“Running in circles, coming up tails
Heads on a science apart
Nobody said it was easy
It’s such a shame for us to part
Nobody said it was easy
No one ever said it would be this hard.”
~ “The Scientist” Coldplay
ANYA: “As u can imagine, I’m swamped with work and emails. I have over 700 emails to go through. I can’t respond to your texts right now.”
ME: “I’m sorry, but got on a roll last night. I totally understand. No stress or pressure. Have a good day.”
I felt bad to hit her with so many texts—I just wanted to let her know how I felt and that I knew what I needed to do. I didn’t think I’d hear back from her for a while as I sat in the waiting room of the therapist’s offices for my first meeting. When I finally met her, she introduced herself as Tobey—a curvy blonde with soft light blue eyes, possibly Swedish. I followed her nervously to her office then sat down on a black leather chair. She smiled warmly then asked me what brought me in to see her. From that moment she just listened as I explained my situation to her. Halfway through what seemed like a speech, my phone began to vibrate in my pocket, continuing to do so for about twenty minutes. After Tobey officially diagnosed me as clinically depressed, I returned to my car then began to read her texts to me.
ANYA: “I told you I don’t mind if you went to LV b/c u were going to go anyway. I told u I couldn’t see u. I need u to own up to why I can’t be with you anymore.”
After I read her first text, I wondered if she had read them—my whole point for sending them was to own up as to why she couldn’t be with me anymore.
ANYA: “When you started with your anger outbursts, I told you many times to stop. I’ve never experienced anything like it before. You don’t stop when I ask you to. You just keep jabbing.”
I understood her point, but in all fairness, this wasn’t a normal situation either—one I reasonably expected would change if she fell in love with me. Of course, I wanted to stop when she asked me to, but I couldn’t help pushing for her to prove me wrong about the way I felt, and I only carried on in the hope that she would.
ANYA: “I’ve told you the truth all along and never lied or did anything to lose your trust. I should at least get credit for that.”
ANYA: “You’ve questioned my love over and over and did not listen to me. I told you, you never know about the future and things will happen if meant to be. You agreed.”
ANYA: “You kept giving me pressure for the past 6-7 months and I felt so disappointed and sad you were acting that way. I tried to hang on and give another chance.”
ANYA: “Well, I gave it another chance alright. Over and over no matter how much you’d push me away I kept forgiving and kept hanging in.”
Other than claiming to tell me the truth in the beginning, I couldn’t disagree with her. She kept forgiving each and every time and gave me chance after chance to get straightened out. I really tried not to give her any grief, but the loneliness overwhelmed me. To know she had things in the same place she did before she met me, as if I never existed, was hard for me to quietly accept. There was also a great love in my heart for her that was not coming through. No matter how hard I tried, I just couldn’t seem to reach her as my pain prevented me from showing the love still there. Anya was a heartbreaker in every sense of the word because her situation never changed—remaining intact regardless of all the love I showed her. I really wanted to see things through her eyes, and that’s what I tried to do even as my eyes welled up.
ANYA: “It was if you wanted some kind of weird reaction out of me which is not my character. You wanted me to be dramatic-maybe that’s what made you feel good.”
All I wanted was for her love to become a verb and not remain a noun, so I wouldn’t question it. Considering the circumstances, couldn’t our relationship the entire last nineteen months be described as “dramatic”? She told me she dreamt of having a child with me. She told me she wanted to wear my ring. She told me she’d rather die than never have me in her life. All I wanted was consistency from her in regards to such dramatic statements.
ANYA: “When you said you wished I was with you, I didn’t respond because I didn’t want to give you hope. I was there for one reason and you’re right in that I didn’t have to respond.”
ANYA: “Yes, I still had hope but every day that hope was shriveling away w/the way you would treat me. My only fault was loving you. I got punished for that.”
After I read this text, I realized how far apart Anya and I have become—no longer connected; no longer one. She felt I punished her for just loving me; I felt she punished me for wanting to be with the woman who loved me enough to call me her soulmate and put her ashes out at Abalone Cove—our beach. To deny me hope was a bit cruel, but deserving.
ANYA: “I kept telling you that you were and are blowing any chance of us in the future, but you didn’t listen. You’ve crushed my heart. “I can’t believe this is my Landyn.”
ANYA: “Sorry you lost your ass in LV. I guess that’s always the risk one takes when gambling. I believe you do need to work on your self esteem. You have a lot going for yourself.”
ANYA: “I said I was good cuz I was away from home and was with Katie for her competition. You’re so self absorbed that you couldn’t even be happy for me. It was only about you.”
ANYA: “I told you that I felt secure just by knowing you were there. We’re not together, Landyn. I don’t want to tell you things that makes you over analyze our situation.”
ANYA: “As far as telling you about Mom and Carolyn. I didn’t have to tell you anything. It’s personal and I don’t go around divulging other people’s stories. I trusted you.”
ANYA: “I said “wary” b/c you’ve threatened me over and over and over. You’ve given me plenty of reasons. Do you understand it’s not normal to do that?”
ANYA: “It’s like an abusive person who says he will never hurt you again but keeps doing it over and over. I understand that this was b/c of your low self esteem.”
ANYA: “You say I’ve hurt you but I’ve only hurt you, b/c you form wild conclusions in your head about me. I only tell you the truth but you turn things around in your head.”
ANYA: “Yes I wanted to see you and yes I was bummed but it was for the better. I wanted to see you to talk to you, not get together.”
ANYA: “I hope you continue to get help and feel better. I really do. Like I said before please don’t hate me for loving you. If you want to know the truth, here’s the truth.”
ANYA: “I hope I’m wrong but there are many untruthful girls out there. You will not meet another like me who’s been nothing but honest with you from the beginning.”
