I had an epiphany last night. I was sitting Indian-style on my couch, finishing the last bite of my less-than-satisfying black bean salad, when it hit me: I used to write. As a matter of fact, I used to write every day. I used to draw too. I also used to listen to music—like really listen. I used to love discovering new bands, reflecting on lyrics while I wrote or sketched, or while I just sat and let my thoughts wander to somewhere unexpected. At the near exact moment that I became lost in this realization, an email from my friend Libby popped up in my mailbox.Libby and I had been emailing back and forth for several weeks, helping each other work through our respective guy problems. My problem was more involved than hers, but very similar. Perceiving this much, Libby thought (perhaps mistakenly) that I could provide her with some needed insight. I snatched my laptop from the coffee table and immediately began typing out a reply. “I feel… good,” I told her. “I feel like I sort of might be over it.”
I had been with the same guy, on and off, for about six months. We had gone from the dating track, to the friendship track, to the no-contact track, and back again, repeating this cycle a full three rounds. Two weeks ago, I cut off contact with him—again—hoping that the bogus notion of “out of sight, out of mind” might work this time around.
Well you know what they say, ladies: Ignore them and they will come. Sure enough, he called and texted over the weekend, saying he missed me and wanted to see me, suggesting that I “come by"...at 2 am. I knew this would happen. The result of the no-contact period was always the same. But this time it hurt more than the other times; this time it felt less like I won the game and more like I lost- and in double overtime. How was I ever going to get over this guy? He was unrelenting, and I pathetically jumped on the merry-go-round with each new revolution, wrapping my arms tightly around his waist, hoping that maybe this time I wouldn’t fall. Well, I did fall. And to my good fortune, I finally hit my head.
“I don’t know how to explain it,” I told Libby. “I feel like it just clicked." I told her that it's kind of how I imagine Allie feels in that scene in The Notebook when she says to her finance, "I used to paint. All the time. I really loved it." He looks at her, totally bewildered. "I didn’t know that," he says. "So paint." She smiles, her eyes registering something significant, as if her world has suddenly fallen into place: "I will."
A few days later she leaves him for good. And she paints.
The most creative thing I’ve done since I met him was to pick out paint colors for his new apartment. And to be honest, that was probably the peak of our relationship. I was happy to have an outlet for my creativity, and he was happy to encourage it for the sake of his lifeless little apartment. When the painting was finished and the apartment was perfect, that healthy chapter of our relationship was closed as well. His encouragement of my "artistic" side ceased, and he naturally refocused his attention on himself. Before I knew it, I was back to being that person I didn’t recognize. When I was with him, I was anxious and on edge, always on the defensive, always trying to articulate opinions that weren't necessarily important, or even mine for that matter. I had no other outlet, no channel through which I could express myself. For whatever reason, his presence stifled me. To put it simply: Being with him left me uninspired. He left me uninspired.
Now that I’ve had my breakthrough, I wonder if it will be enough. Will it be enough to keep me from dusting off my knees and jumping back onto his rotary carnival ride? You know, I think it will be. Because no one can focus on herself when she’s riding in circles on the back of someone else. And while standing on solid ground may leave me dizzy for some time, at least I can walk away towards something new and undiscovered—towards a new band, a new picture, a new story... and eventually a new guy.
Besides, who wants to forever listen to the perennial squealing tune of a merry-go-round? Personally, I've got a serious headache. I think three times around is more than enough.
