You know that stuff I talked about last time? Well, it might be time to talk about it.
Five days ago I moved out of the house I’ve lived in for the last seven and a half years and at the same time I walked away from the relationship that had been the centre of my world since 2006.
M and I are no longer Master and slave and very shortly he’ll be living on the other side of Australia while I stay in Perth in the apartment I moved into in the city.
It hurt a lot. And not in a good way.
Something inside of me broke a few weeks back. I don’t really know what it was or what started it, but I just had an overwhelming feeling of needing more. I’m not exactly sure what ‘more’ is or how I can get it, but there was something missing that I know I need.
I suddenly got very greedy and very selfish and I knew I couldn’t go on any longer the way I was. I’d gone from a state of acceptance to a state of rejection in a period of just a few days and I knew I needed to act before I talked myself out of it…again.
You see, I’d had this same feeling a few years back. I think it was just before the time of the great switcheroo and I’d gone back to my hometown for some reason or another. I remember my mum asking me if I was okay because she thought something was wrong and I totally lost it in the middle of a pub, like ridiculous-hysterical-crying-type of losing it and I half made a decision to leave then, that I promptly talked myself out of a few days after returning to Perth.
Because I was scared.
And I’m scared now that I’ve made the wrong decision. That I’ve walked away from a man who accepted me wholly and completely and who I felt completely comfortable with. I knew he understood me and all my little quirks. I’m pretty high maintenance and a bit messed up and I’m not sure whether I’ll ever find someone like M again.
But all of that just didn’t seem enough.
Even though it should be. Why can’t I be content? Why can’t I be happy with what I have? Why keep seeking perfection when I’m so far from perfect myself?
It’s hard when you invest so much into something. And it’s hard when you’ve done this exact same thing a few times in the past. But I’m not getting any younger and I still feel like I have some sort of dream I want to make reality.
The whole thing has happened quite quickly and I’m still in a bit of a spin. About a fortnight ago I started to look at rental properties and after looking at fifty million of them and being totally depressed at what a mind-boggling amount of money will get you in Perth, I put in an application for a place I loved…and got rejected. Then I looked at about ten more and finally went back to a place I’d rejected before due to price and noise factor and put in an application with an offer of rent lower that what they were asking for. I was expecting to get rejected again…and I think part of me was secretly hoping I would get rejected…but it was surprisingly accepted and then I couldn’t go anywhere but forward. I’d set things in motion and there was no going back.
I told M of my decision two days later and he went into hyperdrive.
I haven’t seen him so focussed or so active in years. Within the space of a few days he’d sold off a significant amount of stuff in the house, had real estate agents around to start the process of selling the house, had tradesmen around to quote for all the stuff that needed doing around the house and had a plan in place that would see him leave Perth with nothing but a carload of personal stuff fourteen days later. I hadn’t been able to even get him to find someone to mow the lawn and I’d been asking him for a good twelve months, so his sudden drive was a massive surprise.
In some strange way it kind of hurt to think he was almost eager to wipe the seven and a half years we’d spent together off the face of the earth, but I guess from his perspective I was just as ‘eager’.
I didn’t really say much to him about my decision other than I felt like I was stagnating and in a rut. And that is true. But there is a little bit more to the story.
M has some issues that I’m not going to go into detail here about, but they are things that over the years I eventually learned to live with, but never really accepted 100%. I guess I felt they were things that he could do something about if he really wanted to…but perhaps they weren’t. Perhaps that was how he would be all the time. In some ways, I guess it is like a disability. If I was a better person I would accept that that was the way he was and love and respect him regardless. But I couldn’t. I wanted him to change. I wanted us to have a ‘normal’ life and be able to do things together and not have to worry about what would happen.
In sickness and in health.
I feel so guilty for being such a shallow person. He accepted me with all my flaws and faults. Why couldn’t I do the same? I feel like such a bad person. I feel horrible for forcing him to fold up the life he had, for taking everything away from him and making him worry about his future and money.
I’ve seen him a few times since I moved out and I usually dissolve into tears 3 or 4 times on any given occasion. We had lunch together today and I cried into my Vietnamese noodles, in the car x 3, while we were sitting on the couch watching Arrow and then again when he put his hand on my thigh and asked me if I wanted to be caned (which I almost said yes to in a weak moment when I was feeling particularly low).
I’m sad about my decision. It makes me sad to think about what I’ve done. To him, to us. I can’t enjoy the trendy little inner-city apartment I’m now living in, the lifestyle that I’ve always wanted to lead because I’m alone and I have no-one to share it with. Things are meaningless without people. Memories are people, not things.
There’s a little voice inside me that says that I deserve to be happy and that I should have everything my heart desires. I listened to that voice and broke everything I had. I’m not sure if it was the devil or my guardian angel whispering sweet nothings in my ear.
For as long as you both shall live.
I don’t have any answers. I have only questions.