ON BEING STRONG

I ran into him at the gym today. I was early for a reformer class and there were only a couple of us in there. I left to run to the bathroom and there he was, sitting outside , preparing to either come in or leave. I was surprised but could not help realising that my heart leapt with love.

My first instinct was to go up and kiss him like that moment was all that mattered. But it wasn’t, as there would be moments after that, minutes and hours after that, that I’d need to live with. And I couldn’t be sure what I could live with.

So I simply said “hello”, which as much cordial warmth as could be substituted for what I felt.

He said “hello” back and we exchanged pleasantries. I excused myself to go to the bathroom and when I returned, he was already in the room, on a reformer bed some distance from me. I wasn’t sure what to do - do I stay where I was? Do I simply smile an acknowledgement and behave like strangers? After a minute’s hesitation, I took a decision to do what I felt I’d like for him to do, which he didn’t. I went up to him, and started to chat - how are you? what have you been up to? haven’t seen you around etc.

I was warm.
I was friendly.
I wanted to say I miss you.
I wanted to say I love you.
I wanted to ask “do you miss me”.
I wanted to know “do you want us back”.

But I simply remained friendly; and warm; and strong.

He asked me if I was doing the next class after this. Which I was. He said so was he. My heart started to betray me as I wondered if he had deliberately chosen these classes because I did them. It took all my resources to remember what I’d learned the last week, and all my life before: Do not assume. Make no assumptions about what a person is thinking, feeling, wanting. Either ask or let them tell you. I couldn’t bring myself to ask, as I knew I wasn’t prepared for any answer that wasn’t a “yes”. I am not that strong.

We had a conversation between classes. He told me he was depressed. That there was no meaning in life. What’s the point, he kept saying. He also said he knew he had no reason to feel that, and seemed to be berating himself for it. I listened. I held space for him. I reassured him that he had an absolute right to feel what he does, because they were his feelings and they were real, and they need to be acknowledged and processed.

I was a good friend, who was not a friend, but a former lover, whose heart ached for him to say “I want us back”. But who instead, put aside everything and held space for him. I was strong. I was empathetic. I was kind. I am not going to make assumptions about whether he noticed or not; for the reasons above, and because it wasn’t, and still isn’t, relevant or important.

At the end of that second class, he asked if I’d like to have a coffee before he had to meet his appointment in 45 minutes. I agreed. We went to a cafe and sat there and chatted. He asked what I’d been up to apart from studying. He’d asked that many times that day. I decided to assume that he wanted to really know if I’d been dating. Yes, I broke my rule and made an assumption. So I volunteered that information. I told him I did but decided not to anymore; because it wasn’t what I wanted. It brought no enjoyment. I asked if he had, and he said he had, then volunteered that he’d had a couple of opportunities to have sex. I felt crushed, with a smile firmly fixed on my face. He also told me about someone whom he’d seen twice and will probably see more of. I didn’t ask, and didn’t understand why he needed to tell me. My insides felt like they were disintegrating. But I kept that smile on my face.

Warm.
Friendly.
Supportive.
Strong.
And dying.

He started to talk a lot about the night we broke up. He repeated how awful it was (he had brought that up in our in-between conversation), he reiterated the sequence of events as he remembered it and then said “then you did that”. The conversation around us and our relationship remained at the level of how we fought all the time and how I wouldn’t change. There was blame, and I was the one to blame. But I chose not to react. I decided it wasn’t important. So I merely listened. I did at one point ask why were were discussing this and if he had a goal in mind for the discussion. He said no. Then talked about it some more. He asked me what I thought. So I gave my point of view: which was that we did not fight all the time. We fought over the same thing each time, and it didn’t happen all the time. It happened before each break up, because the moment that uncomfortable “issue” came up, his response was flight. I also explained that I know people see the same thing but actually perceive different things. So what I see will be different (clearly it was) from what he saw. And that that was ok. I accept his POV as legitimate to him, and that I was not going to persuade him to mine anymore.

It was all calm.
I was warm.
I was friendly.
I was strong.
And I was dying.

His intern showed up finally. He asked if I’d join them for food. I wanted to crawl under a rock and cry and die in peace. So I said I’d leave them to work and head home. As I was walking away, he called out to me and asked me again to join them for food. I did not want to turn him down again in front of his intern, and the weak part of me did not want to leave him. I hesitated and decided to let the tide carry me; I said “Sure”.

We walked to the restaurant, the three of us. I was warm. I was friendly. I was engaged. I was lost. I wanted to grab him by his face and say “what are you doing”; I wanted to grab his face and kiss him like that moment was all that mattered, like that moment was all I had left to live. But it wasn’t. And I didn’t. Because there were all those moments after that I’d have to live with.

We ate our meal. We chatted, the three of us. And as I sat there, I became aware that my body, my ribcage, my heart’s muscle which I work so hard to make strong, was becoming dangerously unable to hold my heart in place. It was breaking apart and would scatter around my body, and when the already traveling oxygen runs out, and stops feeding my brain, I would die.

I said my goodbye. I did not want a dirty Chinese restaurant to be the place where I am forever lost - lost to my friends, lost to my family, lost to my son, lost to all the people who do love me and who choose not to leave me, whatever I may or may not do, even if I was to blame.