ANYA: “If nothing else that was one unique gift I gave you but you didn’t want it. You chose to form your own “truth”. I know you’re not well – self esteem. Sorry I had to pay.”
ANYA: “I know you will be ok. Don’t stop the meetings. As far as us, I don’t know what to say. It’s not normal or natural for me to fight this much.”
ANYA: “Time will tell. I’m not giving you false hope. I want you to get better.”
ANYA: “Hope your meeting today helped.”
After I left the meeting, I found the session to be a good start, allowing me to get some things off my chest. After I read Anya’s texts, I felt left for dead—not entitled to feel anything I did. Whenever she told me she was honest from the very beginning, knowing the first night it was my friend who forced her to tell me she was married, that left me unsettled. I hated to throw anything back at her, and mostly this was my fault, but she thought being truthful was being forced to show me her ring? I had to walk away from her, breaking her heart, not because I didn’t have feelings for her but because I did and she was married. The first thing I asked her before considering a relationship the night we reconnected five months later was “what needs to happen for you to leave him?” She never told me she was there for the sake of the kids—she told me she was there because no one was there for her if she were to leave. She then told me in order for her to leave I would need to “sweep” her off her feet—she even admitted I did that. Now, why did she believe I couldn’t question her honesty? How could she consider me abusive when it was her answers that actions and answers that led me here? How could she continue to ignore her own needs after she allowed and encouraged me to be in her life? I think any normal person would question her, but I guess to fight for love, in her world, is what made me abnormal. What made it hard is, yes she made me angry by choosing to let others make the decision for her—I had no idea she put me up against her own kids—that by wanting her to choose love would also be choosing to hurt her kids. She allowed and encouraged me to love her deeply and then hand cuffed me, not allowing me to love her in return the way she loved me. Either she didn’t want to face what she did or she wanted me to think differently so there was a chance for us—I couldn’t tell. I felt by loving me the way she did, that she had set a trap for me—turning me into the role of homewrecker instead of savior. How could she make the decision to allow and encourage me to love her deeply yet let others make the decision to be with me—wasn’t that truly abusive?
I felt punished for caring about her, and that was a tough pill for me to swallow and accept, but I had to. I had to work on me, and once I did that, in conjunction with my promotion to partner, I believed we could build something more beautiful than ever. Although I didn’t care for the arguments too, the communication was healthy for the relationship. It showed we both cared about each other to be open and honest with the way we felt so we could progress and grow together. I know it affected her more than it affected me because she was in the company of her kids and because of that it was impossible for her to see it that way. I agreed with her—the arguments had to end and that was my goal in seeking therapy.
Unfortunately for my heart, a fear I made known to her in the beginning that she pretty much blew off, all the marriage provided to her kids made our love irrational. I was up against a woman who was conditioned to believe her marriage was normal because the marriages around her mirrored hers. They were the same mirrors found in funhouses though—normal marriages did not carry a history of infidelities throughout it. I felt for Anya to never recognize how the “situation” affected our relationship, and how her marriage presented a platform for her to lie, made her union with Jackson dishonest in its very nature. Yet, I was an enemy each time I called it out for what it truly was—a plant that polluted the environment around it. If our relationship was a normal one, with no situation in its way and I acted the way I did, I could understand Anya’s anger with me better. For her to completely ignore the barriers I faced and went through just for a chance to be with her, made me feel more worthless than ever before. Since she lived without it for the last ten years, love was non-existent on her priority list. She could just go back to the life she knew—an unchanged entity. Love meant less to a married person than it did to someone who always wanted to be married but never made it. Marriages like Anya’s jaded people enough to think love was unrealistic anyway. She could say my love changed her and made her a believer, but in the end, she’d settle back into her marriage without a second thought—she was always just fine without love while I would suffer until the day I died. Anya expected our love to end, while I believed it had an infinite quality and that’s why she was just fine with it coming to an end. Nothing lasts forever, especially being in love—I felt betrayed that she seemed to always believe that after leading me to believe we were soulmates.
That evening when I got home, I couldn’t get my mind off the coldness behind some of her words, and although I appreciated her candidness, I felt the need to defend myself. At about midnight, when I knew her phone was off and she was asleep, I sent her my response to them.
ME: “The meeting went well today. I was officially diagnosed as “clinically depressed”. They prescribed and put me on a drug called Zoloft. She said it will take 2 weeks to kick in. I’m looking forward to seeing how it will work.”
ME: “In response to our texts, I can tell you’re upset because we’re not together. I am too. I feel I am “owning” up to it by seeking help to improve myself.”
ME: “As far as being “self absorbed”, I feel asking for an hour of your time doesn’t really qualify as being self absorbed. There are times I’ve been selfish but I’ve been anything but in our relationship. I’ve always had to meet your time constraints and have given you complete control. I feel I’ve been anything but selfish in a lot of ways.”
ME: “It’s crazy that we both feel we are being punished by each other. You feel you were punished for loving me and I feel I was punished for wanting a promise from u to feel secure.”
ME: “I didn’t care about losing money in LV. I go expecting to lose and only bring what I can afford to lose. I just usually do better.”
ME: “It doesn’t matter if we’re together or not b/c the feelings are still there. Why deny them?”
ME: “I know there are no other girls like you. Why do you think I hurt so bad? If I didn’t think you were the greatest the why would I even care this much? If we were just going to talk what could be the harm in that?”
ME: “I didn’t want it? What did you need from me, babe? What did you need that you could honestly say I wasn’t or wouldn’t be willing to give to you?”
ME: “I’m going to get better. It’s not normal for me to argue this much either. This is a first for me too. I would only want you to hope only if I could treat you better and not argue at all anymore. If I didn’t think that could happen, I wouldn’t have sent you all these texts last night and tonight.”
ME: “I know how you feel about me. You wouldn’t have been disappointed or upset with me if you didn’t truly love me. Just wanted you to know you were wrong. I really wanted to see you on Friday night. I would love to see you anytime and I know you know that.”
