He kissed me and called me by a sweet name. He helped me in the car and told me to drive safely, then checked to see if I made it home.
He emailed 30 minutes later to say he'd had a good time.
Laying there, with him for hours, he stroked my arm absently, mussed my hair and traced the shape of my ear. He warmed baby oil in his hands and rubbed my back, gently but with enough pressure so that I relaxed into the bed.
He cupped my ass in his hands as he pulled me toward him for a cuddle, kissed my cheek and then my mouth. He took my hand when we walked to the restaurant and pulled out my chair when we sat.
We talked and he paid attention to my opinions; we shared tales of our work and our favorite books. I teased him about things and he got to know about things I like and why I do the things I do. He looked into my eyes when we were making love.
I left him last night wrapped in a warm embrace; I took home the memory of being with him like a shawl and pulled it around my neck as I slipped into sleep. I woke with a smile on my lips.
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Why, then, just 18 hours later do I despise him? How could I wonder what I saw in him, think of all the things that I didn't like: the hair on his upper arms, the coolness of his sweat, the way I felt when I fumbled for a kiss, the comment he didn't explain. I've mined every single second for the explanation, for what I did wrong, for the reason he hates me. I've cried and I've been ready to throw things and I've trolled online for someone to replace him.
Why? You ask why?
Because he hasn't called. He didn't write a single message to me, not a word on a text note or a voicemail. "Hey how are you this morning?" "Missing you this morning." "Hi."
Afraid of being the aggressor, I refrained from sending anything myself until early afternoon when I realized that was dumb. I sent a light note, a hi.
Still nothing.
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This is called splitting.
I can be completely taken by this man, go out to dinner with him last night and gaze into his eyes in a series of embraces. He is a prince.
Then he can ignore me for one minute too long -- even if there's a Very Good Reason like a work meeting or a sick kid. One minute more than my system can tolerate and, well, it's over. He is a toad.
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1 comment:
My issues were sorely tested during our one year separation. I could have written such a post many times during that period.
Discovering there was another woman involved and that his son and I were only a blip on the map now...well that nearly sent me over the edge.
Later on I was comforted to discover it wasn't just me who felt this way. Many non-borderline women have ridden on the same rollercoaster. It still sucks though...
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