*this post is a continuation of a story. It will stand alone in many ways but for missing context please go back a few…*
It was a dark time. My subconscious was beating me down. I had gone against character and left a job without notice, leaving a person that I liked hanging. It would be many days before I would stop replaying the argument that led up to my quitting in my head. I didn’t care about the person involved so much as I cared about my reaction to it. Those of us with anxiety are doomed to replay difficult events over and over in our heads. My only comfort was that I hadn’t changed my assessment of the situation. There was no way that I could show my face in there again. I still haven’t gone in. And this bothers me because I really want to offer Vinny an apology. He deserves that. I know that his behavior towards me, as disrespectful as it was, wasn’t personal. He liked me as a friend, at least in the beginning, and was fairly good to me. It’s not his fault that I refuse to allow myself to be treated poorly. I did him wrong and I will apologize to him. I’m not afraid, I just haven’t picked my moment. I suppose part of me is worried that he won’t let me get it out. It’s unlikely, but he might kick me out of the store and I wouldn’t blame him if he did. But it would bother me.
The bigger problem was my deteriorating relationship with my girl. I was making an effort but she was slipping away. I really couldn’t figure out what I did or was doing wrong (my go-to is always to blame myself) but something was definitely off. We argued at least once every weekend, the sex was decreasing in frequency and in passion (that part was always good) and when apart we barely spoke on the phone. When we did it didn’t feel right. As for our texts, I made the sad realization that if I didn’t reach out I wouldn’t hear from her at all. I knew it was over when I offered to come down during the week and she said no. I finally decided to call her on it. I knew we would fight soon enough and the next weekend didn’t disappoint. During some stupid drunk argument (her not me) I finally said, “Don’t people who are in a relationship want to talk to each other, and to see each other? Don’t people in a serious relationship think about the other when they wake up and go to bed?”
She made a face that said it all. Sort of a self-defeating “you’re right” face. She then began to tell me that we’re going too fast, that I’m too intense (I seem to remember her being the aggressor both sexually and in the ‘I love you’s’ department but whatever). She wanted to slow things down, let it flow organically. I thought it was bullshit but I said ok and asked her to define it. She wouldn’t, and as I knew it would be, going forward I had no fucking idea how to act around her. Which only added to the tension. She didn’t get that I needed more, that knowing the truth would really help me. It was then that she told me I was too sensitive.
A week later I arrived on a Saturday. I went to sit next to her on the sofa to watch a movie with her and she freaked out, started accusing me of “invading her personal space”. I was at a loss and was not prepared for the argument that ensued. She went to bed pissed off and I sat on the sofa thinking real hard about just leaving. But we had plans the next day to go to a cookout where I had (operative word) been excited about introducing her to my Mason friends. So I stuck around until morning.
I wasn’t very surprised to see her stumble out of the bedroom the next morning as pissed off as she went to bed. Like a frickin’ idiot I still stuck around for a couple of hours to see what would happen. Those hours consisted mostly of her playing with her phone as her hangover subsided. Then she went to the bathroom and when she came out she announced that she wasn’t feeling well and that I should leave. No hug. No goodbye. She just closed the door to her room. At that point there wasn’t much doubt. This ship had sailed. So I left.
I went to the cookout as planned. All of my buddies who had seen our supposedly great relationship play out of FB asked me where she was. I lied and told them that she just wasn’t feeling well, despite the fact that I knew what was really going on.