The Break Up.
The truth is, no-one really reads my blog so I'm going to give writing about my break up, 6 months ago! A try to see if it helps the healing process.
The woman I broke up with was the first woman I ever truly loved. We fell in love at the tender age of 17 while volunteering at an Oxfam Charity shop, I was 7 months out of my very first relationship, which had ended with my girlfriend cheating on me. As I look back on my first relationship, the less I'm inclined to call her my first "love". when we met, I was 15, she had a vagina. PERFECT MATCH! But the second one. The second girlfriend (and as of right now, last girlfriend to date) was about as close to being described as "the one" as you can get. I could reel off the list of ticked boxes like "beautiful, funny, quirky, smart" but I feel when we talk of "the one" that goes without saying. What she had was a fundamental understanding of me. She looked deeper than anyone else has and stayed with me. It didn't matter that I hadn't attended university, it didn't matter that I was overweight, we met at the tender age of 17, and we fell in love. (I don't believe love to be any mythic force, I don't believe it is the will of angels or controllable through voodoo dolls, it is a few emotional triggers and chemical reactions in your brain. One of the many things we should be so glad we have as human beings.)
We fell in love and we just kept falling. After just a few months, us love struck teens had to face a problem: Her father, a North Cyprus-born chap had decided to move his whole family back to his homeland. Our relationship was a secret, so he didn't address his teenage daughters feelings about leaving the man she loved (or lusted, we were 17 turning 18, who knows at that age?) but it didn't matter. You see, in many Turkish house-holds (arguably, many households globally) what daddy says, goes, so off they went.
4 and a half years.
4 and a half years we waited. Retrospectively, and I'm sure she won't mind me saying this, it was an insane idea. She would fly back to London a couple of times a year and we would secretly meet up and travel into the centre of the city of London, meet my friends meet her friends we would try and squeeze as much "coupley" stuff in as possible, were we living a lie? we were dreaming? Probably. but every second with her was gold. She hadn't really courted, or romanced anyone before me, and unlike some of the girls in my social group, love wasn't something to be cynical about for her. She would appreciate every loving gesture I offered; a single red rose, a packet of her favourite flavour crisps ( Salt & vinegar, I would constantly try new brands) or very amateur poetry. She absorbed any and all the love I would expell, and send it back ten-fold. she would look at me with eyes that couldn't see enough, her eyes were hungry and when my eyes met hers, I was happy to be eaten, consumed and absorbed by her. I don't think worshipped would be the right word, but she really looked at me with a sgaze that wanted to see nothing else. I miss it.
So, our occasional "summer lovings" would have to do until the "one day" we often spoke of (over Windows Live MSN chat or skype) would come. We would speak of our dream house, of dream holiday destinations, how we were going to do things to, and for one-another until forever and beyond. The only things that ever really caused any kind of upheaval (however slight) was
-Her family, and how they would react if they knew, and
-Religion.
Now the first part, I addressed in my mind at the time by turning her dad into every disproving Rom Com dad ever, he would be displeased by his daughters choice but ultimately my love for his daughter (his eldest child) and cheeky charm would win him over. I'm seriously not kidding you, that's the sort of imagery I had in my mind.
The second part, one of faith, was tough. We never, in the 5 and a half years we shared, EVER had raised voices, angry words or any kind of spite between us, but religious (and in most cases, more specifically, cultural) differences caused a rift. The best example of this is the debate over circumcising young boys. I disagree with it, forgetting how the practice has it's roots solidly in religious traditions, it's also the completely pointless removal of someone else's body part, and I don't feel I have the right to do it to my, or anyone elses son. Now at this point, her parents still didn't know about us and she lived 3000 miles away, so it may seem moot to speak of a house and kids, but as all couples do over time, you talk about the future. And this particular topic was something we never really found a satisfactory compromise to. We ended up just never really talking about it, when we tried, she would cry and I hated myself. I felt she was torn between what she "owed" her family and her culture (born and raised in Britain, but very close to her Cypriot heritage) and how much she cared for my feelings. I don't think I ever told her this but I always felt she wasn't aware it was a choice. For Turks (not necessarily Muslims) you just GET YOUR SON CIRCUMCISED .I'm generalising of course, I haven't met every single Turk OR Muslim, but certainly all of the one's I've come across in my social life seem to corroborate this viewpoint.
However, even if I think the practice is cruel, barbaric and dangerous, I don't believe a parent has ever inflicted it on their child with intention to harm them.
She never thought about it, she wasn't allowed to. I don't mean in an over patriarchal religious environment like Saudi Arabia, but the idea of questioning tradition simply WAS NOT DONE. Critical thought can't developed healthily in an environment of "what would nan think?". But she loved her family, and wanted to show them all the respect she could. She was a good daughter. (I really shouldn't even talk as if my opinions here have any merit, I'm often very, very wrong when it comes to reading people in this way)
Reconciliation
Time went by, and over 4 and a half years, living mostly apart, we did plenty of growing up. But our plans always involved the other. Despite the long nights with me online, she studied hard and got her university degree in psychology. I got a job in a supermarket. (yeah Dean, put those two sentences next to each-other great idea).
