The relationship complex
If you're 35 years old and single, as I am, you could be forgiven for describing yourself as unlucky in love. That you haven't been dealt the right cards, or any number of other cliches. For me at least, that characterisation is untrue. There's nearly eight billion people on this planet, but finding unconditional and reciprocated love is extremely rare. I've been in love twice and count myself extremely fortunate.
I am unmarried and without a family of my own. To be honest, I don't like it, but I do accept it as a consequence of decisions I have made. Recently I've wondered if our perception of love is shaped by our upbringing. If you have watched your parents part ways, it would stand to reason that your outlook on such matters is less idealistic. You know from first-hand experience that not everyone stays together. That life is unpredictable. The best laid plans, and all that.
I was brought up in a loving home by two parents who got married very young, as was the fashion back then. They recently celebrated their 40th wedding anniversary. It's an astonishing achievement, of which I am very much in awe. The immeasurable sadness they experienced with my brother's death in 1998 only strengthened them as a couple. When I was younger, due to the environment in which I had grown up I assumed my life would follow the same path. That I would meet someone, fall in love, get married and live happily ever after.
My first love was everything I could have hoped for. We were blessed with the naivety and innocence of youth. The relationship lasted for two years, during which time I never doubted we would spend the rest of our lives together. Why would I have done? I had not known heartache. To me it didn't exist. So when we split up, my image of love was completely shattered. So badly was I affected that I fundamentally changed as a person. That version of me was lost forever. I swore I'd never put myself in a position to be hurt to such an extent again and, perhaps more pointedly, I never wanted to be responsible for anyone else feeling that way. Such thoughts distressed me deeply.
Eighteen months later, I embarked on a relationship that would come to define my life to date. We had been close for a while and despite the fact she had been going out with a good friend of mine, a situation about which we both felt guilty, there was something between us that needed to be explored. I was attracted to her but what appealed to me most was her generous, selfless spirit and a vulnerability that nobody else saw. I felt an overwhelming desire to protect her and provide her with stability and love. To be her knight in shining armour.
To describe the relationship as 'on-off' would be an understatement. We had a unique chemistry but also went through long periods of separation. However, when we were not together, we were never really apart. Irrespective of our relationship status, she was my emotional rock and I hers. We were best friends whose bond was unbreakable. Even when I was technically single, I never wanted to be with anyone else (the one time I was, it turned out to be a disaster) and whenever she started seeing someone, I would freak out and bemoan a terrible injustice. Yes, I am aware how selfish that sounds.
Time doesn't stand still though, and my commitment issues became more pressing for us both. I found myself being resistant to change, despite knowing how much she meant to me and what I stood to lose. A fear of failure? Absolutely. Fear has held me back in so many areas of my life. I was committed to her, but I couldn't demonstrate that with the tangible steps she needed. Fear of hurting both myself and her totally consumed me and, ironically, for that reason I ended up losing the one person I always felt I couldn't live without. A self-fulfilling prophecy.
Neither of us wanted the relationship to end, but equally, we both knew it couldn't carry on as it was. I'd realised I was the problem and had to change, otherwise this unhealthy cycle would continue. And so we just stopped seeing each other. There was no heated argument; it was all very low key. Because of our history, I assumed that eventually we would be reunited. But it didn't happen and as time went on, her absence became harder - not easier - to deal with. It's been the trigger for many of the mental health issues I've documented in these blog posts.
Nothing beats falling in love with your best friend. But if it goes awry, you don't just lose a partner - you lose everything. I miss her dreadfully and it's still very raw, even a year later. I will always love her, in my own special way. She has been able to move on with her life and although that's been exceptionally difficult to process, I hold no ill-feeling whatsoever. I never could. She is the author of her happiness as much as I am of mine. Nobody deserves everything they've ever wanted more than she does.
For much of these past 12 months I've felt marooned at the foot of a steep mountain, gazing up into the clouds. But the positive is that, finally, I have explored my own mind and taken practical measures to improve my mental wellbeing. As a result, I'm now in the best place for some considerable time. Of course there are missteps and challenges to overcome. But that mountain no longer seems quite so imposing. As for the future? Well, if I've learned anything from my life it's that we can't map it out. The future is unwritten, so enjoy today. Maybe I'll share it with you some time.
