My Messy, Forever Unresolved Break Up

I’m going to contravene all of my principles and vent about my break up.  I can hear the cliché police now. 

I was in a relationship for over six years.  The whole time I was in it, I thought it was pretty good.  We didn’t fight much, and we laughed a lot, and when there was an awkward silence over dinner it never lasted longer then a few minutes.  I think I would have quietly stayed with him forever.  But he suggested a break, and I think this is why:

I wanted kids.  Not right then, not even in a couple of years, but it was a non negotiable on my eventual to do list.  Once we had been together for six odd years, I thought I’d better bring that up, seeing as he was the man with whom the requisite procreating would take place.  So we sat down to have one of those chats that are few and far between and are really important, and I said I would like to start trying by the time I turn 28.  He looked a little startled, as if he hadn’t once in the term of our relationship considered the idea, but after some squirming agreed.  A few months later, he proposed a break. 

During the break, I re-discovered a carefree Katie I hadn’t known for a long time.  I had been so frightened to leave, clinging on for dear life because I was scared of winding up alone.  But when I was thrown in the deep end, I thrived.  I accepted invitations from uni friends and got pissed and had a blast.  When it came ‘decision time’, I went back on my guarantee that my vote would remain a solid yes, and said goodbye.  I went first, so I’ll never know what he would have said had he.

I was really surprised by what happened after that.  I moved out, and he refused to ever speak to me again.  I in my naivety had assumed we might actually be friends.  After a couple of attempts to get in contact he sent me a message making it abundantly clear that not only did he want nothing to do with me, he had accrued a deep disdain for me and what I had ‘done’.

I am not writing this column to sling mud.  I am writing it because I want to talk about my feelings.  I have no idea what I did.  I don’t know if it was one thing or the whole bloody relationship.  All I know is that I thought we had a nice 6 years, but apparently he doesn’t. 

It’s caused me to look at the entire relationship in a negative light.  If I could be so utterly wrong in my assessment of how he felt post-break, perhaps I was living a delusion the whole time.  Was he quietly despising me every time I ranted about the managers at The Botanical, or when I made him eat at a restaurant and drink wine, because that’s what I liked to do?  Maybe he just didn’t know how to leave?  He did try to break up with me on a previous occasion.  I talked him out of it.

I’ve only really started thinking about this stuff lately.  I suppose I just turned away from it till now.  But the more I think about it, the more I think I have a right to know.  Because as it stands, I can’t enjoy any of my memories.  They’ve all been tainted by my assumption that the entire relationship was built on a false pretence.  A pretence of happiness.  It’s a big chunk of my life to be so un-sure about.

It’s a long time ago now, and it’s not going to get resolved.  I just want to express that I’m angry.  Just a little bit.  Angry that he claimed the moral high ground and made me the bad guy and refused to tell me why.  Refused to talk to me at all.  So after six years all I’m left with is confusion and a murky sense of guilt for I-don’t-know-what.  I’ll never have the faintest clue how he sees it.