“I can’t get any stronger

And I can’t climb any higher.

You’ll never know how hard I’ve tried.

Cry a little longer

And hold a little tighter

Emotions can’t be satisfied.”

~ “A Man I’ll Never Be” Boston

For the first time ever my trust in Anya truly waned. She told me she wanted to be with me. That it was her hope, wish and dream, yet failing to mention as long as the relationship remained on her terms—as long as it didn’t inconvenience her. Since she became aware of Jackson’s infidelities, her marriage was on her terms or else—the problem was I wasn’t Jackson. The man she married that promised to remain faithful was the one who broke her heart—not me. Each time I wanted her to do something, regardless of it being the right thing, she’d just abandon me while not wanting me to ever question her love. I only lost my job and the respect of my peers fighting for her. Not that I didn’t do things that made her break away—at times she was in the right to do that, but I wasn’t wrong every single time. She just couldn’t claim she loved me more than ever then do things to keep her marriage intact. After Jackson stalked me on Facebook exposing the trust issues in their marriage—it should’ve no longer been a question of if but when she would leave him. Instead, she powered through work to ignore the truth. That was just fine in the past for her to do, but not after allowing and encouraging me to be in her life. It made me feel like I had been raped—she never had my consent to lie about me if we dived in together. She had two kids before she met me and that never stopped her. In my eyes, at this point, she betrayed her kids if she continued to live the lie of her marriage, not because she was in love with me.

When you’re in love with someone, you want to announce it to the world, not take a break. She should want me to meet her kids and do things to ensure that happened. I’m not saying she didn’t love me, but her form of love was never strong enough to be with me—only strong enough for stress relief here and there. I found it bothersome that she treated my reactions as if I were in a normal relationship. Did she think I would tell her the things I did if we were in a normal relationship—one where she didn’t tie hands behind my back? I had to find the strength within to face this new reality. She was more like Jackson now—in love with herself more than anyone. Love only existed when you loved someone else more than yourself.

As far as what she viewed as a “threat” was twofold. Of course, I saw it from her side—it would only give him more power over her. The last thing I wanted was for her kids to know about anything—I didn’t think about them when I considered confronting Jackson. When I realized, Jackson would cry to them and blame their mother for leaving him, I saw how what I texted was threatening to her. She saw it a much different way than I did and when she explained it to me, I understood. The other side of it, what I struggled with, was why she brought me here if I couldn’t go to bat for her—after all she told me about him—all that led me here. She had no right to allow me to feel so much because of what he put her through, then not allow me to protect the woman I loved. Instead, she let the man who broke her be her protector and I felt betrayed. There was a thin line forming between love and hate.

As silence prevailed, I coped with Vicodin to help dull my negative emotions. More concerned about my broken heart than her cancer, I visited my mother mostly so I could raid her pill bottle. I refused to admit an addiction to painkillers because I knew Anya’s love could put the need for the pills to rest. Without Anya in my life though, I’d need them to get through it. Each time my mother asked about Anya, I told her we were doing well, not wanting to burden her with my heartache. Although I had a ton of negative emotions, I couldn’t believe I was thinking clearly enough to be right about them—and that we would eventually work things out. A break wasn’t the end of the world—we both needed it. We took one during Katie’s graduation and we away with a better understanding. When the kids were back in school and after her trip to Boston—we’d talk again. If this had any chance of working out, no matter all of the negative things that pierced my mind, I couldn’t give her any grief.

