I was with my last girlfriend, who was my wife for about a year and a half after we married in 2008 when it was briefly legal in California, for seventeen years (I think I still refer to her as my girlfriend rather than my wife because she was the former for so much longer than the latter). I wrote about what
occurred just prior to our split on my last blog, and when I re-read the post before adding it to my Blogs Gone By page I had mixed feelings about the somewhat cavalier approach I’d taken because I think it made it all sound a bit seedy. But that flippancy is fairly typical of me as I’m not much for pouring my heart out, especially in a public forum.
For those who prefer not to click on the above link and get the pre-break up details, here’s the story in short form: the Ex and I were dipping our toes in the open relationship waters and the first person we dove in with was a high school friend with whom I’d recently reconnected and with whom I’d shared a brief, but intense, flirtation and a single awesome kiss before the Ex got involved. She was also someone I genuinely liked and was excited about having as a new friend. Not long after our first and only threesome my Ex left me for her and they now live together with the friend’s husband (and children) in a polyamorous relationship.
The split was quick and clean (at least initially, the later divorce part was more complex, frustrating and expensive) which was fine with me because I don’t like the drama of extending the ending … moving out, moving back in, trying to make it work while knowing it won’t and all of the other pointless break up delays. As much as it may hurt and suck, when it’s over it’s over and drawing it out only prolongs the hurting and sucking.
My ego took a pretty big hit when the relationship fell apart. No matter how “fuck her I don’t give a shit I’m better off alone” we might be on the outside, I think there’s always part of us on the inside wondering what we did wrong and asking ourselves why she doesn’t love us anymore. Or maybe that’s just me. Or maybe that was just me being unwilling or unable to look at the part I played in the break up (before you judge them too harshly remember it takes three to tango) since I was still reeling from the brutal one-two shot to my self-esteem. Because my Ex didn’t just leave me so that she and my friend could be a couple, the two of them left me to go become a triple. I wasn’t good enough to be the third and they both didn’t love me anymore. I got double-dumped. To make matters worse, and to make myself feel even more shitty and pathetic, I was still willing and still tried to be friends with them, but they weren’t having any of that either. I was rejected on all fronts … not wanted as a friend, a girlfriend or a fuck-buddy.
It’s been over two years now and I’m past all of that, so I’m not single because I’m still pining away for her (them?). I’ve just never been a relationship junkie who needs to run out and get a new girlfriend the minute I find myself alone. Also, as much as I like the excitement and flushes and flutters that come with meeting someone who might be the one, I don’t much relish the thought of going through the process of starting a new relationship … it may not be a very romantic analogy, but it’s kind of like getting a puppy: cute and irresistible at the shelter, but once you get it home the training and house-breaking are kind of a pain.
Ideally I’d like to go right from puppy to dog and skip the middle part because there are some things I miss about being in a relationship, and most of them have to do with the ease and familiarity of it … someone who already knows your history, your stories and your idiosyncrasies, having inside jokes, knowing someone’s always there, being vulnerable, sharing memories. And, while I no longer miss being married to her she was my best friend and that I still miss.