Welcome To An Adult Break-up

So Darcy and I broke up yesterday.

It turns out I was so convincing in my reasoning that maybe we shouldn't be together, that I convinced him. So, I turned up at the flat, having figured out on the weekend that us breaking up is a ridiculous idea as we both love each other and I was just being silly. I was all ready for us to run into each others arms and preparing to laugh about the whole situation in years to come

"Remember when you freaked out about my little trip to New Zealand, and we nearly broke up?" He'll say, cheekily, while I roll my eyes sarcastically in reply.

"Oh yes, he loves to tell this story - so young I was back then, so foolish."

We'll laugh and he'll rub my knee affectionately, and everyone around us will smile and wonder "How could those two have ever thought of not being together, they are absolutely the perfect couple".

Sorry, it turns out the more depressed I am, the easier I fall into flights of fancy and makeshift scenarios complete with dialogue. That may reflect badly on my general mental state, but actually given the circumstances, I'll take flights of fancy over all-encompassing mental anguish and depression.

That's the funny thing though, I'm actually not that depressed about it - I called Pickled Lily earlier to break the news, and I could hear by the tone in her voice once I'd told her, there was a shift from casual phone voice to soft tiptoey oh-mate-im-so-sorry voice in preparation for some blubbering on my part. But I couldn't play my part and do the sniffly heartbroken oh-god-how-could-he voice, which, to be honest, I had kind of assumed would just come naturally.

But the more I talked, telling her about the situation, the more evident it became that I wasn't actually, in any way, upset. I mean obviously I'm upset but.. I just can't feel it. I mean, I know I'm definitely definitely heartbroken. Because, I love him, and he's broken up with me. And not only that, but he's used my own reasoning and logic to break up with me. So not only can I not fight it, but I feel like some sort of stupid masochistic fool who provides the people that she loves with reasons not to be with her then is surprised when it turns out, they don't want to be with her. Wait I've shifted into the 3rd person here, not sure how that happened. But back to the 1st person narrative - I'm definitely heartbroken. I know this. But talking to Pickled Lily, I just didn't feel it. I mean, it's probably some deeply-ingrained defence mechanism that's protecting me from the pain by making me pretend I don't have any, because if I actually felt it I'd go into anaphylactic shock or something (I actually have no idea what anaphylactic shock means, so I don't know where I've picked it up from. Casualty? I don't watch Casualty. Probably ER.)

I likened that feeling, or the lack thereof, to exams - when you know that there's an exam, a big important one that's going to determine the rest of your future, and it's in a couple of days, and you know - you know you're taking that exam. And you haven't done any work (a feeling I know well after my 20 years in private bloody education) so you know that you're panicking. Except you're actually not, you're pretty calm. But you know, somewhere inside you, there's some definite panic. What I'm feeling about Darcy is exactly that feeling. I know, somewhere inside me, I'm heartbroken and freaking out, I just can't feel it at all.

Is that weird? Saying it to Pickled Lily earlier it didn't seem weird, it seemed perfectly normal and I was pretty pleased with myself for coming up with so perfect an analogy. You can't be pleased with grammar and analogies when you're heartbroken, can you? ..No. Exactly.

So back to what actually happened - I called him on Sunday morning, after having taken the few days off without contact that I'd said I needed, and excitedly told him I'd sorted through the issue, and everything was fine, I'd explain over dinner and a celebratory bottle of wine tonight. Because, I had figured it out - we should definitely not break up before he goes to Greenland. Obviously. Because he leaves in just under 2 weeks, and us breaking up now would be pointless - I wouldn't forego the 6 weeks of missing him and worrying whether or not he had fallen down some ice-hole in Greenland, because I'd still love him, the emotions would be exactly the same, except that we wouldn't have the cushion of being together upon his return. Also, it's the perfect way to test whether or not I can handle January - if when he goes to Greenland, I discover it's too much and I'm a wreck with worry, we have the time to talk about it when he's back, and make a decision about breaking up then. And if when he goes to Greenland, I worry for a few days then realise actually why am I worried, he's probably fine - and I get on with my life and don't resent him at all, then hooray - no problem for January! See - so us breaking up before he goes to Greenland = stupid. And I literally couldn't understand why I hadn't seen it before - it's just so obvious. Duh.