After three days of a silent phone, my negative emotions threatened to get the best of me again—torn between feeling like I never meant a thing to her and feeling like I let her down. The more hopelessness I felt, the more I realized the Vicodin helped me more than the therapy and Zoloft did. I began to feel I’ve exhausted all avenues to be the man she needed me to be. But also felt that she had to become the woman I needed her to be before I could become the man she needed me to be. If she needed me to be compliant and complicit, I couldn’t be that man for her because it hurt to share her in anyway with Jackson. I got in this because I trusted her pain and that she wanted that to change. If she could stay with him after all we shared—I couldn’t trust her love—our form of love for each other was disconnected. Our love held the key to end her pain, but I need her promise to leave him—and to know by promising me that she wasn’t breaking promises she made to her kids. It’s not the fact she was still there that led me to question her love for me. It was the fact she couldn’t make a promise to leave him even after telling me she would be with me if she fell in love with me. How could she not expect me to form my stories and own conclusions? If she was in my shoes, she’d feel the same way. The hard truth was that she never believed in love long enough to know what it truly was. Unfortunately for me, I learned this after I fell deeply in love with her.

As I laid depressed in bed, unable to sleep, at two minutes before one in the morning on August 22nd, 2009, she cracked.

ANYA: “Morning!”

All my negative thoughts fell like an arctic shelf crashing into the sea, when her message came at such an unusual time.

ME: “Morning. I hope you’re doing ok.”

I didn’t hear back from her until forty-six minutes past eight that morning.

ANYA: “I’m just ok. Hope u r ok too. I’m not ready to talk to you. I can’t do it. I have kids from Katie’s HS coming over for a bbq so I will be very busy. Take care.”

Her message sucked the hope out of me knowing she threw a bbq for kids that Katie barely knew—introducing an entire whole new group of people to the façade. Of course, it was great for Katie, helping her get acclimated to her new school easier, and also very sweet of Anya to do. But I saw the politics and networking behind it too because my heart was vested. If Anya ever felt like I discounted her emotions—this kind of thing was why I felt she discounted my reason for choosing to trust she would never leave me hanging if I fell for her. Did they choose this school for Katie in the hopes of drumming up new business or way to get Jackson elected? Was this bbq geared more for her parents than it was for Katie? I felt awful thinking this way—it was horrible but my past failures with women forced me to always be in defense mode. I didn’t realize how deep my scar was—that I didn’t even trust people who told me they loved me anymore. If Anya ever believed Katie felt she was “cool”, her popularity seemed to be something her parents encouraged her to have. I could never give Anya grief over this but every little thing she did now chipped my hope of ever being together away. And with each chip—it made me more disconnected from hope. If I never analyzed the things she did, I’d have no idea what she planned to do. But this seemed to be what she always planned to do, like she had done to others in the past—to let them go after her ego was fed—providing yet another shining example of how this relationship was never about me. After all we’ve shared, after all I’ve lost, my reward was for her to continue building the lie to an entire new group of people. If I didn’t feel she misrepresented her life to me, I felt completely misled by it now. I couldn’t even reason in her defense anymore—that she did these things so she’d be disconnected from being alone with Jackson. The fact of the matter was I couldn’t because she announced to an entire new set of people that this is my husband and we’re happily married. To say I felt wholly disrespected would’ve been an understatement.

ME: “You sent me a message last night. Was that meant for me?”

ANYA: “Yes”

ME: “Ok”

ANYA: “Sorry was drunk. Emotions.”

ME: “Ok. I figured. I hope the bbq goes well. Take care over there.”

I thought this last instant message would be my last contact with her until she hit me with a hard truth.

ANYA: “I find myself drinking too much every nite just to get thru and not hurt.”

When she hit me with this left cross from out of nowhere—every negative emotion I felt about the party blew up in my face. I’d take anything from her to quell my negative emotions as tears fell down my face after reading her message. Did she think I wanted this life for her? A life without me? This connected me with her—I did the same thing but used a different source of self-medication. Anya had kids though—what would stop her from driving them around drunk? Who would get them from point A to point B if something happened to her? Who would be there to help them with their homework and life struggles if something happened to her? Jackson? The man who hid behind parties he paid for to make it seem he was there for them? Once again, I began to backtrack on ALL of my negative emotions about her true intentions—I knew her pain all too well to believe her love wasn’t genuine—and I felt awful for all I put her through.

