Four of the six years of my relationship with Mr. Intellectual were long distance. After two years of dating we had graduated high school and were about to make the transition to University, it was an exciting and nerve wracking time. I had waited for so long to be able to move out of my parent’s house and get out on my own. I was ready for the freedom and responsibility and chose to attend a school an hour and half from my hometown. He was less than ready for the transition and for a host of reasons chose to stay at his parents place and attend the local University. He was more than ready for the educational benefits, and was probably better equipped for it than I was, but he was not emotionally ready to make the leap into adult hood that comes with moving out of your childhood home.
The last night we spent together was so beautiful, but so heartbreaking. I remember slow dancing with him in the dimly lit living room, listening to music, being held in his arms while he softly whispered in my ear how much he loved me and how much he was going to miss me. When he finally dropped me off at my door early in the morning I had a hard time letting him go. After one last kiss and promises to call him as soon as I had moved in the next day he was gone. I’m pretty sure there were tears in both our eyes. He adored me and I knew he was having a hard time with my leaving him. It wouldn’t be until later that I learned just how difficult it would be for him.
He wouldn’t admit it at first but a couple of years later I finally cajoled him into admitting he was angry at me for the first full year, and probably half of the second year, for leaving him. It broke my heart. He spent a lot of time punishing me for going away to school and I can count on one hand how many times he made the hour and half trip up to visit me: three. To this day it still bothers me that the man that professed to love me and would do anything for me could not drive less than 100 miles to visit me. He even had is own car.
Instead I hoped on a bus that first weekend at school and made the trip home in lieu of meeting new people and adjusting myself to living in residence. It was a trip I became all too familiar with over the next two years. I am extremely prone to motion sickness, but I still braved that four hour, rambling bus ride, through every little town and village from my new city back to his city. Almost every other weekend I would spend the money and time to get to his parents house because I was crazy for him. Needless to say I did not do so well that first year academically or emotionally. My average dropped 30% and only the fear of my mother’s wrath prevented me from dropping out or getting kicked out in April.
Around Thanksgiving of second year I stopped getting on that bus. It hurt too much, and he didn’t seem to care how much I put myself out for him. I finally got angry enough about his treatment of me to tell him I wasn’t coming home on the bus to his parent’s house anymore. If I came home at all it would be to my parents house. Around Christmas I also stopped begging him to visit me. I’m not sure if he even noticed because he certainly didn’t comment on it. I was so confused, hurt and feeling extremely abandoned by the man I loved.
In second year my emotional stress finally caught up with me and my depression became full-blown clinical depression- but I was in some serious denial. I remember calling him up in extremely desperate moments for help. I’d try anything and everything to get him to make the drive up to see me. He always found every excuse why he couldn’t. If I didn’t trust him so much I’d say now that he was cheating on me, but I know he wasn’t. I remember being suicidal and calling him. I could never come right out and tell him that I was ready to jump out a window or hang myself, but I needed him to come to me and just hold me and tell me everything would be better soon. After those unsuccessful calls I’d always end up in the fetal position on the floor of my room, crying my heart out because I just didn’t understand why I wasn’t worth going the distance for. To this day I still don’t understand why he wouldn’t visit me.
This is one of the reason’s why we broke up a year ago. As if that wasn't bad enough, last summer after he moved into my University town he joined a baseball league in his hometown. He’d drive home every Thursday night for baseball and then drive back up late Thursday night for work on Friday morning. I was flabbergasted. He’d drive an hour and half for baseball and beer with the boys every week that summer, but he couldn’t make it to visit me even after I had been diagnosed as clinically depressed and almost institutionalized? I still don’t understand it and question what about me wasn’t good enough.
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4 comments:
That's so horrible, and so sad. Reading your story, I feel like I've been in that same position so many times. Always asking for help, always reaching out, but being denied it, for whatever reason. I can't believe he thought baseball and beer was worth the drive but you weren't. I think that's one of the many good reasons I'm glad that your out of that relationship now.
Hi Pam, thanks for stopping by again. I still can't believe it either. Someone I talked to about this recently thought that he was either gay or cheating on me- unfortunately it was neither of these things. If it had been I wouldn't feel so bad.
don't know why but your story has touched me somehow. it's not easy to understand people and especially men. anyway it seems that the story is already the past and i hope u have met someone better and the one that is worth you.
Jane, I came across your blogg...and stopped dead at my tracks on this post..Yes, it's been a while since that has happened to you, but your words describe me to the "T"..." I still don’t understand it and question what about me wasn’t good enough." I was married for 18 years, I've been divorced going on six years now...and I still have that question unanswered. It his a chord in me of "who am I, and am I worthy to be loved and appreciated?" yet, my ex went out of his way to make another woman feel wanted and appreciated...THAT is what hurts...I think I've come to the conclusion, too; that I am perhaps depressed...you've brought light into my little black corner closet in which I reside...and for that, I thank you!
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