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aequitas_veritasRelationships.
I've had a few.
Mostly terrible. The men I went out with, I never really thought about whether or not I was in love, whether or not I really liked them. I enjoyed the attention, the intimacy, but there was never anyone who was really in my heart.
And then G. For a long time I thought he was the love of my life. But now I wonder if he just provided me with a convenient lifestyle, an easy path. He didn't demand much of me, he didn't badger or ask questions. He didn't resent my choices or try and talk me out of things. Then again, he never really supported me emotionally.
G was an enabler. He never pushed me out of my comfort zone, even when I needed it. He indulged my whims, my laziness, and my downward spiral. He just let me do what I wanted. If I asked him to do something, from stupid menial tasks to more important things, he'd respond the same to everything. He would just do it, no question.
I think he loved me, in some way. In his own fashion. But it wasn't passion. It wasn't romantic. In the end, it wasn't enough. We were great friends, had tons in common, and got along really well. We'd been together for ten years or so, had our rocky patches - I went back to the US twice and was not faithful - but I thought we'd overcome all that and eventually ended up at a place where we would be comfortable and happy for the rest of our lives.
Not so. I think his discontent had been brewing for years. And mine, too, but I was more willing to take the easy life instead of making the hard choice. My depression didn't help. My anxiety and self-harm and suicidal thoughts didn't help.
I don't think I was fair in any of my relationships. I've been very selfish, very self-involved, doing things that pleased me when they pleased me. I wasn't aware of how my choices would affect those I cared about. And I let some truly lovely men slip away. Some of them I still keep in touch with.
But I often wonder what they think of me. It's probably best that I don't know.
I've had a few.
Mostly terrible. The men I went out with, I never really thought about whether or not I was in love, whether or not I really liked them. I enjoyed the attention, the intimacy, but there was never anyone who was really in my heart.
And then G. For a long time I thought he was the love of my life. But now I wonder if he just provided me with a convenient lifestyle, an easy path. He didn't demand much of me, he didn't badger or ask questions. He didn't resent my choices or try and talk me out of things. Then again, he never really supported me emotionally.
G was an enabler. He never pushed me out of my comfort zone, even when I needed it. He indulged my whims, my laziness, and my downward spiral. He just let me do what I wanted. If I asked him to do something, from stupid menial tasks to more important things, he'd respond the same to everything. He would just do it, no question.
I think he loved me, in some way. In his own fashion. But it wasn't passion. It wasn't romantic. In the end, it wasn't enough. We were great friends, had tons in common, and got along really well. We'd been together for ten years or so, had our rocky patches - I went back to the US twice and was not faithful - but I thought we'd overcome all that and eventually ended up at a place where we would be comfortable and happy for the rest of our lives.
Not so. I think his discontent had been brewing for years. And mine, too, but I was more willing to take the easy life instead of making the hard choice. My depression didn't help. My anxiety and self-harm and suicidal thoughts didn't help.
I don't think I was fair in any of my relationships. I've been very selfish, very self-involved, doing things that pleased me when they pleased me. I wasn't aware of how my choices would affect those I cared about. And I let some truly lovely men slip away. Some of them I still keep in touch with.
But I often wonder what they think of me. It's probably best that I don't know.
