#26 DIARY OF HEARTBREAK: THE ACTUAL PATHETIC EMAIL I WROTE TO MYSELF AFTER THE FIRST STELLA ADLER ACADEMY ACTOR BREAKUP
#26 DIARY OF HEARTBREAK: THE ACTUAL PATHETIC EMAIL I WROTE TO MYSELF AFTER THE FIRST STELLA ADLER ACADEMY ACTOR BREAKUP
When you’re young and you're in it, you just don’t see all the red flags and all the places you go wrong…
Readers may think I was totally stupid not to see how I was being treated, but based on my email, I did know. I just didn’t walk away.
Some of my own insights about myself in this email and the relationship were on point but I still couldn't stop myself from being insecure and I don’t understand why I wanted this relationship at all when, despite what I told myself, it didn't bring me any happiness. And as Dorian also stressed, it didn’t bring any joy for him either.
He couldn’t get away from me fast enough. I’ll truly never know why he even asked me out in the first place because let me tell you, dating someone not into you is like a slice through the ego.
If you haven’t read my three other posts about Dorian, read them linked below.
NB: This long email is copied out exactly as I wrote it thirteen years ago. Names have been edited, of course. Thankfully, my character and personality – and what I accept and don’t accept in relationships – has moved on since this time.
This email is embarrassing and cringey because of the types of obsessive thoughts I had, the things I believed about myself (and others), the things I valued – all of which no longer align with who I have become. But I was young and didn’t know the shape of a healthy relationship nor would I for years yet. Would that have made my young twenties mind calmer, knowing I’d find love later? Maybe or maybe not.
I was good at learning life’s lessons, but, unfortunately, I seemed to have to experience the bad ones to learn from them.
Tuesday, 17 August 2010
Dorian broke up with me Sunday night. Well, I suppose it was technically Monday morning around midnight to one o’clock. In a way, I saw it coming. I’d planted the idea weeks earlier with my insecurities. We were having problems – I don’t remember what exactly – and I remember thinking that our “honeymoon” period was too short, but I was still happy and I thought we could work everything out. Anyway, we were discussing a problem and I was like, “so, what do you want to do about it? Do you want to break up?” I didn’t really want to break up.
I was hoping for the, “of course I don’t want to break up. What could make you think such a thing? I think you are wonderful.” That’s not what I got! Though I don’t recall exactly, I got something like, “is that what you want?” I don’t think he would have ever considered it as an out this early on in the relationship, a relationship that was like a whirlwind – to be cliché – in its rapidity.
Things moved hard and fast and we fell “in love” quickly and saw a promising future. I really felt that my six months with Dorian felt like a year-to-two-years-long relationship. So, there it was, I’d planted an idea and any problem that arose during the next few weeks would, consequently – I imagine – make Dorian consider if a breakup was the best solution.
There are a million reasons that I’ve been milling around in my head as to why he’d end things. Maybe I’ll discuss some later on. He selected a perfect time – the night before I had to wake up at 6.45 AM to teach my first two solo classes ever.
Though, maybe I saw it coming? I heard the words, “this just isn’t working for me” as I was about to board a plane to Denver with him in Atlanta. And, again, I thought, perfect timing. Now, I have to spend a week with a man who I was perfectly happy with and who didn’t want to be with me in a city, Denver, with my family who thought I had a happy relationship with this new boyfriend. So, things got patched up in Denver and I thought, at first, that things were just being patched up until we got home and then he’d break up with me. So, my thoughts morphed into fears. And I realised that, even though there were things about Dorian that I didn’t particularly like, I didn’t want to end things. I mean, mostly, or I’d like to think that in breakups both parties see the logical end of the relationship, but I didn’t feel that way. Once the fear of breakup had been planted, I felt insecure about it. Maybe I misinterpreted the events following negatively.
So, Sunday night (or Monday morning), I’d cleaned myself up for the next day, shaved, washed my hair and so on and was feeling anxious, yet excited. I’d never intended to take as long as I did showering and I’d pretty much planned to get clean by 8 PM and spend the evening with Dorian watching TV and then go home to bed, but, instead, as fate would have it, I got to Dorian’s late.
We’d talked about having sex earlier in the day when we were getting our haircuts; however, I wanted to shower and so forth before we did and I had many errands to run before I could shower for the evening. I had to print my syllabus, which meant making tweaks to it and making sure it was typo-free. I also had to make sure my class schedule made sense. I discovered that I’d scheduled a free write on a day in which I asked the students to do Regent’s Test Prep – which I’ve disguised as a “Diagnostic.” Of course, that’d be too much writing for them in one day and I don’t want to exhaust their brains. That meant I had to re-number the 33 free writes for the semester on both my calendar and the schedule. And, as far as I know, there’s no easy way to do this; I had to move my cursor and delete and type each new number individually.