I am unmarried and without a family of my own. To be honest, I don't like it, but I do accept it as a consequence of decisions I have made. Recently I've wondered if our perception of love is shaped by our upbringing. If you have watched your parents part ways, it would stand to reason that your outlook on such matters is less idealistic. You know from first-hand experience that not everyone stays together. That life is unpredictable. The best laid plans, and all that.
I was brought up in a loving home by two parents who got married very young, as was the fashion back then. They recently celebrated their 40th wedding anniversary. It's an astonishing achievement, of which I am very much in awe. The immeasurable sadness they experienced with my brother's death in 1998 only strengthened them as a couple. When I was younger, due to the environment in which I had grown up I assumed my life would follow the same path. That I would meet someone, fall in love, get married and live happily ever after.
My first love was everything I could have hoped for. We were blessed with the naivety and innocence of youth. The relationship lasted for two years, during which time I never doubted we would spend the rest of our lives together. Why would I have done? I had not known heartache. To me it didn't exist. So when we split up, my image of love was completely shattered. So badly was I affected that I fundamentally changed as a person. That version of me was lost forever. I swore I'd never put myself in a position to be hurt to such an extent again and, perhaps more pointedly, I never wanted to be responsible for anyone else feeling that way. Such thoughts distressed me deeply.
Eighteen months later, I embarked on a relationship that would come to define my life to date. We had been close for a while and despite the fact she had been going out with a good friend of mine, a situation about which we both felt guilty, there was something between us that needed to be explored. I was attracted to her but what appealed to me most was her generous, selfless spirit and a vulnerability that nobody else saw. I felt an overwhelming desire to protect her and provide her with stability and love. To be her knight in shining armour.
To describe the relationship as 'on-off' would be an understatement. We had a unique chemistry but also went through long periods of separation. However, when we were not together, we were never really apart. Irrespective of our relationship status, she was my emotional rock and I hers. We were best friends whose bond was unbreakable. Even when I was technically single, I never wanted to be with anyone else (the one time I was, it turned out to be a disaster) and whenever she started seeing someone, I would freak out and bemoan a terrible injustice. Yes, I am aware how selfish that sounds.
Time doesn't stand still though, and my commitment issues became more pressing for us both. I found myself being resistant to change, despite knowing how much she meant to me and what I stood to lose. A fear of failure? Absolutely. Fear has held me back in so many areas of my life. I was committed to her, but I couldn't demonstrate that with the tangible steps she needed. Fear of hurting both myself and her totally consumed me and, ironically, for that reason I ended up losing the one person I always felt I couldn't live without. A self-fulfilling prophecy.
Neither of us wanted the relationship to end, but equally, we both knew it couldn't carry on as it was. I'd realised I was the problem and had to change, otherwise this unhealthy cycle would continue. And so we just stopped seeing each other. There was no heated argument; it was all very low key. Because of our history, I assumed that eventually we would be reunited. But it didn't happen and as time went on, her absence became harder - not easier - to deal with. It's been the trigger for many of the mental health issues I've documented in these blog posts.
Nothing beats falling in love with your best friend. But if it goes awry, you don't just lose a partner - you lose everything. I miss her dreadfully and it's still very raw, even a year later. I will always love her, in my own special way. She has been able to move on with her life and although that's been exceptionally difficult to process, I hold no ill-feeling whatsoever. I never could. She is the author of her happiness as much as I am of mine. Nobody deserves everything they've ever wanted more than she does.
For much of these past 12 months I've felt marooned at the foot of a steep mountain, gazing up into the clouds. But the positive is that, finally, I have explored my own mind and taken practical measures to improve my mental wellbeing. As a result, I'm now in the best place for some considerable time. Of course there are missteps and challenges to overcome. But that mountain no longer seems quite so imposing. As for the future? Well, if I've learned anything from my life it's that we can't map it out. The future is unwritten, so enjoy today. Maybe I'll share it with you some time.
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