, "How do you do that? How do you just act like everything is okay between us?" 

He looked confused. "It's not easy, but I don't want things to be awkward. I can't be like you-- just detach and give up hope. I have to have hope." 

I was frustrated. "I'm not asking you to give up hope. I'm asking you to recognize reality. You don't acknowledge my pain! You don't respect my boundaries! You act like pretending everything is normal might somehow make me forget! You don't treat this like a big deal."

"Yes I do!" He countered, "I'm not minimizing the situation! I just don't think that backing off completely is going to help us to heal together." 

I was walking fast and blind now, pushing past crowds on the escalator and hardly stopping to check which train I was catching. "Exactly! There is no healing together right now!! You've cheated on me. You've betrayed me. You've lied to me. You are the biggest source of pain for me, not comfort. Refusing to see that is just reopening the wound!!" We were giving all the midnight train-goers quite the show with our american lover's quarrel. I ignored the stares and continued to hiss, "I am devestated. I am hurt to the core. It's as if you ran over and killed my son. Every time I see you, I re-live that trauma. If you really understood that, you would not walk up to me with chitchat. You wouldn't expect me to forget my pain just because you avoided talking about it. You would empathize! You would apologize! You would expect my pain, and accept it as normal! You wouldn't push me to let go or forgive, especially without any humility on your part!"

By this time, I'd become so heated, I hadn't noticed that I'd missed my stop. We got off and switched trains. 

"I do acknowledge your pain," J pleaded. "I know this isn't fun for you. It isn't fun for me either. "

"It isn't FUN?!" I shouted, "so you kill my son, and your response to my utter heartbreak is 'it isn't fun?' This is my point! You can't even fake empathy. You don't see this as devastation, so you don't treat it like devastation. This is why you are not safe for me! This is why your very presence is traumatizing for me!"

J had tears in his eyes, but my heart was completely unmoved. "You're right," he tried, "I'm weak at many things, and empathy is one of them. But I'm working on it. It doesn't mean that I don't feel the things you want me to feel. It doesn't mean that I don't love you."

We got off at Swiss Cottage and J followed me as I stormed toward my lodging. "I don't know what you think the definition of love is, but it certainly isn't mine. You do not love me. If you did, you wouldn't be able to do half the things that you do." He tried to argue, but I turned on him, my arms crossed and my eyes burning. 

"That day you lied to me, knowing you had looked at porn just hours before-- you tried to have sex with me. You did have sex with me before I left for the summer, even though you knew that if I had the complete truth, there would be absolutely zero chance that we would be intimate. But of course, you didn't let that stop you from getting what you wanted. That's wrong. That's abuse. That's rape." J was crying, and I was shaking with rage. 

"My feelings always take a back seat to what you want. Well, I'm done being used. If you think that is love, then you haven't the first clue what real love entails." For a long moment, I couldn't look at him. I clenched my jaw and stared at the moon trying to compose myself. 

"You know," I said finally, "I always thought I'd have to hate you in order to want a divorce." I looked at him, pathetic and broken as he stood alone in the dark, and at last, my eyes began to fill with tears. 

"But it turns out I only had to be hurt enough to never trust you again."