ME: “The therapist asked me what I expected from you. I told her I expected that if she encouraged and allowed me to fall deeply in love with her that she would be with me and not see the harm to anyone in that. I just didn’t feel it was unreasonable to expect that in light of the facts of her marriage and how I’m in her life.”
ME: “I will always be your Landyn. I’m just really sad. I don’t hate you. I miss you. I miss us. It just hurts a lot.”
ME: “I guess you’re going to tell me I needed you to stop pressuring me. My response to that is what would you do for me so that I would not feel the need to pressure you?”
After I fired off this final text to her, I went to bed, but I couldn’t help but wake up and re read them in fear how she would interpret them as I sounded fairly harsh in some of them. So, I sent her two more texts in the hope she didn’t get too upset with me about what I felt.
ME: “I haven’t been able to sleep b/c I’m worried you’ll be upset with some of these texts. Not what I wanted. It was not my intention.”
ME: “I didn’t realize how hurt you are that we’re not together anymore. How much you blame me for that. Even though you were upset with me, you still wanted to see and talk to me even after all I’ve put you through. I don’t care if you just wanted to talk to me. That’s love.”
As I woke up that morning, I hoped I hadn’t sent anything that would upset her, but just before I went to lunch, I had my answer.
ANYA: “I can’t even respond to you. I tried all morning and I would just delete them. Bottom line it seems that you don’t see things my way and I don’t see things your way. Maybe you think I’m not listening cuz I feel the same way about you and we are getting nowhere.”
ME: “I want to see things your way.”
ANYA: “I can’t seem to get over how you treated me in the last 6-7 months. I know your natural reaction will be “I can’t get over how you treated me, Anya”. That’s your motto. When I tell you something, you throw it right back like a child instead of listening.”
ME: “I know you’re listening otherwise you wouldn’t respond at all. I don’t want to argue with you. We are both right and wrong in some ways. It doesn’t matter. You telling me that make me want to change my behavior. I know I can. I appreciate your honesty.”
ANYA: “I’m glad they put you on meds. I hope it helps. I think we should wait until you feel better to talk cuz we’re not getting anywhere like this.”
When I read “I’m glad they put u on meds”, I laughed loudly—I would’ve felt the same way if I were her. It broke my heart each time I gave her grief regardless how justified I felt—I really just wanted to let it go, but the pain gushed out of me like a geyser. I was glad they put me on meds too. My meds and partner promotion would rekindle our connection.
ME: “I just wanted you to know that I’m owning up to things. I’m not going to argue anymore. I know how you feel about me. I found out in LV. I felt your pain. I got upset for nothing.”
ANYA: “Ok.”
ME: “I agree with you. I don’t think we’ll get anywhere unless I’m medicated. Just kidding about having to be medicated but at least feeling a little better about who I am. Anyway, that’s how I’m feelings. 2nd day of meds. We’ll see how it goes.”
ANYA: “I understand. Just remember I love you and I never meant any harm. I know you didn’t either. We’re good people, u know that. Take care of yourself. I’ll be here.”
ME: “Thanks, babe. Take care of yourself too. Love you.”
I just wanted to try and find peace with Anya, and to give the Zoloft a chance to work. I had to understand Anya was just as upset with me because we weren’t together anymore as I was with her—she didn’t want this as much as I didn’t want it. I had to believe Zoloft was the miracle we needed to keep our love alive. Regardless of her inconsistencies and admissions when we first met, we came too far together to be considered anything less than my hope, wish and dream. I wanted her to have all she wished, hoped and dreamt for too, and I loved her way too much to not see this as my responsibility to man up, and be the person she needed me to be, whether or not I disagreed with her on some things. I had to create a better environment for her—not one leading to further hostilities and misunderstandings.
Later that evening, Anya texted me to give me some trivia regarding my drug of choice.
ANYA: “Btw Carolyn’s dad was one of the scientists involved in developing Zoloft. Just fyi.”
ME: “That’s good to know if my tongue starts to turn blue or if one of my testicles shrink! JK!”
ANYA: “Haha! It’s going to make you numb and not care.”
ME: “Really? I can’t wait!”
ANYA: “Really? I understand.”
Anya seemed to misinterpret what I meant about being numb and not caring.
ME: “Not about how I feel about you—just how I feel about the situation so I don’t say anything stupid, babe. I don’t like drama and I don’t like to argue—it’s not me either. I still want to talk to you every day. I just don’t want to talk about anything that hurts us.”
When Anya didn’t respond to my text. I sent her one more for good measure, so she knew I meant what I said.
ME: “The only altered state that could make me numb to how I feel about you is death.”
ANYA: “Don’t say that. When do you see your therapist again?”
ME: “In another 2 weeks.”
ANYA: “Why not sooner?”
ME: “I don’t know. I didn’t ask. I’m think I may be able to see her next week.”
ANYA: “I think that’s a good idea.”
Here I feared Anya took something I said the wrong way, and it only led her to worry about me. Crazy thing was, I felt pretty good—it seemed the Zoloft was already working. Or, maybe I was happy we had a better day together. The next morning, Anya sent me a very sweet text.
ANYA: “Day 3. Hope you’re well.”
I appreciated her tracking of my treatment as her words gave me hope I could turn this ship back around in the right direction—especially with my promotion now only two weeks away.
ME: “Thanks babe. I start taking full tabs tomorrow, but I already feel more focused at work.”
ANYA: “Oh ok. That’s good, right?”
ME: “It’s a godsend. How r u?”
ANYA: “I’m ok. Just worried about you.”
ME: “No need to worry babe. I feel ok. It’s working.”
ANYA: “It doesn’t make you feel drowsy at all?”