My point is that, as is usually the case with me, my errands took longer than I anticipated. That, and, once I got to the Department of English to make copies of my syllabus, the copier decided to be on the fritz. Yes, so now I really know how to remove paper from all seven potential jam spots, since I had to troubleshoot paper jams at least six times whilst I embarked on the copying journey. I finally figured out – after like a dummy, attempting several times to do the task that the copier obviously was not prepared to do – that the copier only had a problem with hole-punching my syllabus, so I set it to staple only and voila! Copies! Copies! Glorious copies!
I went home after copying my syllabus. And, as is my unfortunate style, I played on Facebook far too long and didn’t end up showering until too late. Though, I didn’t know it would be too late to cash in on the much-needed relaxation “relations.”
I go to Dorian’s in his pyjama pants, no makeup (big mistake), and one of his button-up shirts and no bra. I guess this stuff only works if you think your partner is attracted to you. I once showed up in my Vera Wang coat and lingerie and that went over well, but, overall, I didn’t feel very attractive to him. He’d compliment my arse all the time, tell me I looked great without makeup, and tell me I was really “good-looking” every now and then, but my insecurities – and his fat-free, muscular body and perfect features – made me feel a bit inferior for not being equally perfect. Of course, this is my mistake entirely.
Um, back to the story. I arrived at Dorian’s place. He was playing video games (as is his want lately – and when I say lately, I mean just this week since he only just got the PS3, which is pretty cool and I really looked forward to the whole Netflix thing with his fancy TV and the streaming-to-TV movies, but that’s beside the point).
I came over in the mood for sex and it was apparent that he wasn’t in the mood; he said he was in the mood earlier, but not when I came over. And me, being extremely sexually frustrated since I’d just gotten off my period and hadn’t had sex in a while, was irritable and pissed and probably said a few things I shouldn’t have: You’re the only person who has turned me down. You’re the only guy I’ve known who isn’t in the mood at any time. Something along the lines of you are unusual for wanting to do things like cuddle after sex.
Essentially, I probably poked, prodded, and provoked his manhood nerve. In hindsight, this was not a good move. Never insult a man’s virility and especially since we’d had problems early on in the relationship with sex, which seemed to have resolved themselves entirely. Another thing was that I felt I was more sexually aggressive, which I found to be a problem. Obviously. I felt I wanted sex all the time with him because I was extremely attracted to him and he rarely seemed to want it, which I took as an affront.
My reasoning is that if you are into someone you want to have sex with them, especially if you are attracted to them. So, if you aren’t having sex frequently enough (at least once a day), then the other person isn’t into you. Maybe this is faulty reasoning. Maybe I’m not taking into account different people’s needs and so on, but that’s just how I see things. I felt ultimately rejected because he never seemed to want to have sex with me. I felt – wrongly or rightly – that I always initiated sex, which, inevitably, wasn’t always the case, but when you are the sexual aggressor and you are a woman you are sort of socially constructed to feel a bit out of place at the change in relationship.
With my last relationship, I could barely keep up and I rarely initiated sex. Perhaps he felt saddened that he was the more sexually aggressive of the two of us. Honestly, I didn’t want sex with [my high school sweetheart] as often as he did and it wasn’t because we had a terrible sex life. I’m not sure what it was.
But that knowledge – of how I was with my last sexually-aggressive boyfriend – I reasoned that if I was the sexual aggressor and my boyfriend rarely wanted sex, there was something wrong with me; he wasn’t that into me or attracted to me. I’d beaten myself up mentally over and over again about this issue.
Did the fact that he got off most often when I was on my stomach indicate that he didn’t really like looking at my face and/or body? Did the fact that he rarely undressed me all the way indicate the same? But, wait, he did compliment my legs, tits, arse, every now and then, so that can’t be it! But, just think. He doesn’t want sex that often. He thinks there is something wrong with you. He – for whatever reason, which may be no fault of his own – just doesn’t find you as attractive as he does the women in the porn videos he watches. I mean, I guess you can’t blame him, you’re pretty, but you aren’t in porn-star shape. You aren’t in beautiful actress shape. Therefore, it’s okay if your boyfriend doesn’t find you as attractive. I mean, c’mon, he has a practically perfect body; it’s only natural he’d expect perfection, too. And, well, he used to seem to like to give you oral, but now it’s less frequent and he knows how much you love it.
This line of reasoning is dangerous. It is apparent even to me as I write these things that this line of reasoning is mind-poison. Did I destroy and sabotage my relationship because I wasn’t okay enough about myself?
