Who Scared Who?

After getting such a good start last week on eating better, I was really compulsive over the weekend. My friend whose house I’m staying in buys lots of snacks -- chips of all kinds, cookies -- and that stuff is like crack to me. If it’s in the house I want to eat it till it’s gone. Even when it’s not really mine, I can’t keep my hands off it. When I live alone, it’s easier to abstain. It’s easier not to buy it than it is not to eat it.


M wasn’t able to articulate much of what he was thinking and feeling that led him to want out, but three things he was fairly clear about. One, he was no longer interested in having sex with me. And two, he worried that I was, as he said, putting all my eggs in one basket (our relationship, him). And he made a tentative connection between the two. He said that his concern about 2 may have led to 1. And three: he said that when he started to feel like he needed to take care of me -- because I’ve had so many worries about money and career since I met him -- he started to lose interest sexually.

Maybe this is obvious to everyone but me -- it wouldn’t be the first time -- but it occurred to me today that I have been wrong in saying that M was scared of how deeply invested in the relationship I was. He was scared of how deeply invested he was. Right?

The day after the last time I saw him, I unfriended him on Facebook, and I regret it now. It still hurts to look at pictures of him, but at the time it felt unbearable. I wish I’d had the foresight to just hide his posts for a while. He doesn’t post a lot.

I’ve been thinking a lot about B, the wonderful man I was with from the age of 23 to almost 30. We were as close to married as I think I will ever be. We lived in a floor-through apartment in a brownstone (granted, a very run-down brownstone) in Ft. Greene in Brooklyn with 3 cats and a dog. It was a very sane, stable, comfortable arrangement. And then one day, suddenly I decided that I needed to be alone, that my life was not satisfying, that I had become someone I didn’t want to be, that I was missing something. And I left him. I wasn’t able to articulate why, except to say that I still cared for him every bit as much, but that I wanted out. After 6 years.

I don’t want to say that this is the same, but I sympathize with M not being able to tell me what’s in his head, whether he knows or not.

B and I have stayed loosely in touch, more so since Facebook. A few years ago, almost 20 years after leaving, I wrote him a long note trying to explain more fully, with the benefit of hindsight, what was in my head back then. Apologizing, in a way. I think that experience is why, despite my confusion and frustration, I don’t have ill feelings toward M. But I hope I don’t have to wait 20 years to know what the hell happened.

I’ve cried very little the last two days. I feel blank, but I’m finding some pleasure in preparing meals and eating. I still don’t have any desire to spend time with friends, except J. I meditated again today for 10 minutes, and it wasn’t at all difficult, so I’ll increase the time to 15 or 20 minutes tomorrow.