Back...and bummed

I have heard of this phenomenon called the amicable breakup. I've always considered it to be something akin to unicorns - something pretty that exists in a fairy tale but not so much in real life. Furthermore, my skepticism as to its existence has not been borne out of doubt. I'm sure it is possible, superficially at least, to remain friendly with an ex. But the fact of the matter is that a breakup is always less amicable for one party than for the other, and so someone is always going to be nursing wounds whether they choose to be conscious of it or not. For this reason, I have had no interest in the amicable breakup.

Historically, I like things to go down in flames. Giant, aggressive, all-consuming flames for the records. I don't want wreckage - I want ash. When I break up with somebody, a multi-hour screaming match is preferred and tears are compulsory, bonus points if they are cried publicly. Throwing things is not against the rules, provided they are thrown indiscriminately and not at one another. Neighbors should be woken, pets should resort to hiding under large pieces of furniture, and there should be no doubt in anyone's mind that: It. Is. OVER. Only then can I begin to get over it. You can't grieve something that isn't dead.

Gentle breakups do not provide closure. If you are dumping me, I do not want you to do it nicely. Chivalry is not required. If you must be courteous, have the courtesy to give me a reason to hate you. It is the least you can do.

Then: this. It was not a particularly long relationship, but it was one of those marked by initial and complete infatuation that lasted longer than one would reasonably expect an initial and complete infatuation to last. It was fast-moving, it was characterized by what may indeed have been far too much time together, and most importantly, it had an expiration date. I did not expect it to expire quite so soon, but when the other shoe dropped, it dropped, and it didn't take me long to see the storm clouds on the horizon. He became passive aggressive, for reasons that had nothing to do with me except for my proximity to them. And had he not ended things, I would have in another week or so - badly, in flames.

It's tempting not to believe someone when they break up with you because they care too much about you to hurt you. It seems a little too convenient to be sugarcoating the guillotine. I know I should be with someone who is able to give me all the devotion and adoration I deserve. And I know that someone who is moving halfway across the country in three months to embark on a totally new life can't. Objectively: can't. I understand. I appreciate that he appreciates that. And I may not see exactly where his feelings and issues and neuroses fit into the picture, but at least I know that they do, somewhere. That on some level I'm not the only one who he worries will get hurt.

Strangely, it's a little like pulling off a Band-Aid. The anticipation of the event was in many ways worse than the event itself.

That doesn't mean I'm not sad over the possibility of what it could have been in less abject circumstances.

But I guess if there ever was a situation that could make me try out the whole amicable thing, this is it. Better to loosen my grip than to let go of someone like that.

Now excuse me while I go cry in the handicapped bathroom...