Despicable Me

I’m rotten.

I almost labeled this,

The Breaker-Upper,

but I knew that you’d be 100x more likely to click on this blog if I called it, Despicable Me.

But am I really that despicable?

Of course, not

(said in a Louis C.K. voice).

Of course, not.

(See clip here: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=0O5h4enjrHw)

Why would I even possibly consider myself despicable?

Well, I left her.

I left her, and I’m not talking to her.

How DESPICABLE to love someone for 2 WHOLE YEARS

to live with them for 1.33 YEARS

and not give enough of a shit about them 

to call and see how they’re doing?

To care enough to at least tell them that you still love them,

still care for them,

but that you think that it’s best to cut the cord

and practice radio silence.

I.

Am.

Despicable.

And, yet, I’m not.

What I am…

is an enabler.

If I had my druthers I would keep that wound of hers wide open,

until it started to heal again,

and then I would rip it wide open again,

(albeit, unwittingly)

as I sincerely reached out to make sure she was doing ok.

And, to me…

that is even MORE despicable.

So,

damned if you do;

damned if you don’t.

That’s the modern-day dilemma of relationship breakups.

You’re an asshole, either way.

So.

I am choosing to put her first.

(Yeah, right…)

(What a narcissist…)

Don’t think I can’t hear your snickers.

But what do you know?

It would be so easy

to call her.

I want so badly to call her and let her know much I care.

It feels so damn foreign,

so fucked up

to not call and check in.

I feel like such an asshole.

But I don’t

and I won’t

because I don’t want to rip that scab open again

before it fully heals.

Does it tug at my heart-strings?

Yes.

Am I practicing great patience to not pick up the phone,

to not check up on her and make sure she’s alright?

You’re goddamn right, I am

(this time a little Jack).

And you know what?

She is OK.

She doesn’t need me to be OK.

Part of being an enabler is working under the faulty assumption

that someone else can’t take care of themselves.

That we are fundamentally essential

to their well-being.

And, yes,

to all you psychonauts out there.

I am sure I played that role on many occasions in my relationship,

speaking and acting as if she wasn’t ok.

I own that.

By playing that role for other people, however,

we rob them of the potential gift of having to find their own power:

within.

We also rob them of the opportunity to be resourceful;

of learning to lean upon their inner and outer resources,

including friends and family,

to soften the blow and come back to themselves.

Their strong, beautiful selves.

That’s part of what causes the pain;

the RIPPING APART–

of a connection,

a bond,

that once was so strong and beautiful.

I ripped that bond apart.

Me.

I own that, as well.

Because it needed to happen.

It was necessary.

Just as it’s sometimes necessary to separate two plants in a garden to ensure that they both have the space, sunlight and access to nutrients they need to grow.

She is fine.

Fundamentally,

i.e., at our core,

we’re all fine.

Does it suck?

Yes.

For all involved:

The breaker-upper 

and

The breaker-uppee.

But…

one day…

the clouds will part;

the sun will shine.

Not just for one of us, but for both of us.

The heart-scabs will have healed,

and communication will again be possible.

But now is not the time for that.

So until then,

I’ll Man my lonely post called restraint

and wear the tag,

Despicable Me.