The silence continues. We fought, we cut contact, and now it’s awkward on how we’re going to get back into contact. I sent an email and that may settle it for this fight, but it doesn’t address the underlying concerns. And I think there are underlying concerns in this little battle. Fights that are petty and momentary can be cast off with a joke, but fights with "underlying concerns" must be addressed.
Silence is hard. As an exercise I treated today as if we had broken up. A year ago if we weren’t living together, we would have broken up irreparably. The only reason why we lasted this long is that we lived together; ironically we fought more bitterly because we were cooped up together. Now we live apart and we’re still having these fights. What’s different?
I can totally imagine us getting into a fight, heated words exchanged over the phone. Threatening and cryptic messages on answering machines. Bad feeling, bad blood, bad everything. We cut contact. She doesn’t call me or I’m not here when she calls because I’m out trying to fill my time, or I don’t call her or I call her and she’s not there or not answering. Both of us refuse to leave messages.
In this time I’m occupying myself. Distractions. Days go by without contact and the silence brings tension. It feels like a breakup. And the feeling leads to thoughts and behavior indicating a breakup. After a few days, it starts to feel more comfortable, and a reconciliation feels more awkward. Then we get back into contact with several days of silence and reflection to our credit. She says that she can’t deal with this situation anymore and it’s best that we go our separate ways.
I can totally see it happening. Do I trust her? Doesn’t look good.
I’ve gone back to slowly killing myself with alcohol, and that doesn’t really fit the profile of the perfect relationship with Josephine. There will always be pain, fights, struggles, and tension. So why should I aspire for a long life with her? Why would I under any conditions; long life is simply not my goal. I want to die young and soon. Even if our relationship lasts until my liver finally gives up, which is I hope around 34 or 35, dying will still be a relief. Without Josephine in the house, I’m drinking lots more and I don’t even count the shots anymore, and the effect isn’t that strong, mildly numbing.
