And Then There Was One…

It’s impossible to know or so it seems
What I’m supposed to do with you on anything
I know the blame this time is going to fall on me
‘Cause we all recognize that I’m the problem here
– “Ghouls,” by We Are Scientists
Strutter made me a CD a couple of weeks ago with the a bunch of songs on it, including the one above, and that one is by far my favorite song out of all of them.  I haven’t told her that, though, despite the fact that she’s asked me which ones I liked several times.  Why didn’t I tell her that?  Because I’m the problem here.  Or at least part of it.  She may not be perfect, but I knew that going in to this relationship.  I’ve said (and redacted) some unflattering things here about Strutter.  I regret that.  It wasn’t fair to her and, no matter whether or not what I said true, it was little more than childish finger-pointing.
Perhaps the biggest  problem with our relationship was that I’m not a talker.  I’ve said things on this blog that I’ve never talked about with anyone face-to-face, because it’s easy to write to the anonymous Internet.  Sure, people I know read it, but I don’t have to see their reactions as I write, and I can always screen my phone calls for a few days after posting something that would be otherwise uncomfortable to talk about in person.  I just don’t communicate verbally, which means she and I never really talked about our problems, which means that they were never going to be resolved.
Saturday night, I had dinner at my parents’ house and, for the first time ever, talked to my mother about my relationship problems.  Jesus, that was hard to do, but I think it helped.  (Or started helping, at least.)  It was, unfortunately, too late to repair the damage of my relationship with Strutter.  She’s packing her things as I write this, and I expect that she and the dogs will be out of the house by the weekend.

2 thoughts on “And Then There Was One…”

  1. Shit. Sorry to hear about you and Strutter.
    I can totally relate to the not-being-able-to-talk-about-feelings thing. I never talked about my feelings before I met the Bulgarian, and he was the one who more or less forced me to do so, and explained that he couldn’t have a relationship with someone unable to talk about his feelings.
    It took quite some time until I was able to do that, I guess because I was not used to somebody actually really wanting to know details of my inner life. Which is sad in a way. And I’m glad I was forced, because it’s much better to talk – but I wouldn’t have been able, ever, to do it myself.

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