ME: “How long has this been going on? Since Tuesday?”

ANYA: “I have to go, sorry. At the emergency room with Andrew. Think he broke his arm. Lot of pain and can’t move his arm. Take care.”

ME: “OMG! R u serious? I’m sorry to hear that. Ok. Take care. I’m here if you need me.”

ANYA: “Thx”

I had no idea she texted me from the emergency room, but after a night of being critical of her, I suddenly crossed back over the line of love. I waited about an hour before texting her again for an update on Andrew.

ME: “Did he break his arm?”

ANYA: “Don’t know yet”

ME: “Was it the same arm he broke playing baseball?”

ANYA: “Yes”

ME: “Poor Andrew. That’s too bad. So sorry to hear that. That’s a bummer.”

ANYA: “Thx. Gotta go.”

I didn’t know who to feel worse for—Andrew or Anya. It seemed when one thing was going well something else would rear its ugly head, and stress her out even more. Although there were things she failed to teach her kids, she was nothing short of a phenomenal mom. No parent was perfect and I know she did the best she could. She had resources at her disposal and I had no problem with her utilizing them. My only issue was she seemed to think those resources would completely disappear by being with me, and that was hard to understand. It broke my heart when she perceived my advice as being critical of her parenting skills but I had to be brave enough to tell her things no one would tell her. Their whole family seemed like a political party—kept together for networking and business purposes, with no set values. Lying was looked upon as a noble act and money seemed to take center stage. Anya and Jackson had a lot to protect their kids from, but instead of looking at themselves for the answer, they pointed the finger at others—even those who loved them. I was blind to what happened behind the scenes—those actions that gave their family validity in the eyes of those around them. How Anya keeping the façade alive enabled them to gain things and favors from others. If the truth was ever learned, it would not only end the false family environment predicated on their acquired wealth, but would also expose the layer of people who unknowingly protected it. The entity she worked so hard to protect, that she claimed she really wanted to change, was something she never planned to give up on. That was a tough thing to accept for me. This marriage was really no different than a multiheaded serpent that was ready to strike the same day she told me “I love you forever”.

Later that evening, Anya updated me.

ANYA: “Bad sprain. Splint no cast! Whew!”

ME: “That’s great to hear! I mean it sucks but at least it’s not broken. Thx for sharing.”

After Anya informed me about the bittersweet news, I called my mom asking for some advice on how to handle some of my negative feelings. After I got off the phone with her, I texted Anya to share what my she told me.

ME: “Just talked to my mom about our disagreement. She let me have it. Wasn’t pleasant to hear from her. Told me and I quote “You’re acting just like every other man” and “Give her a break she’s under a lot of stress at home”. My mom is always on your side. I just wanted you to know that. I know you don’t want to talk to me right now and I respect that. I do want you to be happy and if that makes you happy then that is what I have to do. Have a good night.”

ANYA: “Thank u.”

Only under extreme despair did I ever share details about my relationship with my mother. Whenever I did, she usually gave me good advice that helped me see another side to the argument. Even when I stated my case, she always took Anya’s side. When she told me she was drinking to get through the days, it crushed me knowing I self medicated to get me through the days too. It was fine for me to do, but Anya had kids and could affect them if she had to drive them around inebriated. I don’t know if she was drinking because Jackson was not really talking to her or if she missed me—maybe a combination of both, but my mental anguish was second to what she went through at home right now.

After not hearing from her the following day, I opened a bottle of wine from the prior Christmas. One glass led to another, until the bottle was empty. I then composed a message to Anya.

ME: “Ok my turn to drunk message you. This is most I’ve drank since San Dego. One of ur favorite phrases when you get mad at me is “U know what?”. Well you know what? I love you forever. You know what? I miss you like crazy. You know what? I think you’re the most beautiful girl in the world. I know you hate me right now, but I love you. I care about you more than you can possible imagine. I just wish to show you. I know you don’t want to talk to me but know that u r all I know and ever want to now.”

