She’s written off the relationship threet times already today. When I get quiet (not ghosting) she loses her mind and breaks up with me after about three hours. A few days ago, add a binge of tequila and a firepit in the backyard, and she’s more of an alien to me than a lover.

I guess that’s the hardest part: giving up.

What was it? What is it? Is it me? More likely, I’ve been through enough shitshows to know when I’m losing ground. She could not take her responsibility for her two divorces or the affair. Wait, what?

Why would you admit to a new potential partner that you cheated on your first husband? To air the laundry? To warn me off?

On and on we go, round and round, and where we end up, well, I saw this one coming.

It is highly unlikely that even with a relationship coach, she’s going to be able to shortcut her way out of the emotional fallout of her impending divorce. What’s taken so long? What took so long for you to realize you were married to a cheating, addicted, creep?

Well, that’s not me.

The repair yesterday was sweet and short.

We finally made it to our greenbelt walk. I’ve been asking since our first night together. “Want to go for a walk in the greenbelt this morning?” “I usually run.”

Right.

The plan, as I understood it, was to pick a recipe, plan a meal, go to the store, cook together, clean the kitchen together… all of it.

Some moments after the walk, the wheels came off again. She pulled out a cookbook that was one my mom used. It was a moment. I sat in the playroom to read recipes.

She grabbed two more cookbooks. Sat in a different room. What? At some point, I said, “I feel like I’ve done something wrong and I have no idea what it is.”

She was expressing frustration at the lateness of the hour. It was 6:30 pm. “This is not how I wanted this to go.”

She offered to call for a pizza. “But, that’s not what you like.” She mentioned going to the nearby grocery store and getting some of their ready-made soups. I offerend to go pick something up. She punted later to some chicken she’d already “thawed for tonight.”

Well, what the fk happened? Where did you go. It’s not to late? With us, it has never been too late. We’re up on our sleep, so, why drop the plan and be butthurt about the drop?

We agreed to have the chili con queso that I had brought over two weeks ago. It was delicious.

It was a bust. She did put the chicken in. I asked if I could help. “Nope.”

As she finished up the chicken prep alone, and got it in the oven, she left and took a shower, lights off and door closed. As in, “Do not enter.”

Later, when she emerged with wet, fragrant hair and a semblance of a smile. As she was readying dinner, she poured herself a glass of wine. Didn’t ask if I wanted to join her until about 10 minutes later when we were getting ready for the show. “No thanks.”

“I feel like I have done something wrong,” I said. “I have no idea what it could’ve been.”

We proceeded to watch a scripted show that I’d pulled up and pitched. She was leaning away from me on the couch. The cuddles and sensual playfulness were absent. She had a hard time holding my offered hand. I felt anxious. About being left. (Big warning sign in my heart. Uh oh!)

Okay.

I made a fun moment out of us getting in bed before midnight. “We did it. We’re heading to bed.”

We chatted for a short time and she turned off the light.

“I wonder if this relationship is just about the sex.”

Um, okay, so taking sex off the table was a move of mine, but I was happy to show her my cuddles and sleep side. It was a strained night. She woke with feelings of strife, disconnection, and some unspoken threat or anxiety.

I cannot compete with her overwhelming moments.

I was hoping we could play through. We talked about it briefly last night.

“When you left that first time…”

“I didn’t leave. I went home.”

“When you storm out of here in the morning, leaving me…”

“I just went home. It was 11:30 am. I had some work to attend to.”

“Some problem you make out of nothing. Then you act offended.”

“Hurt. Sad. Those are very different than offended.”

“First thing. No hug. No sweetness. No ‘how are you?’ Then you can’t be near me.”

I was trying to make her cup of coffee with her fully-automatic machine. I seemed to get in her way.

“Don’t be mad,” she said, reflexively. That was for someone else. I was not mad. I was exasperated that she was still in a fearful place. Whatever set her off last night, was not just resolved magically by sleeping on it, or pretending it’s “fine.”

“Fine” is never fine. It’s always broken.

There is no future in hiding stuff, making stuff up, or upsetting your loved one over and over again and being blamed for your impatience, anger, or my seeming offended to you.

I’m no longer offended, I’m out.

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