I mean, I’m confident. I think I’m attractive. But I often walk around with a bit of a chip on my shoulder for not being “perfect”—for not being one of the apparent “hot” girls with the six-pack abs and perfect arms and perfect legs and perfectly pert, small tits. Why do I find small breasts most attractive? I’m not sure. I just think they’d be more comfortable and more likely to age gracefully, perhaps?
I know people find me attractive, but ever since my body became what is best described as “voluptuous” (and “voluptuous” people never want to be called “voluptuous” because they equate it with “fat”) and not “skinny,” or “thin,” or “slim” I’ve been a little insecure. And by a little I mean a lot. I’m insecure that I’m not and never will be one of those “cute” and “little” girls who get to be skinny and petite. No matter how thin I become or in shape, I will never, ever be described as small. I’m not huge. But I’m not sure I’m average. These insecurities, naturally, have affected my relationships with men. Dorian was no exception.
At first, in the beginning, I tried to act confident and unaffected by my body type. And it worked, for a while.
Dorian was a non-threatening sort of boyfriend in that he never (to my knowledge) openly checked out women in my presence. I never saw him flirt or hint at flirting with another woman. And that’s a comfortable place to be. I followed suit.
For the first time in my life, I wouldn’t have been described as “naturally flirty.” I was content and happy with Dorian and I wasn’t on the lookout for anyone new. I keep getting sidetracked.
Backtracking: so, I went to his place, he wasn’t in the mood; I was. I was pissed that he wasn’t and that he wasn’t willing to try and get in the mood. I wanted sex for the physical closeness and an orgasm for the physical relief that would help me sleep. Then, I wanted to cuddle a bit and go home and go to bed.
Dorian just wanted to cuddle. And in my agitated state, I wanted anything but to cuddle. After insulting his manhood a bit, I just turned my back on him – which he hates, but I didn’t do it because of that – I did it because I was on the verge of tears, tears which, until recently, I could never cry – I’d effectively learned to stop myself from crying at all. Ever.
And often, I really wanted to cry. Out of frustration. Out of sadness. Out of happiness. For any reason at all. But I never could – but now, now I can.
Anyway, I turned my back on him because I was feeling rejected. Another time. Rejected by my boyfriend. I was feeling utterly unattractive to him. And coupled with the fact that I’d not gone to the gym for a month and gained some weight, I felt he didn’t find me attractive at all.
He asked me if I was going to ignore him and I said I didn’t have anything to say. I’d had a couple of frustrated false starts – I was going to storm off and go home, making sure to let him know I was upset (as if he couldn’t tell! Pah!). And part of my brain thought I should just calm down and was being ridiculous for being so upset about his not being in the mood for sex. I even said so. That I was sorry and I was just talking through my frustrations.
I turned over. Maybe I sat up. And I pretty much went off. I said how I was frustrated that he’d taken a while to wake that morning when I’d had a lot to do and we’d needed to go to the store to buy non-clumping litter for Jack and Lily and new, small litter pans, and kitten food, and a number of other items. And I bitched that he’d taken ages and that, after shopping, he’d played his video game as I cleaned the old litter pan out, filled the new ones, fed the cats, and so on. I don’t remember now what I said.
But, at some point, maybe when I’d finished, he said those dreaded words again, “This just isn’t working for me.”
I felt as if someone had stabbed me in the heart and twisted the cold, steel knife. It came as a shock. I reflected on the timing and its utter imperfection. I reflected that I’d probably not be able to sleep the night. I didn’t want things to end.
Breakups, unfortunately, are a non-negotiable affair.
Even though I may have seen hints that it wouldn’t work out for the future – I didn’t want things to end. And not like that. Not when there was no logical end and no real unhappiness for me.
I loved having Dorian as a boyfriend. I thought we had such a great time together. He thought that day-to-day wasn’t always great. Maybe I nagged too much. But, I think that in a relationship there are certain expectations and that they should be met. I’ll reflect on this statement later.
Anyway, I think that whatever problems Dorian had with me, he should have told me. Any time he told me that he found something I did to be annoying I tried not to do it. And I didn’t have to try very hard. It wasn’t as if making him happy was difficult for me. I can easily change my behaviour. I mean, it’s not like they were learned and set in stone.
Thinking back, for some reason he liked to purposefully do things that annoyed me and upset me. I didn’t do that. I didn’t set out to upset him. The sad thing is that it’s hard to be the person that someone doesn’t care about enough to make an effort.
He used to be the perfect boyfriend: wonderfully sweet, surprise “just because” gifts, an abundance of affection, and effortless conversation. Those things had dwindled by the “end” of our short time together. But, either way, I was still happy.