ANYA: “I don’t hate you.”

I could barely read her response with the room spinning around me. When I woke the next morning, my head ached far worse than it did the morning in San Diego with her. The next day I couldn’t get out of bed—the first time I didn’t hear from her and was fine with her silence. The next day she seemed to wonder if I was alive.

ANYA: “How r u? U ok?”

After reading her text, sober eyes stared at the ceiling wondering about the aftermath of the drunk message I sent. It was my first drunk text to someone and didn’t know what to expect.

ME: “I’m still not feeling well. How r u?”

ANYA: “Sorry to hear that. R u sick? I’m ok. Just trying to focus on kids and trying to hang in there.”

As mad as she made with some of things she texted me, she had to do what she had to do and the last thing I wanted was for her to have to hang in there. I refused to be like every other man and had to acknowledge and be respectful of her stress level at home—even when it felt like she didn’t respect all I had to deal with.

ME: “Yes. Just not feeling well. I drank too much on Saturday night. I think it knocked me out of whack. Was sick all day yesterday. Lightweight here. I thought you were in Boston. Is that next week?”

ANYA: “I leave on Thursday.”

ME: “Oh I see.”

ANYA: “I’m sorry.”

ME: “It’s my fault. Stupid man here. I’m sorry too.”

ANYA: “How’s the job hunt going?”

ME: “I’m going to meet with my friend’s Dad, who runs his own CPA firm, next week.”

ANYA: “Very cool! No harm in meeting with him.”

ME: “I agree. We’ll see what happens. How is Andrew doing? Is he bummed out?”

ANYA: “He’s ok. Yea pretty bummed out. 2-4 weeks.”

ME: “He’ll be back on the field in no time.”

ANYA: “Yup”

I think Anya wanted the break from running him around everywhere. Not in the manner she received one but she was run down and extremely busy. Andrew’s bad sprain was a blessing in disguise.

Later in the day, I sent her another message.

ME: “Hope you’re doing ok over there.”

ANYA: “I’m ok. Still sick?”

ME: “I feel better thanks.”

ANYA: “I’m glad.”

ME: “Take it easy over there. Sleep well.”

ANYA: “Thx. You too.”

Her life had to be a living hell after Jackson stalked me on Facebook. She was no longer the loving Anya I knew—besieged with guilt and turning into someone I didn’t know. I just didn’t think she should feel guilty about a thing unless she misrepresented her situation to me. I wanted to save her from this false sense of duty others made her feel. She couldn’t be living her life to the fullest—the thing she told me God demanded from us—if she stayed married to Jackson. Did she blame herself for Jackson’s many infidelities? She was perfect and beautiful in every way—a famous singer even saw that in her. No man in their right mind, if she were single, wouldn’t jump at the chance to date her. After all we’ve shared, even calling me her soulmate, how could she not expect me to not fight for her? Even if I had to take the fight to her husband? I wasn’t looking for a dime from him—and any monetary agreement they reached would go solely to the kids. I wanted to take care of Anya. Sure, I couldn’t do it as well financially as Jackson did, but eighty percent of the men out there would fall short too. At this point in the marriage, where there is no longer any trust, it made no sense for her to stay but to find a way we could make this work out. As the man who loved her, I had to be brave enough to make her see things that made me crazy. If she loved me, she would understand them and know I was on her side regardless of how I felt. Even if she loved another, my advice would remain the same, she could not deprive herself of living life to the fullest by staying for the sake of the kids—God demands it.

Without Anya in my life, it had no real meaning. This was it—and I knew it. After returning home from the movie theater, I sent her a series of texts.

ME: “I went and saw “500 Days of Summer” for the second time. I don’t know if you remember the scene when they were playing the Hall & Oates song “You Make My Dreams”. That scene just cracked me up because I swear to God I’ve felt that way inside every time (except when we breakup) I’ve seen you. That feeling of being on top of the world. A huge high.”