ME: “Not that I’ve noticed but maybe when I start taking full tablets? I probably wouldn’t have taken anything if I didn’t have a mental job. I told the therapist it’s like a construction worker having to work with 2 broken arms—my mind is broke. It’s not just us, even though it’s the main reason I chose to go to see a therapist, but also dealing with my mom’s illness and an issue I’ve ignored in the past because of my pride.”
ANYA: “What’s the issue you’ve ignored?”
ME: “Self esteem.”
ANYA: “What do you think made you have such a self esteem issue? I didn’t know for a long time.”
ME: “I don’t want to go there, if you don’t mind.”
ANYA: “You don’t have to explain. It’s ok. Just feel better babe.”
When Anya handed the keys to her decision to stay or leave to her children, my self-esteem took a huge hit—she’d rather stay with a man who emotionally abused her than be with a man who truly loved her. When we first met, she made me feel like my self esteem issues were in the past, but she changed. When I started to realize she judged me for not being able to provide her kids with the things her marriage provided them with—it brought my low sense of self-worth back to life. Her excuse to stay, unknown to me in the beginning was the real reason she was still there, was just another in a long line of excuses from women in my past. Considering the fact she chose to live with another man than be with me, the self-esteem she had given me then died. If I answered her question, it would only set us further back—I needed to get to my promotion first before I imploded again.
That evening I decided to visit my parent’s house, but when I entered my mother’s room, my dad was in there with her.
“What’s going on in here?” I asked.
“Hey.” My father said to me.
“Hi Honey!” My mother straightened her posture while she sat on her bed. “Your father is putting up some crown molding.”
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“How about giving me a hand here, Land?” my father asked.
“Please Landy, I’m tired. Your father is driving me nuts.”
“Would you stop it?” requested my father, wiping a bead of sweat off his forehead. “Land, how about a hand over here?”
I then held up one end of the crown molding slab so he could attach it, and then another. I then felt my phone vibrate and when my dad needed a breather, I grabbed my phone.
ANYA: “What r u up to?”
ME: “Putting up some crown molding in my mom’s room. What r u up to?”
ANYA: “Putting up crown molding? Handy guy you are!”
ME: “My dad is the handy man here, but I I’ve learned a few things from him.”
ANYA: “Very cool! I’m doing the usual! Carry on!”
An hour later, after all five were properly aligned and attached, my father looked at me.
“Thanks, son.” he said. “Now I got to run to the park to put up a volleyball net.”
“Thanks, Landy.” My mother chimed.
“Of course,” I said. “Glad I could be here to prevent you from strangling Dad.”
“Your father sometimes.” she said. “He doesn’t listen.”
“Huh?” my dad replied, turning to us while he admired his work.
“See what I mean?” she said to me.
“Gotta go.” he said as he kissed my mother on her bare head. “Thanks again, Land.”
“Sure, Dad.” I said as he exited the room.
After the back door slammed, I brought my attention to my mother’s orange pill bottle that was in plain view.
“Do you mind?” I asked, grabbing the bottle.
“Is that what you came here for?”
“No—but since I’m here, I should stock up.”
“Just a few.” she barked. “Is your back hurtin’ you that much?”
“It’s always hurting me.” I lied.
“It didn’t look like you were in any pain just a minute ago?”
“It’s mostly in the morning—when I get out of bed.”
“You should put ice on it instead. Have you tried?”
“I can’t sit still for ten minutes, Mom. I need to be moving.” I said, popping one of the pills in my mouth. “How are you?”
“I’m ok.” She moaned. “I run out of breath more often, but my mouth feels better.”
“Why you havin’ trouble breathing?”
“The doctor told me I’ve lost a quarter of my lung capacity.”
“Because of the chemo?”
“Because of the cancer.” She replied with a hint of sarcasm.
“I see.”
“How’s Anya?” She asked, a smile forming on her face.
“She’s doin’ ok.”
“Just ok? Why?”
“I’ve been giving her a lot of grief lately.”
“Grief? Why?” she inquired in a heightened tone.
“I’m not happy she’s still there."
“You need to stop Landyn…”
“I know.” I cut her off.
“Stop acting like every other man out there.” she continued then finished her statement.
“I’m trying.” I agreed. “I expected her to leave her marriage by now, and I’m struggling with that.”
“It’s not easy for her.”
“I know.” I agreed again.
“But if she loves you—she should be with you.”
“But just like you said—it’s not that easy.” I countered.
“If she loves you…why not?”
“No offense, but she doesn’t live your kind of lifestyle, Mom.” I retorted, with annoyance. “and neither does her children.”
“My kind of life?”
“Yes. There are things that hold her down.”
“Like what?”
“For instance, her husband is not just her spouse, but her employer.” I started. “They run a company that employs people. If Anya wer to just leave, people could lose their jobs.”
“Oh?”
“She also does volunteer work for many organizations. If she were to leave it could hurt her reputation and image—she’d lose seventy five percent of her friends.” I continued. “It’s also looked upon as an act of nobility in their neighborhood to stay for the kids. She also has to contend with her “marry well to be well” Korean culture. It’s not easy for her to leave.”
“Then if she had no intentions of leaving because of these roadblocks then why did she bring you into her life?” She asked, her eyes wildly looking into mine.
“Well, that’s why I’ve struggled, and believe me, she knows all about it.” I confessed. “I decided to see a therapist about it and they prescribed me Zoloft.”
“Are you takin’ it now?”
“I am, but not because of Anya—I’m tryin’ to correct my issues with low self esteem.” I said. “I need to fix that part of myself.”
“If it helps you be the man, she needs you to be, then I think it’s worth it.” She supported. “Zoloft has helped me in the past—when I got depressed because of my cancer.”
“You told me it worked for you—that’s why I asked the doctor to prescribe it to me.”
“It should help.” she said. “It really helped me."
