Here's my dilemma: Can you really go back? I lived with a guy on and off for about four years. We were always back and forth—me moving; him coming to be with me, then leaving. We repeated this cycle so many times, it makes me wonder why I think I've got a dilemma; I should just totally cut myself loose. Over the last two years, we only saw each other once, for about four days.
When we vibe, we really vibe; when we don't, it's like we're both speaking a foreign language. Except for the sex. We make love and we have raunchy sex, and it's all good. Which is probably why we've been circling each other sniffing for so long.
At the end of last year I decided I couldn't take him into 2004 with me, and I seriously started moving in a different direction: new stuff, new friends. I made myself have a life instead of wondering all the time whether he was going to be in it or not. And things have been working out fabulously. Of course, as soon as I felt OK with things and was even thinking about getting my sex pot stirred by someone else, he starts doing this psychic connection stuff and calling me, wanting to come visit, wanting to be back in my life—really back in my life. He's talking marriage. So the S&M side of me said OK, come for a visit—let's see where we are.
He came. The sex is great—even better than before! He's doing everything I wanted him to do two years ago. He's accepted all my new friends and is doing family stuff that he used to avoid like the plague.
Is this real? My heart really can't tell anymore.
It's long been my conviction that people write me already knowing the answer to the questions they ask. The only purpose my "advice" generally serves is to bitch-slap them into ignoring the ignorant pleadings of their heart and pay attention to the stern instructions emanating from their rational side. Which is fine. Makes my job a whole fuckuva lot easier.
But not today. As I scanned your letter, a giant lump lodged in my throat; and within seconds, I was blubbering away like the tragic star of some soppy Lifetime movie. (I feel I must clarify that I'm not even vaguely premenstrual.)
Yesterday, an ex who I'm apparently still hung up on called me. We had a long talk about what had gone wrong, and as we cleared the air, instead of feeling better, I felt worse. I'd been trying so hard to get over him that I'd forgotten about all the things I liked about him. Talking to him banished all the bad stuff and forced me to admit to myself that I still missed the hell out of him. Anyway, seems it was a case of bad timing that split us up, not some deficiency of mine, as I'd previously believed. And sure, while it's good to know that he doesn't find me physically repulsive or incredibly stupid, it's frustrating and sad to hear that he's much saner and happier now and has changed his life in myriad ways, partly due to what went down between us. Oh, and he has a new girlfriend, who's the lucky beneficiary of all his hard work. Sucks to ride the learning curve.
So when I read your letter, I couldn't help but think of what I would've done if the call had ended differently . . . you know, if the part where the new girlfriend came up had never happened. If instead of telling me about her, he'd confessed a big fat love jones for me . . . well, I am deeply embarrassed to admit that if he had asked if I wanted to give it another go—despite all the pain he's put me through—I would've said yes. (Of course, five seconds later my friends would've staged an intervention and had me involuntarily committed, but whatever—we're dealing in hypotheticals here.)
Which is why I think you should give it a shot. Bear in mind my judgment on this matter is murky at best, but I think that sometimes you have to chuck what your brain says and follow your heart. (Or is that some other misguided organ we're listening to?)
Take a chance: Write Dategirl at email@example.com or c/o Seattle Weekly, 1008 Western Ave., Ste. 300, Seattle, WA 98104.