ME: “I’ve spent the last seven days writing this huge message to you. I think I’ve gone through 6 drafts and I was even working on it the night you texted me. I was just at home worried sick about you. You’re right about a lot of things. I didn’t go on Zoloft because of your marriage. That was an awful thing to say to you. I went on it because I wanted to be the man I was before I ever said anything to hurt you. I went on it to win you back. Even though I don’t allow things to bother me as much anymore. There are those days like Tuesday when I miss you really bad. More than usual. Most of the time I’m good but then I get overwhelmed with the missing and it does upset me. Not all the time and it doesn’t happen often but it does happen.”

ME: “You can get on my FB any time. I could really care less. What upset me is that I felt I wouldn’t be able to see you for a while because now he’s watching your every move. I really wanted to build on the “I love you more than ever” feelings after SF. I miss you so much especially after SF, it made me pressure you again. I have to give you all the credit in the world though. No matter what has happened with him, even on the same day he suspected, in our relationship, you never stopped seeing me when most people in your situation probably would have got scared and stopped. That’s love and I really appreciated that. I don’t think I’ve ever told you that.”

ME: “About the “threats” I made. I just didn’t understand a lot. It’s hard to explain how I feel on this end to you because we are on opposite ends. I have admittingly shaken your trust but I’d never break your trust. There’s a difference of words versus actions. The only reason I made the “threats”, I’ve done it twice, once after your broke up with me suddenly and unexpectedly in October and then of course, the recent time. I was really lost and confused. It’s really hard for me to understand sometimes. It’s not like I don’t trust you but it’s easier for me to think that there was something you weren’t telling me that would help me understand better, if I knew, why we weren’t together. I felt if I has this missing knowledge then I could move on if I had to.”

ME: “I guess I was hoping to scare you into telling me things I didn’t know, but something better happened though. I found out you weren’t hiding anything and I was just making things up mostly because of my past experiences with women being less than honest with me. “Brutal honesty” is all I’ve ever asked for. I’ve come to learn it just saves a lot of time and heartache from believing in something that isn’t true. I’d rather be hurt one time by the truth rather than be protected several times by lies. When you love someone as much as I love you, throw the situation in the mix, I’m really vulnerable. It’s the most helpless feeling I’ve ever had. I hate feeling like a fool and I wanted control of something to prevent feeling like one. I’m not saying what I did was right. I don’t want to lose you so I’d never break your trust.”

The narrative has been taken without permission. Report any sightings.

ME: “I’m just as tired as you are of the 20 questions, the accusations, etc. I know it doesn’t seem that way but believe me, I pay for it dearly every time too. I’ve been so depressed. More than ever. It is so hard to see someone you love dearly go through what you go through on a daily basis. I just want to hold you and never let go. Kiss you and tell you everything is going to be ok. I want to take a lot off your plate. It gets the best of me sometimes because I want that so badly. I know one thing is for sure, without a doubt, if we were together, you would love me even more. I think you would see the kind of person I really am. It’s tough knowing that.”

ME: “I don’t really want to talk about this. It just makes me sick to my stomach. I just wanted to get some of this off my chest. I want you to work on you. I want you to focus on your kids. Just know I miss you a lot and I love you very much. I’m here if you need me.”

It broke my heart to know a mother resorted to drinking to deal with the emptiness that surrounded her because I couldn’t keep my emotions in check. I felt responsible for her sadness and I wanted her to know how I felt. What I didn’t know however, was the way she truly felt about us.