I managed to move out into a house with a couple of friends, so when she got her scholarship and moved to London, we were able to actually live a dream. She lived in a very eastern part of London I lived in the north, so we did travelling a-plenty, but an hour train ride over 6 hour flight was a huge leap forward. In the time she was here we really loved. Deep-rooted, raw emotion exposed to the other on occasion.
What I'm about to tell you is wrapped in emotional barbs for me, so I won't go into great detail, but it features better in this context than to simply omit if completely.
On one occasion, my mother attempted to take her own life, now my relationship with my mum is a long and rather sordid tale, and will probably the subject of a future post, but all that matters now is what she did. The girl I love.
She had grown up in a home with two, married parents. I did not. She knew who her father was. I did not (I knew my fathers name, but I didn't *KNOW* him). She grew up in a home paid for by her parents earned wage. I grew up on a council estate and my mother hadn't worked for as long as I could remember. Her mum was a doting house-wife who cooked cleaned and took pride in looking after her family (I was fortunate enough to meet her mother, as a friend of-course, and she really is a sweet, kind and loving woman). She came from an absolutely, fundamentally different background to me, so when I'm angrily trying to express my feelings about what just happened to my mum, she said
"I don't know what to say".
She put her hands on my face, she looked me in the eye. She couldn't understand what I was going through, and she didn't pretend to. That meant more to me than all the "sorry to hear about what happens" from all of my closest friends combined. She didn't smother me in bullshit advice. She didn't use an example from her very different upbringing to force a comparison. She simply loved me when it was the best time to do so, and for that, she will forever have my respect.
In the year she was here, we shared so much. We sometimes spent days in each-others company, literally 24 hours. and we never argued. We got bored and cranky, but never angry.
I was thankful for every chemical reaction our relationship triggered in my brain. I was grateful for every psychological mechanism that caused my infatuation with her. I was appreciative for all the love she gave me.
We broke up because we didn't know how to tell her parents. Because we couldn't figure out how to align our beliefs and our wants. we broke up because she was moving back to Cyprus after graduating and we "didn't want to go through the long distance again". We broke up because....
I could write a million things here. All the things we spoke about, and I still couldn't reach one, or any combination that actually explains why. We just did.
It was the single most excruciating thing I have ever faced.
Not right away though. After she moved back, I had recently moved again, still with a guy I'd lived with before, and I'd somehow also managed to lose a little bit of weight (going from a XXXL to and XL. and for a 6"4 guy, that's good going) My ego was boosted, I figured
"hey, I'm single for the first time in 5 and a half years, I'm feeling good, let's see if we can't get some action".
So clubs, pubs, house parties, one after another I went. I talked to girls. But...
Nothing happened, I'd like to think it was like some Rom Com where the guilt and the love-loss seep into my actions so I sabotage myself from finding love again, but, it's probably more to do with the fact that I'm still no Casanova, I'm still not an "ideal catch". As attracted as I was to other girls though, I did still feel like I was in a relationship. I would talk to her online, but getting a smartphone you carry in your pocket, and speaking to the love of your life (who is no-longer in your life) daily, really wasn't healthy, I went through a phase after she left feeling numb. She visited in the November (2 months after she'd flown out of my life) and seeing her again smashed through the floodgate. I cried a lot. there's a good argument that I cried more in the last few months than I had in the 10 years previous. I just kept feeling like I had made a mistake. that I was missing her because we just shouldn't have parted, I cried because we should still have been together. I cried because not being with her physically brought me pain.
Losing that love has taken a piece of me. Being realistic, It's possible (Probable?) I'll find a connection with someone again, I know that. In the concious side of my mind I know that that's the cold hard truth, but the simple fact that I had such a close bond, and have lost it, causes such great pain still.
She was, is, an amazing woman. She occupies so much of my heart still that I can never truly be without her. she's comes back to London at the end of this month for a short stay and wants to meet up. I often have fantasies of kisses and embraces. I know it's wrong. I know it makes things worse, but giving in to that part of my imagination makes me forget the pain for a while, only to bring it crashing back again. I have a long way to go before I'm over my life's greatest love so far. But I'm grateful now that I know her, and that she's in my life in some capacity. We haven't spoken much as I suggested we limit our interactions. I did it because talking to her, but not seeing her caused me such anguish. She honoured my wish even though talking to me had been a great deal of help for her. She is and always was more than I deserve.
It's a long climb ahead, but even the highest mountain has a peak.
Your favourite Atheist Asshole,
DD