I feel really heartbroken. For the first time in my life, I am heartbroken. I know what it feels like to feel pathetic and helpless and out of control. This feeling is new to me. I can’t sleep and I have to force food down my gullet. And anyone who knows me knows that having to force-feed myself is highly unusual with my normally voracious appetite.
Brittany woke up early on Monday – my first day of teaching – and I told her, squeezing out an unintentional tear, which made my newly applied mascara run a little down my left cheek. Her first reaction when I delivered the words, “Dorian broke up with me last night” was “Are you joking?” She was very surprised. So was I. I said, “Why would I joke about something like that.”
When it happened I went home and texted Sarah. I needed comfort. Then, I texted Darcy and she asked if I wanted her to come over. I thought for a split second and decided that I didn’t want to be alone. She, kindly and sweetly, spent the night. I like being around people constantly.
I think that was a problem for Dorian this summer; I spent too much time around him. He liked to be what he called “independent.” He likes to be alone. I wish he’d taken Jung’s personality test so I could have analysed what his needs were.
For example, I’m an ENFP, which means I gain energy from people around me. I love people and I love people being around me. Brittany, on the other hand, is an INFJ, which means her energy is drained by people. She needs non-people, Brittany-alone-time to recover from being around people.
Maybe Dorian needed more recovery time. In fact, now I know that is true. I didn’t give him enough space. But that’s also where communication breakdown came in. He could’ve told me and easily, with a text, a phone call, an email, I could have arranged to meet up with one of my friends. Friends who now consider me pretty flaky for cutting them out of my life, which I didn’t realise I had done. I’m lucky that, despite Brittany’s moodiness at my not being around much during my relationship, which made life a bit uncomfortable and difficult for me lately, my friends stuck by me. Darcy, too, was there for me. And I’ve barely seen her lately.
I held it together pretty well on my first day of classes. At least everyone said so. They were all like, “you seem okay.” I replied, “Well, I have to be. It’s not like I have a choice. I have to be a big girl and move on. Plus, I have so much work ahead of me to keep me busy.”
I keep getting sidetracked. Brittany made me breakfast on my first day. I said to her, “have you eaten breakfast?” And she was about to go for a walk and paused. She said she hadn’t. I said that I’d wanted her to eat breakfast with me. It seemed like a good idea at the time, you see.
So, she immediately jumped, sweetly as is her style, to making me breakfast; however, I didn’t know that, once in front of me, I wouldn’t have the heart to eat what had just taken her several minutes to make. Whilst she was making breakfast I said I was going to the store for Red Bull since I’d barely slept four hours the night before. I picked up a Smart Water with an otter – there were no fishes! When I got back breakfast was laid on the table – she hadn’t made any for herself – scramble and strawberries with honey.
Again, I couldn’t stomach the food. I tried to drink my Red Bull in small doses. This is also unusual. I usually gulp down drinks. Dorian used to joke with me, “Baby, did you spill your drink? Where did it go?”
I had a hard time forcing liquids. (Actually, it took me four separate occasions that day to finish the big can of Red Bull). I immediately went into the kitchen for some Tupperware. I took (and by took I mean slowly, forced) two bites of eggs, which were difficult to swallow. Taste had no appeal to me. For once in my life, I didn’t care about taste, smell, texture, eating. Then, I forced myself to eat the strawberries, realising that I would, indeed, need some form of sustenance for the day. I can’t describe the experience. Perhaps it was like how anorexics feel putting food in their mouth? I held the food in my mouth and willed myself to begin chewing it. It was hard. Very hard.
After my first class, I came home. Then, I went to my second class. Then, I checked out my office after seeing [my bosses at the Student Success Centre] and, before that, Rick.
[Friend who I nicknamed Adam] had called a couple of times to meet up to discuss his law school application statement of purpose. I arrived home (around 12-12.30 PM), later than the 11.30 AM time frame I’d given Adam for our meeting. I must work on my punctuality.
Around 2 PM, when I was on my way to class with Brittany after she woke me up from the nap I attempted, unsuccessfully, to take, I tried to force myself to eat some almonds. I said to Brittany, randomly, “I feel like I have lockjaw.” I really did. My jaw hurt. It hurt to chew. I didn’t eat again after that. When I saw Dorian at the gym that night I felt hungry again, hunger pangs, but I lost my appetite when I wasn’t around him again. Pathetic.
I’d spoken to my mum on the walk home to meet Adam. She was in disbelief. She said she didn’t see it coming. I said, neither did I. I’d seemed together on the phone. At that point, I thought I kind of understood, though I didn't really like, the reasons for the breakup. Now I’m not so clear on what those reasons are and why they are relevant. Mine and my mum’s conversation later that night, however, was laden with streaming tears.