ANYA: “Ok Landyn although I appreciate your messages I don’t want to go back into it. Bottom line is we are both in pain. You hurt because you can’t be with me and you want it now. You tried not to pressure me but it happened many times. You can’t take it back. I hurt because I feel like I really did take a chance and all I got in the end was hatred and resentment. You forever question my love and honesty. If you can’t believe me there’s nothing I can do about that. You say you don’t question my love but you contradict yourself all the time. “You said this or you did this and that’s how I know you really do love me”. Uh well no duh. I’ve put my life out there and things will never be the same again and you continue to go back and either jab or accuse or threat. You say you only threatened twice but can’t you understand that was too times too many? When I decided to take a chance with you, I couldn’t have imagined you would ever pressure me or threaten me. I trusted you. Had I known I would have so stopped talking to you right away. I don’t see how things can be repaired. Every time I ask you to meet me or meet me out of town, I pay for it afterwards too. How could you expect me to keep seeing you when I get pressure for a long time after each meeting? I make you crazy and I can’t carry that guilt anymore. I carry enough every day and I can’t do it. In order for you to get better I need to let you go and you need to let me go. I hope to god that you take “us” and turn it into a positive life experience and not make it into a negative part of your life. We got to feel the real thing, we grew, we learned, we laughed and enjoyed pure euphoria as you say. I want you to get out of your depression and make life a better life for you. I don’t want you to blame him or me anymore for your unhappiness. Only you can make yourself happy. You can’t depend on anyone else to make it happen for you. So Landyn, just let me go. Walk away with good memories. My life will never be the same and I will pay for the rest of my life. At least you have a chance. I will always love you.”

ANYA: “I will always be here if you want to or need to talk.”

I had to read her response several times before I could think about responding. I didn’t expect her to be with me right now but I didn’t think a promise to be together, if she truly loved me, was out of line to want now. I didn’t hate or resent her, but how come she couldn’t feel guilty about staying after all we shared? After all she trusted me with? Why share so much, then instruct me to let her go? How could she expect any man, who loved and cared for her a much as I did, to know and see her pain, to tell her, “Hey you’re doing the right thing by staying for the kids.”? What seemed to be a contradiction to her was confusion because of the situation she appeared to misrepresent to me. She had just told me “I love you more than ever” less than a month ago and now she wanted me to let her go? Speaking of contradictions, how could she tell me I brought joy back into her life then tell me she’s happy when her kids were happy? Telling me not to blame him for my unhappiness set me a fire inside—how dare she defend him. And her greatest contradiction at all? To be in a two year extramarital relationship with a man for two years, telling him “I love you forever” and “I want to wear your ring”, then running away from him when it was time to face the music. She knew Jackson knew the truth, so why continue to live a lie? How is that living life to the fullest? How would her kids be hurt by the truth? Why run the risk of them finding out from someone else? Why would they hate their parents if Anya and Jackson were truly the ones in charge?

How was Anya’s life never the same again now? She couldn’t go back to living like a single woman? She would have to go back into her marriage? She stood to lose nothing by this—he knew she was in a relationship with another man and still refused to divorce her. Why isn’t Jackson the one being told to let her go? Why was the man she “loved” being told this? How was her life different? She still had two kids. She still had a husband and a beautiful home—nice cars and clothes. He wouldn’t leave her and would view it as “we’re even”—so what did she really lose? His trust that was never there to begin with! Anya wanted the fun and games, but not the reality. My “jabs”, and “accusations” and “threats” existed because she never tried changing anything. When relegated me to friend status just like the guy in “500 Days of Summer” was—that’s why it hit home with her. She could do the same thing Summer did to that guy and Landyn would meet an Autumn and live happily ever after. That may have been the way her life unfolded in the past, but mine was far from the ending of “500 Days of Summer”. After she secured my love for her, she changed the rules of the relationship—she felt guilty about using me for stress relief and that’s why she wanted me to let her go and for me to be “happy”. I needed her to care about my happiness the night I met her, not now. She ruined me for others by doing what she did—I’d never trust another woman as long as I lived. I expected someone who didn’t love me to send a message like that, but not someone who ever believed I was her soulmate. I couldn’t help but feel bamboozled and gaslighted. How could she add up all we’ve shared and experienced, and feel the right thing to do was to stay in her marriage? It made me want to seek the answers she’d never tell me because they would hurt me. I never asked for nor did I ever want her protection from the truth. If she was going to rip my heart out, I wanted her to rip it all the way out. If she truly didn’t want accusations, jabs and threats why did she do things to inspire them from me? I didn’t know what to believe anymore after I read her text.