So I get to the flat, bottle of red in one hand, his favourite Chinese takeout in the other, just been listening to T-Rex on the bus ride over "we love to boogie, we love to boogie on a Saturday night" and feeling like I'd somehow won - I'd discovered a problem, thought it through, and now I was going to break the lovely news to my patient, wonderful man, that there was in fact, a perfectly logical solution. Beautiful, dependable logic. Good ol' logic gonna sort eeeverything out, so in the meantime let's boogie!

As soon as he opened the door, my face fell. There was a one-second pause between my ta-daa-I'm-here smile and his why-dont-you-come-in smile, and in that second I knew my celebratory delight had been premature and misplaced. Dammit! So he leads me into the sitting room, we open the wine, I awkwardly follow him around the kitchen as if it's a first date and I sit down gingerly at the breakfast bar as if I've not been here a million times before, as if I've not sat at this breakfast table in his boxers and shirt while he makes us a 3am post-coital snack, as if we've not sat here every morning over coffee and cereal talking about the recession while playing footsie under the table, as if I don't know this bloody breakfast table so well that I know there's a fag burn on the underside corner from when he was at work and I was having a sneaky cigarette and I thought I heard a noise so hurriedly stubbed it out, burning my hand in the process, and when it turned out to be the neighbours cat stratching at the door I was so relieved I let it have the milk from my cornflakes.

He pours the wine, sits at the table, and we skirt around the issue for a while.

"So how was your weekend?"

"Oh I spoke to your brother, he was telling me about mad Auntie Jill"

"Oh right.. shes actually thinking of moving abroad.. It is the time to, really."

".. Yeah I suppose ..bloody recession and all that"

And eventually I think fuck this weird atmosphere, he's probably just nervous that I might freak out again like last week, so I'll put his mind to rest. So I tell him how I'm sorry for worrying him, and how I've actually thought it through and figured it all out with my lovely logic, so no need to worry *pause for beaming smile*

But he doesn't appear to be as pleased with the lovely logic as I am, and proceeds to tell me, in quiet kind tones, how actually he thinks I was right the first time. It's probably a good idea we go our separate ways to save either of us years of hurt and/or resentment (me and/or him, respectively) and that he always knew that his expeditions were going to be a problem, and he really doesn't want to hurt me, and actually this is why he originally thought being in a relationship wasn't right for him. Anyway, we discuss this for a while, and the more he talks, the more I see that his logic is flawless. I mean, of course his logic is flawless, it's my argument from a few days ago played back to me verbatim (well, much more eloquently, actually, thus more convincingly). And after half a bottle of wine and some chinese dumplings - I have to agree with him. It is better this way. I love him too much to want to hold him back, or for him to end up feeling so guilty about doing what he loves that he becomes someone else, and resents me for it. He loves me too much to put me through worrying about him all the time, and to ask me to wait around for him isn't fair. And neither of us want us to turn into something we're not, something bad and full of dangerous emotional subtext. So let's just part ways now. At the peak, when we both love and respect each other, but just know - the timing isn't right.

So that's it. I took the train home (admittedly I cried so hard I had to get off - London train etiquette, everyone was shifting a bit awkwardly at the weeping girl in the corner and I couldn't deal with public pretending), went to bed, woke up and made myself some lunch, and waited for the emotional downfall to begin. But nothing. So I watched a couple of episodes of Gilmore Girls -still nothing. So I called Pickled Lily, and as aforementioned, came to the conclusion I was fine. And it's weird, I really do feel okay. To the point where I'm even a little suspicious and mildly terrified that maybe it's the calm before the storm.

But actually, this is my first rational, adult, mature breakup. Which perfectly reflects an adult, mature relationship. I guess I'm just used to the drama, used to having broken up with someone, and being flooded with relief and a sense of freedom (and a sense of "if I ever see him again, I'm going to pull my eyes out of their sockets and throw them at the fucker") but with Darcy, I don't hate him. I love him. And our rational, gentle breakup did perfect justice to our relationship. And actually, I've discovered enough self respect over the years to know that if this is really what he wants, then much as I may love him and probably will fucking miss him, I genuinely don't want him to be here if he actually doesn't want to be here. Welcome to an adult relationship --> welcome to an adult breakup.