After the gym, I came home and couldn’t contain my streams. When I’d left Dorian’s place after discussing a few more things and picking up a few of my things – always a finalise-r and an unpleasant one at that – I sat in my car bawling. Crying those painful, pitiful, this-is-never-going-to-be-okay tears. Those my-heart-really-hurts tears. I rang my mum on the way home to go off saying how much I didn’t want this. I didn’t want the breakup and I didn’t really understand why he didn’t want to be with me.
That night, last night, I went to bed after syncing my iPod with new music, the iPod that he bought me for my birthday, the iPod that reads on the back “With Love,” next line, “From Dorian.” Great. A constant reminder. I left my phone plugged in to charge. Then, I went to bed. I had difficulty getting to sleep but I did. Eventually. I awoke with heartache at 3.50ish AM. I retrieved my phone and texted [the firefighter neighbour’s hot friend] for a little bit (well, until around 5 AM).
I texted Dorian a couple of times: “Telling me you just want my friendship is like saying, I like you I just don’t find you attractive enough to sleep with you or kiss you. I really don’t understand why you want to end things when I’m willing to work on all of our perceived problems” (3.56 AM, back to my theme of being unattractive) and, the best one, “I’m just so sad and I can’t sleep” (5.07 AM).
I suppose he was asleep. I wish I could get the texts back. I seem to have found an effective strategy to make him never want to get back with me – act pathetic and needy without him. But, hey, it’s fresh. The wound is open and his nonchalance is like rubbing salt in it, lots and lots of burning, stinging, gritty sea salt. Anyway, back to [hot neighbour]. He usually does a good job at cheering me up, but he was a bit out of sorts himself.
I cried. A lot. I tried to go back to sleep, but I couldn’t sleep for crying. I got some water. Then, I decided to get my iPod and try and go to sleep. But, even through the soothing sounds of Michael Buble, I couldn’t sleep through my tears. I removed pictures of Dorian from my room in view after I’d brushed my teeth and washed the tears from my face, which did no good since I cried when I re-entered my room, the kind of crying that can sound much like laughing and can be mistaken as such. And, after I couldn’t sleep, that is when I decided to write, but, at first, I didn’t feel like writing. I was too sad for writing.
So, I’ve been writing since around 5 AM. It’s now 7.14 AM. Brittany is up for her first day of classes. I’ve, yet again, had fewer than five hours of sleep. I’m about to try and make breakfast for Brittany and take her to her office since she was kind enough to do the same for me.
Writing, so far, has been good therapy. Just getting it off my chest is making me feel slightly (only slightly) better. I suppose I’ll continue later after my mountains of work.
I have to do homework for Dr. Elliott, attempt to write some of the paper for Dr. D, prepare my Wednesday lecture, and read all of the readings for my Friday lecture, prepare a quiz for them, and a free write topic and so on. Fun stuff!
This email is rather pathetic but I’ve always found that we “write towards knowing.” Writing to myself (or friends) was my way of dealing with painful emotions and experiences. The Dorian situation was also a lesson in “people are no longer attractive when they aren’t nice” sort of thing. When everything went sour, even though I’d initially found him attractive, that spell was broken.
Naturally, present me believes that no matter what you look like or your partner’s perceived attractiveness (or not), you deserve to be treated fairly and respectfully in relationships. A quest for perfection is fruitless and people only remember “how you made them feel” as the saying goes. Of course, we all notice people who are super attractive but we equally don’t shun people who don’t meet that one-percent level. Only a very small percentage of the population is “perfect,” winning the genetic lottery but all are worthy of love.
Next up, one of the ones I’ve alluded to for a while: the story of the married professor. This post will be my first post that’s for paid subscribers only so be sure to sign up for £4/month to read it.
It’s difficult for creative people to ask for money for their work. Do I even consider myself “creative people”? Not quite yet but maybe once I’ve written that fiction novel/rom-com that I plan to start in January. But I get paid for my editorial day job and I get paid for my freelance writing, so it would be nice to be paid for this little hobby too; however, I understand that lots of subscriptions add up and you maybe can’t afford it so feel free to reach out if you want. Thank you to those very special friends who have already subscribed. It means a lot. Any and all subscribers mean a lot to me so whether you enjoy this writing for free or paid, I appreciate you being here. Thank you.
Don’t forget to check out the other twenty-five posts I’ve written, including the one on why I’m writing this newsletter/blog in the first place.
I want to shake my younger self for being such an idiot. What would you tell your younger self?