“I don’t want you to think Anya is to blame.” I told her. “My low self-esteem has hurt her and this is on me. I’ve been punishing her for things she’s not responsible for.”
“I know, Honey.” she acknowledged, scratching her head. “I think it’s good what you’re doing—I know she’s not to blame. Everything happens for a reason.”
I left the house with ten Vicodin pills in my pocket, enough to get me through any rough patches mentally—and if I experienced any back pain.
That evening when I got home, I decided to elaborate on Anya’s question to me earlier about why I went to see a therapist in another series of texts.
ME: “My self esteem issues originated with my Dad. I doubt you remember this convo but during our day at Abalone Cove, I told you I felt the reason my Dad got married was because my mom was pregnant with me. I always felt he treated me differently because of it.”
ME: “My Dad’s side of the family are historically stubborn old county Italians. My Dad’s mom never talked to my Dad again after he married my mother because she didn’t want him to marry her. I’m not implying my father didn’t love my mother, I’m just saying he seemed to take it out on me. I just never felt much love from him. I even highly doubt we’d be talking today if I hadn’t become a CPA, but now I’m “acceptable” to him. We have a good relationship now, but he really laid down the foundation for my issues, I feel.”
ME: “My past experiences with 2 women in particular, that I’ve also told you about, has added to my issues with low self esteem. They left me to feel even more so that no one was ever proud to be with me, let alone ever truly loved me. It’s one thing to have someone you care about meet someone else and beg for you back, but it’s entirely different to have someone you care about meet someone else and never want to hear from you again, especially after you shared what you were led to believe, was special to them.
ME: “I’ve never met anyone who reinforced that I was anything special so I never dared to allow myself to feel like I ever was.”
ME: “The reason you never felt my self esteem issue is because you’ve never made me feel that I wasn’t special. I used to tell you all the time “you know how to love me”. I’ve never felt truly loved by someone until I met you.”
ME: “Just the way you’ve loved me. The look in your eyes. The softness in your voice. How you gave me all of you. It was undeniable whenever we were together.”
ME: “My low self esteem just never crept in when we were together because of the way you chose to love me so fearlessly. Even your physical touch. You really loved me. I just always felt great about who I was whenever I was with you.”
ME: “The problem was this though; my feelings naturally grew and you started to become less available. My self esteem started to fall gradually and the things that didn’t affect me started to. Things just became more pronounced and I then started to question things.”
ME: “It was just nice to feel good about myself for once in my life—that someone accepted me for who I am. I’m just trying to figure out if the good feelings were real or if they were just a product of the situation. Idk.”
ME: “I used to tell you that you mean everything to me. That you validated me. You really did. Since I don’t have you anymore, I have to learn how to validate myself through myself. If that makes sense.”
ME: “Hope that answers your question.”
The next morning, Anya wasted no time at all to respond.
ANYA: “I remember the conversation at Abalone Cove. I’m glad you have a good relationship now. Can’t hold grudges when you’re trying to move forward.”
Her last statement about not holding grudges when you’re trying to move forward scared me. If her statement pertained to us, I found it a sweet thing to say, but did this apply to her relationship with Jackson? Sadly, I couldn’t tell the difference and was afraid to ask.
ANYA: “I loved you the only way I knew how. It was natural. I became less available and you became more insecure. As you grew more insecure, I grew more wary.”
Anya claimed to me that she hated “drama” and it wasn’t her character, but wouldn’t this create the very thing she hated—just like Debbie had done to her about not being there for her during the BU? When Anya broke up with Lance, Debbie was there for her—the night I met her at Sonoma’s. Did she expect Debbie to do the same—get her out of the house and head to Sonoma’s? I couldn’t blame her for becoming less available to me—I had “threatened” to tell her husband, but in the same breath, she had to understand how I grew insecure. It was the first time I saw the parallel between the way she treated Debbie and how she treated me.
ANYA: “You were so out of character that it scared me b/c I felt like I didn’t really know you. I don’t want to keep blaming you but I wanted you to know why I pulled away.”
When she told me that it felt like “I didn’t really know you”, it really set me aback even on Zoloft—so much for numbness. How could she not see that I could feel the same way? She never told me she was there for the sake of the kids until after I fell in love with her yet I didn’t make myself unavailable to her. Even with all the inconsistencies—I never once thought that I didn’t really know her—especially considering we’ve shared so much. Could she not see how I could feel betrayed at all? Did she really believe she told me the truth without omitting very important things before she allowed and encouraged me to fall in love with her? Her lack of compassion didn’t seem like the Anya I knew at all, disconnecting us even more.
ANYA: “It happened over a long period but it was progressive. I felt like staying with you I was only causing you pain and grief and I needed to let us go.”
I didn’t blame her at all for needing to do that for herself. There were times I was out of line and I didn’t stop when she asked me to, and kept jabbing. In her defense, she could only have taken so much, and again, my low self-esteem contributed to this result—one I tried to desperately fix. I felt I had the power within to make this right again for both of us.
ANYA: “You may not agree but those were my feelings and real to me.”
Her responses to my texts overall were fair—she just stated how she felt like all the times I ever did. I guess I hoped, like I always did, she’d text me something hopeful—like she used to. Send me a text telling me she came to the realization she loved me too much to live a lie and stay with her true abuser. It scared me that she was unable to see how she broke my heart and that I broke my own heart—it troubled me deeply. I know she believed she loved me, and I felt it and believed she did too, but in a different form than she led me to believe. Her love turned from not being able to live without me to I don’t really know you because you called me out on some of my shit. Was I crazy to feel a little used and manipulated? Ok, she couldn’t help it but it was both very loving and very hurtful—because it seemed she never had real intentions of leaving—only threatening to gain the upper hand in her marriage after years of abuse. I was on her side the entire way—I just couldn’t believe she’d ever lead me to question if her love was true. I guess from her side of things, she felt the same way about my love for her. I just never dreamed our love would exist in her heart because it was a secret but because she needed it enough to leave an abusive marriage. If she could see only the things the marriage provided her kids, then I had the right to know that in the beginning.