I had to read “when I decided to take a chance with you, I couldn’t have imagined you would ever pressure or threaten me.” five times over, if not more. Did she think in a million years, after asking her what she needed from me to leave her husband, after knowing I asked because I didn’t want to get hurt, after being told the only reason she was there was because no one wanted to be with a woman with “baggage”, after being told she was still there because no one would be there for her if she left, and after being told she would be with me if she fell in love with me, that I couldn’t imagine she would ever grossly misrepresent herself to me? And I was the one who contradicted myself all the time? I never accused her of contradicting herself even when she did on a major scale. I couldn’t have imagined she would blame me for the turmoil in her life and not her shitty marriage. I couldn’t have imagined that she would defend her husband in any way. I couldn’t have imagined that she would turn me into a homewrecker instead of her hero. Did she think if I had known these things, after being told I broke her heart by leaving her the first time because she was married with kids, I would’ve taken a chance with her? I loved sex but I had control over my libido—don’t ever confuse me with the pig you chose to build a life with. How could she have even thought to send that to me after I walked away from her initially? Did she have early symptoms of Alzheimer’s disease? How could she so conveniently forget all those things? That’s right, those misrepresentations affected me, not her.

Did she ever think I could’ve imagined that wanting someone, who wanted to wear my ring, to make a promise to be with me would be perceived as pressuring or threatening her? We both sought the same thing; safety—we just had different means of obtaining it. Almost two years later of loving someone with all I had and this was my reward? Her goal had to be to make me crazy to justify letting me go. What she did wasn’t right. This text was as wrong as wrong comes. I already knew what love was. I’ve always believed in it, and she grew because of my belief in love. But I knew love enough to know, that it’s not the real thing unless she did her part to make it the real thing. But this had become all too real for her, and she lived in a fantasy world.

Another headscratcher was when she jabbed me with “Only you can make yourself happy”. After leading me to believe I was the one who made her happy for nearly two years, she hit me with that. This message could not have come from someone who was in love with me. All these things she texted to me, if she truly loved me, were all things Jackson should be reading and hearing; not me. I knew I couldn’t depend on anyone to make that happen for me, but people should be able to depend on happiness from the people who claimed to love them, especially those who wanted to wear their ring. For her to step up her game by telling me not to blame him for my unhappiness, made me seethe inside. Everything was great until he stalked me on Facebook—she even loved me more than ever. A long as Jackson had money and it kept the kids happy, she had zero plans of leaving. She made the decision to hide who Jackson was from me, knowing full well he could harm my life with the power he held—and knowing full well if I knew she’d never be able to repair her ego.

As much as I began to see things I hoped to never seriously consider, I couldn’t respond to her before I calmed myself down. The plank of sanity cracking beneath my feet with every negative thought that seared my mind. Not only would her life never be the same, but mine as well. She seemed to conveniently forget I tried to stop talking to her the time I left her at the bar. Five months later, after she told me I broke her heart by leaving her, even not being able to understand why I did, we reconnected so she could break mine. For her to view me as a homewrecker, after walking away from her, after allowing and encouraging me to fall deeply in love with her, after asking me to fight for her, after doing all the things she asked of me in order for her to make me a promise to leave, then her response was an intentional infliction of emotional distress. She would take many years away from me now, not just two of them and I’d probably never have kids of my own, especially after learning what she taught me about having them. I tried to fight off these treacherous feelings—I didn’t want to upset her. She would just scoff at them anyway—she was no longer in love with me, if she ever truly was. All I could do was try to learn what the real truth was if she wanted me to let her go.

