It takes a lot for me to follow through with a break up. I’ve been in a lot of relationships, dated a lot of people, and, inevitably, broken up with a lot of people. Most of the time it was mutual, sometimes it was his decision (“I just don’t want anything serious right now”), and to be honest, when it comes down to it, rarely has it ever solely been mine.
So as you may remember, I started seeing this nice guy. He was normal. Very normal. I’m not exactly someone you would consider normal, nor have I ever dated a normal person, but I figured I’d give it a try because nothing else was working for me.
He had a great job, came from a normal family, didn’t want me to suck on his toes while he came. It was…pleasant. The seas we’re calm. We introduced each other to our close friends, called each other boyfriend/girlfriend, he took me out on my birthday. But you could tell, something was off.
We saw each other once a week, at his request. “I don’t want it to burn out too fast,” he said. What? How could you possibly be worried about that already? He texted me, well, whenever he wanted to. Once a day, twice a day. Rarely more than that. I never knew where he was, what he was doing. He was happy with keeping it distant, and I tried to be too. I was the girl he “couldn’t imagine life without,” but I didn’t know where he was Friday (and Saturday) night. Maybe this was how normal people dated. Maybe I could learn to like it. But the more I saw him, the more I realized he was torn up over a past relationship (GOD) and afraid of getting hurt again. And then one day it all came out when we were talking about him adopting a cat:
”My ideal cat is one that will go off, roam around, do whatever it wants, and come home for dinner for an hour or two. Then leave again. I don’t want anything more than that.”
I was the cat. I was the fucking cat. He wanted me on his terms. And if I was around any more than that I was a nuisance. I was in an one-way relationship. He was afraid of getting hurt, but wanted the company every once in a while. He wanted to have his cake and eat it too.
So within the next week I ended it. It wasn’t working for me. It didn’t make me happy. The half in/half out bullshit. Life isn’t about fucking dipping your toes in the water, you have to jump in. Cannon ball. Be afraid and take the risk. Because why not? This is all we have. He was a nice guy. But that’s not enough on its own. Because why would someone be willing to put their heart on the line for you if you’re not willing to do the same for them?
Oh and by the way, a week after we broke up he actually did get a cat. Hope he’s not too surprised when it doesn’t come home for dinner one night.