As my negative feelings continued to build, I fought them back from making an appearance on her phone. If that’s the way she felt then I had to respect that. She texted me these things before and then accused me of ruining her hope and her life. Although they unnerved me, I had to focus on the bigger picture. I needed to feel better and once this therapy worked, I could then try again and see if I could get this right for both of us. If I was serious about making adjustments in my life to accommodate her happiness, I had to heap the blame for her feelings upon myself.
When my workday was done and I was back at my apartment, Anya sent me a text.
ANYA: “Day 4. Do you feel any different?”
ME: “Maybe it’s just me being positive but I do feel better.”
ANYA: “I would love nothing more than to see and talk to you. It’s not that I don’t want to, I just don’t think that you’d be ok with it afterwards.”
I didn’t know how to respond to her text, but before I sent my response, she sent me a revelation.
ANYA: “I’m going to San Francisco next Friday for the half marathon on Sunday. I’m not ready for the race. I will definitely walk half of this race for it will be hilly.”
ME: “I’m would just be going to see and talk to you, and not get together. Why would that upset me afterwards? It was the intimacy we shared that hurt me.”
ANYA: “Because of history. Never mind. How different?”
ME: “Would you be okay? I feel different enough to see and talk to you and being ok afterwards.”
ANYA: “I’ll be more ok than you.”
ME: “Can I see and talk to you tomorrow?”
ANYA: “I think too soon but I appreciate you asking. Thank you for that. I have a long run in the morning – in training and taking Katie shopping for 3 week camp.”
ME: “Okey doke.”
ANYA: “Okey doke!”
Her exclamation point at the end seemed to suggest she was shocked I didn’t question her love, instead responding with an “okey doke”.
ME: “How has the training been coming along for the SF half? Have you had a hard time training because of what’s going on between us?”
ANYA: “Maybe. All the girls are slower.
ME: “Why are they all slower?”
ANYA: “They are all depressed too! JK!”
I guess we were all in the same boat—the Titanic. The next morning after I took my Zoloft pill, Anya stayed consistent and sent me a text.
ANYA: “Day 5. I’m proud of you for asking me to see you today and “taking” the chance. Hope you’re well.”
ME: “I’m trying! Hope you’re well too.”
ANYA: “What do you feel?”
ME: “A little numb. Kind of carefree.”
ANYA: “In a good way?”
ME: “I think so. Maybe it’s because you’re texting me—that lifted my spirits.”
ANYA: “I’m glad you feel good! Just brought tears to my eyes.”
At first, I thought after reading her text, if I’m to blame, why did she feel bad? Then I realized she wanted me to feel good so she could feel good enough to see me. Or maybe she blamed me because it was hard for her to accept responsibility for the way she left me to feel? I wouldn’t want to place that burden on her although I felt that way—I was to blame too. Little did I know the true reason why she wanted me to feel “good”. She then sent another text my way.
ANYA: “So do you feel numb about our situation?”
ME: “I don’t know how I could feel completely numb to it. I feel I’m less analytical about it and have made a conscious choice to try and focus on your point of view. I think I’m more open to listening now.”
ANYA: “Wow! I like that”
ME: “I’m more focused on me and what I’m doing here rather than what you’re doing over there.”
ANYA: “Good babe”
ME: “I think I’m experiencing a side effect down there though.”
ANYA: “Down there?”
ME: “I think it makes me more aroused and gives me harder erections.”
ANYA: “Wow”
ME: “If I have a side effect of an erection longer than 4 hours I need to see a doctor. Please don’t let this get back to Carolyn’s dad!”
ANYA: “Haha! Ok!”
I don’t know why I shared that with her, but the idea of walking through my office with a pitched tent horrified me—I needed to let someone know it wasn’t due to a dirty mind.
The next day, a Saturday, I didn’t hear from Anya at all. I didn’t know if it was intended to be a test from her, to see how I would react to her silence, but I could’ve easily assumed it was. Regardless, it seemed her silence bothered me less now that I was on Zoloft, but I think a lot of factors played in to me handling Anya’s silence better. In just twelve days, I would be officially promoted to my position as partner, and being able to share that news with her should give us a completely renewed hope. I truly believed, if she loved me, the news would at the very least secure a promise from her—telling me where she really stood on us. I also believed the therapy and Zoloft had already helped me—my mind was no longer at her home, but on my home. I also felt much more focused at work again. Even in her anger with me, I truly believed she still held out hope after all we went through. She loved me enough to know why my frustration was there and didn’t punish me for my reaction to some things. Therapy and my promotion were the two things to bring her heart and mind home. If I broke down again, I’d lose her for good. I just had to get there with heaven so close for us both.
When the Sunday star rose, Anya sent me a text.
ANYA: “Hope you’re doing well.”
ME: “Hi Sweetheart! I’m ok. I hope you’re doing well too.”
ANYA: “I’m ok too. Feeling good?”
ME: “I feel subdued—it’s hard to explain. I feel like something is blocking my usual thoughts.”
ANYA: “Blocking your thoughts? Is that good? Do you feel you’re still you or do you feel like you’re someone else?”
ME: “It seems like the things that bothered me about our situation before are not affecting me as much—I’m sorry I hadn’t gotten on this sooner. Of course, I still feel sad but I don’t feel upset about anything. Then again, I’m really making an effort to focus on what I’m doing here and not what’s going on over there. I think the drug helps aid that focus. I don’t feel like anyone else—I just feel more like my old self.”
ME: “And when I say I’m more focused on me, I don’t mean I don’t care about how you’re doing. You’re still on my mind every second. I’m just not concentrating on things that allow me to “make my own conclusions” and that “create my own truth”.”
