(This post is long, and very personal. It probably doesn’t belong here, except that I gain so much from writing it down, and reading it again. So I will feel absolutely fine if you skip this one.)
The 5th of July. I expected to be sad today, as I usually am after holidays. Instead, I am prouder of myself than I can remember being. Despite all of my protestations about K., I gave him another chance — the 4th of July was our first anniversary. He invited me to spend the night of the 3rd, as well as the 4th, and I decided that once again, I would give him the benefit of the doubt — after all, we’ve had dates over the last three weeks, and he has been a perfect gentlemen, for him.
When I arrived, we ordered some Chinese food delivered, which we both enjoyed. Then, K. made me a drink — a margarita that was half tequila. I’m pretty sure he expected me to be compliant about sex. But by bedtime, I was almost passed out, so if he wanted sex that night, he was going to be sorry. I went right off to sleep, though I didn’t sleep too well, as he keeps the TV on all night.
In the morning, I woke first and checked my blood sugar, which was fine. I climbed back into bed and fell asleep. When I woke again, 20 minutes or so later, K.’s first words to me were, “I got a lot to do today.” I told him I’d help, and he went to make coffee.
I came out, had a bowl of cereal, for which, it turns out, I over-covered. I was finishing my cereal and headed to the bedroom to get dressed. I heard some loud heavy sighs, and some humphing around, so I went out and asked what was wrong. Nothing, of course, like all passive-aggressives. We got in the car to drive to his parents’ house, and after about 5 minutes, another heavy sigh. I asked again, what was wrong, and this time he said something like I should’ve hurried more that morning.
I asked why he hadn’t told me to move my ass — “Oh, I would never say that.” Here we go, down the passive-aggressive road again. “I told you I had a lot of stuff to do.” I told him that didn’t mean, “I need you to hurry.” I mentioned mind-reading, and told him I couldn’t, but he looked me in the eye and said, you should have known. I just shut up and looked at the scenery.
When we got back to the house, I went in and started washing an enormous sink-load of dirty dishes. This is actually an old habit of mine. I find it easy to just start washing dishes, and by the time that enormous job is done, whoever I’m with has done most of the rest of the house. I can remember three incidents, earlier in my life, where I used washing dishes to avoid escalating an argument. I’m passive aggressive, too. Anyway, about 3/4 of the way through, I felt my blood sugar dropping, so I poured a glass of orange juice and went to find Keith.
I told him about my blood sugar, and that I had most of the dishes done. I went back in the bedroom to test my blood sugar, which was 56. I drank that juice and poured another glass. Keith was standing at the sink, finishing the dishes, and he just looked at me when I poured another glass of juice. I waited ten minutes after drinking that glass, and my blood sugar was only 60 — I had a little bit of a panic attack, knowing that I was at the mercy of whatever Keith had for groceries. I opened the fridge, and heard this great big sigh from the sink. I asked Keith what was wrong. He said that, because he had told me he drank juice with his pills, that I shouldn’t have taken his juice. I was shocked.
We talked for a few minutes — of course, I had no luck getting him to budge on the juice. Then he said, you should have told me to buy more, if you were going to need it. And he had a point, so I apologized, and walked out of the room and into the bedroom. My sugar was coming up by now, but I was feeling weepy, as I always do, as well as terribly guilty for drinking Keith’s juice. But as I sat there, I realized that that woman wasn’t me anymore, apologizing for things that weren’t my fault. I packed up my stuff, set it by the door, and went outside, where Keith was now greeting his first guests. He introduced me, and I smiled and said hello, and then asked Keith if I could borrow his cell. I called a taxi, and made arrangements to go home. He looked at me oddly, and asked, “why are you going home?”
This is where I get really proud of myself. No crying, no bargaining, and no trying to get him to apologize. I said, “Because I don’t deserve to be treated this way.” He never said another word. He and his friends went to watch the parade, and I waited for the taxi. I got home, and had a lovely day sitting in the sun; watching a movie, too, because watching Independence Day has become a habit on the 4th. And then today, he called during his lunch time, and asked if I’d gotten a good night’s sleep. I said yes, and then the following:
You are not going to like this, I think, but I’m done. I refuse to put up with the way you treated me yesterday. You say you’ve loved me since high school. Well, I don’t care if you’ve loved me for a hundred years — I’m done, and we’re done. You really blew it yesterday, which is your loss. People who love each other don’t act that way. And I’m done with second chances; don’t try to contact me. We don’t need to have a long discussion about this, (which we’d done before, and ended up in bed.) I am feeling a very different way. No more.
Then, I waited about twenty seconds, in case he wanted to say anything. When he was silent, I finally said, goodbye, Keith, and hung up.
I feel even more proud than I did yesterday, and I realized that I had been stifling my personality to get to his level. Well, I’m done with that. And if I should indicate in any way that I’m wavering, I give any of you permission to come to Maine and kick my ass.
This is long, and drawn out, and probably TMI, as well. But by writing this down, I have been able to cement in my mind my accomplishment, one which I have never even approached before. So you’ll excuse me if I say, Yay, me!