ME: “I feel less distracted and am able to focus more. I feel relaxed too. That can’t be a bad thing.”
This was no exaggeration at all. I didn’t know how the drug worked but I genuinely felt this way about things. Maybe Zoloft aided and worked well for those on it with positive thoughts? One thing was certain though—I never felt this way before I took it.
ANYA: “I’m sooo glad to hear that! I’m happy that you’re more relaxed! You don’t think it’s affecting your work, do you?”
ME: “That’s a good question. I think it has helped my focus but I’m afraid it might make me forget things. That’s my only concern.”
ANYA: “Uh oh”
ME: “We’ll see though. I haven’t been forgetting anything so far.”
ANYA: “You have a great mind.”
ME: After all you’ve been through with me? You’re too funny! You really think so?”
ANYA: “I do. It can also get you in trouble!”
ME: “Haha! Coming from you, that’s a huge compliment. Thank you.”
ANYA: “Ha! Which one? Great mind or great mind that gets you in trouble?”
ME: “I concentrated on your “great mind” stand alone compliment. See, a week ago I would have concentrated on the get me in trouble part and I would’ve started acting like a “child” again! Ha!”
ANYA: “That’s true! I’m glad you can laugh about that!!! Well maybe not laugh but find some humor.”
I’ve always been the type of person who could always make light of serious topics—to avoid the emotions involved with them but they overwhelmed me over the last year. Being far more diplomatic than confrontational, the emotions I felt for Anya put me in a blender set on the highest speed. Now, I felt my negative thoughts weren’t getting through the gate in my mind to bring out my emotions. If I could get back to being the man Anya met and fell in love with, there was no doubt in my mind everything would work out. If she truly still hoped we could find a way to be together, she deserved nothing less than the Landyn she met. While I contemplated these range of feelings, her heart posed a question to me that caught me completely off guard.
ANYA: “How do you think you’ll feel if you saw me again?”
Upon reading her text, I drew a blank—was I truly ready to see her yet or was it too soon? My heart wanted to but my mind couldn’t afford a setback of any kind—at least until I passed the non-disclosure agreement period in regards to my promotion.
ME: “I think it’s too soon still. I’d just like to hold off until I’m a little further into it. I’d love to see you, you know that.”
ANYA: I know. I just want you to feel better.”
ME: “Thank you. I’m listening to you and I see what you were trying to tell me now. This is the real me. I’ve never been one to take myself too seriously. I’m glad you can laugh and find some humor in it too.”
I left out textversation feeling more in control than I had in a long time. The last thing I ever wanted to do, or feel the need, to “threaten” to talk to Jackson. When I hit her with that, I was seriously at the end of my rope. All I could picture was a possible betrayal, like she pulled the wool over my eyes for two years, and I was desperate for answers. Notwithstanding I despised the man as her husband a ton because of all she told me about him—I never would’ve given her a chance without telling me all she did. What she told me about him had to not only be true, but also enough to make her to never consider saving her marriage, otherwise she allowed me into a situation that could only harm me. If she betrayed me, and planned to ever conspire against me, then the truth was all I had to protect me. It broke my heart to even tell her this was how I felt—I also didn’t think I had to. I just hoped she knew that if I truly wanted to confront him or had any intentions to, I’d simply just do it without letting her know about it. I told her about the “threat” because I wanted to be truthful about how I felt but mostly wanted her to talk me out of it. Thankfully, she did.
Later that afternoon, she texted me again.
ANYA: “Have you ever been to SF?”
ME: “I’ve been to SF a few times. I’ve seen the hills!”
ANYA: “Oh no. Bad?”
ME: “Idk, babe. I don’t think there are many places here where you can train for that kind of race.”
ANYA: “I don’t think so either.”
ME: “Have you been to SF before?”
ANYA: “I have many times. Mostly stayed in the square. I really should look up the course and find out the elevations. Not that it would help me at this point.”
ME: “I’m sure you’ll do fine, babe. SF is known for its hills and I imagine they’ll probably integrate that into the course in some way. Do whatever makes you feel better about it though. I think you’ll be ok.”
ANYA: “I know they will for sure cuz it’s advertised. They have two waves and we picked the hilly race. Isn’t that nice and special?”
ME: “Haha! Nice! I’m just worried about your ankle, babe. I’d hate to see you hurt yourself, but you’re a tough cookie.”
ANYA: “I just want to tell you that I am very proud of you for taking the steps to seek help and going on meds. I care very much.”
ME: “Thank you. That means a lot to me. I know you do.”
I did it because I loved her more than life itself and I feared losing her. She mattered more to me than anything—I wanted to make her as happy as she made me. I didn’t want to ever see her struggle in front of her kids because I broke down on her emotionally—I wanted to show her I could “own up” to things. That I could take a hard look at myself, diagnose a problem and then take steps to fix it. She deserved nothing but the best version of Landyn I could give her. Even though I did this for myself as well, her love motivated me to do so. I wanted to see a smile on her face forever, and I cared about her more than I cared about myself.
The next morning, at fifty-two minutes past five to be exact, Anya texted me, providing me with something to read when I got out of bed.
ANYA: “Good morning to u!”
After I responded in kind, she then disappeared for the remainder of the day. When I got back home from work, I texted her.
ME: “Just wanted you to know my day went well. I hope you had a good day. Thank you for your very sweet text this morning. It was nice to wake up to.”
ANYA: “I’m so glad to hear that! Thank you for letting me know! My day was fine too thx. We’re you able to concentrate ok at work?”
ME: “Yes. My thoughts always stray at work though--it’s accounting and staring at the wall can be more entertaining! I’m kidding. Working on Zoloft is a little different—I tried not to push myself too much. Just wanted to ease back in. Did you look up the course for elevations at all?”
ANYA: “Different but were you able to focus? No, I haven’t had the chance yet.”
ME: “It was different in a good way. I was able to concentrate much better.”
ANYA: “I’m glad sweetie!”
ME: “Thank you! Me too and it’s only day 8!”
ANYA: “Amazing!”
ME: “You have to work at it though, the drug just really helps. It really is amazing.”
ANYA: “What do you mean you have to work at it?”
ME: “You need to have a positive approach to the process and a better outlook. The drug helps enhance those positive moods. Keeps you focused and lock in on things that would only enhance the mood.”
ANYA: “Oh I see.”
ME: “I made a conscious decision to focus on what upset you and not what upset me. I focused on my faults.”
ANYA: “It’s not all your fault. I have my faults too.”
This is the Anya I needed and the one I fell in love with—the Anya that could stymie any argument we ever had. I felt at times, she claimed to feel responsible, but never took any responsibility for the way I felt—I guess that’s hard for anyone to do. The truth was, I fought with her because I wanted to give her the chance to prove me wrong about the way I felt. I wanted Anya to obliterate every negative feeling I had. I was a laid back, light hearted man—not one who jabbed, attacked, accused or threatened people; especially those I’d give my life for. My intent wasn’t to criticize her parenting but to present another angle, but my heartache got in way of the message. Anya and even Jackson, as parents did a lot of things right, but I thought staying in their marriage was not one of them—my existence in their lives and Anya being unable to quit me was proof of that. I wanted nothing more than to prove my love to her every day. She was the first thing on my mind in the morning and the last thing on my mind when I went to sleep for almost nearly two whole years. I never wanted to disrespect, dishonor, or shame her, but my heartache had gotten in the way at times. Considering the situation, one I never thought she’d lead me to, and the level of feelings, there were bound to be missteps from time to time. Throw in the mode of communication and it left things to misinterpretation. Like American freedom, I had no choice but to fight for this dream or perish into darkness forever. I then sent her a series of texts to make her feel better.
ME: “I put you through a lot of shit though. You didn’t deserve it, babe. The message just didn’t come out the way I intended it to.”
ME: “I think about all the things you told me like “ripping my heart into pieces” and “you’re messing with my heart” and “you’ve crushed my heart” and “you’ve punished me for loving you” and “I had to pay”, among all the other things you’ve told me. The entire time you were telling me these things, all I could see were my feelings and suffering. I never saw yours because I was too self absorbed in mine. Anyway, I see your pain now.”
ME: “I chose to see your pain and the drug is helping me in every way to do so b/c it’s what I want to do.”
ME: “It’s crazy to say this but I don’t know why I was so upset. That’s how I feel now. I had a beautiful thing.”
ME: “Stepping into the gym. I’ll text you tomorrow.”
Since we could instant message each other now that I had a Blackberry, my phone informed me if my messages were read or not. After noticing she hadn’t read any of them, I decided to get a workout in. After I finished my workout, my phone notified me that she read them. She then responded a few minutes later.
ANYA: “Let me think about your texts. I’ll text you tomorrow.”
I didn’t know what she meant by that and it led me to fear she had doubts about the drug’s effectiveness—but these were the kind of tests I’ve failed in the past. Her tone also sounded reconciliatory, even admitting she had faults of her own. This was the Anya I knew—my Anya, the empathetic one. Not the Anya that belonged to Jackson—the impressionable little girl his narcissism had molded her into becoming.
Before I went to bed, I went through some of the scattered paperwork upon my desk. Within the mess, I noticed an invitation about my twenty-year high school reunion on Saturday, July 26th—this upcoming Saturday. Vance and his wife, along with several other of our close friends were going and that inspired me to want to go too. Although it would’ve been nice to catch up with old friends and to see how everyone was doing, the only thing holding me back was I’d have to go alone—everyone else would be with their significant others. I didn’t want to be at the singles table when my heart was unavailable—I didn’t want to be the side show or be gossiped about. After convincing myself that it would be really nice to catch up with friends whom I used to see everyday and now only once every few years, I completed the RSVP and put a stamp on the return envelope.
The next morning Anya sent me a text in response to the ones I sent to her.
ANYA: “Thank you for the texts last nite. It caught me off guard. I try to understand your anger and sadness too. It’s not just me. I think we have to talk in person.”
After I read her text, my heart and mind seemed to be at peace as hope reigned supreme within me—it was the one of the most, if not the most, thoughtful text she ever sent me.
ME: “I appreciate that. I think so too. I’m feeling good again today. How r u?”
ANYA: “Good! I’m ok just leaving to visit a friend in the hospital.”
ME: “Sorry to hear that babe. I hope she/he is ok. Have a good day.”
ANYA: “Babe, I know it’s too soon, but I was kinda hoping you’d go to SF this weekend. Not trying to mess with your head.”
Ten days away from my promotion to partner, and she gave me the ultimate sense of hope by hoping I would go to San Francisco. When she added she was “not trying to mess with my head”, it made me feel secure she held the same belief I did—a chance to show the world that true love always prevails and conquers all. A trip up north could only present the chance of our lifetimes to save our lifetimes—to keep the dream alive they are spent together; to turn our lifetimes in one, but was I ready to? I believed she wanted me to go to San Francisco for the right reason—to save our love. There were times I couldn’t believe I could love her more and this was one of those times. San Francisco would be a trip of a lifetime to save a lifetime—there was no way I could pass it up regardless of the uncertainty of the drug’s true effectiveness. I’ve had a few moments in time I wished I could revisit and being in San Francisco with her represented one of those moments. I not only wanted to enjoy it, but also regret nothing. One thing was certain, two lifetimes weighed in the balance and I couldn’t afford a single misstep. Believing Anya really wanted to find a way to reconnect again—I threw my RSVP to the twenty year high school reunion in the trash and decided to lay it all on the line.