ME: “Love doesn’t abandon the ones you love in their time of need and I don’t plan on abandoning you. I know you say “I’m happy when my kids are happy”. That’s a really nice noble thing to say but I don’t believe that because I’m sure they were happy before you met me and you have told me several times you’re unhappy. If I thought you were making a mistake before FB, I know for a fact you’re making a huge mistake by staying now. I really believe that. Do you really want to live the rest of your life this way? Him looking over your shoulder constantly? I still believe in us even if I can’t get to see you. I don’t hate you. I’ve never used the word “hate” ever in regards to you and I never will.”

ANYA: “I don’t want to continue. I want you to be happy and move on with your future.”

Now she cared about my future? Or did I just speak too much truth for her to handle? Why not tell me you’re not in love with me anymore? It’s fine—women change their minds all the time, right? How was it that she could advise what she thought was best for me, but when I did the same, she turned a blind eye to it? After all she shared that led me here, I had every right in the world for her to choose happiness and move on with her future—even if it didn’t include me. I dug for more information from her to confirm what I’ve come to fear and all I’ve ever questioned. If she was in love with me, she should have no problem proving it.

ME: “So there is no hope for us?”

ANYA: “Not at this point. I’ve made up my mind.”

ME: “Sounds like you’ve fallen out of love with me.”

ANYA: “No. Don’t question me.”

ME: “Ok. I’ll trust you then.”

ANYA: “Good.”

ME: “I’m going to fight to save you then.”

ANYA: “What? What does that mean Landyn?”

ME: “Just putting my trust in all you’ve ever told me. All you’ve ever allowed me to feel. Everything you’ve ever told me, everything you’ve ever showed me and led me to believe in your love for me over the last 2 years. I’m going to put my complete trust in.”

ANYA: “You’re doing it again. Threatening me and using what I’ve told you against me. Do you understand what you’re doing? If you truly want me to be happy then just let me be. This is why I tell you I can’t talk to you. All you have to say is “I will respect your wishes” and I would be more open to talking to you. Instead, you twist it and don’t respect my wishes. I have to go.”

She wanted me to respect her “wishes” but how come she couldn’t respect mine by making a promise if she truly loved me? I knew she had feelings for me and I knew she cared, but not like a lover would. If she viewed this as a “threat” then she had to be hiding something from me.

ME: “See what I mean? You’re not being real with me. You tell me so many great things then I tell you I want to be with you and you run away like a scared five-year-old child. It’s like you only love me as long as you don’t have to be with me, as long as you can stay in your marriage. How can you take the end of your marriage as a threat if you truly wanted to be with me? how did you think that would happen? While you’re still married? How can you view anything I say as a threat? You are in love with me.”

ANYA: “It’s not all about you you you. Maybe you should look at what has caused me to leave. You can’t treat me the way you have and demand me back. You just can’t. I can’t erase everything you’ve done to me the last 7 months. You don’t even give me time or chance!”

ME: “I guess people who cheat on you several times are more deserving of a chance. I think these are words that should be reserved for that wonderful man you married. How many years did you need from me? 50?”

ANYA: “I’m talking about your anger and your pressure! Just let me go! Time will tell and you’re not being patient! I need to go!”

Did she really think I demanded her back? It’s not like we haven’t talked to each other in months—we’ve been in touch every day. I had been patient for two years—during that time I lost a career job, my professional reputation and friendships, yet this was all about me, me and me? The most frustrating thing was how she wouldn’t allow me to love her the way I wanted to—how she tied my hands behind my back even after her husband attacked me by taking her away by stalking me on Facebook. She could love me any way she chose, but if I did the same, I was a monster.

ME: “I’m not angry. I told you I’m going to put trust in your love for me. I’m not angry at all.”

ANYA: “You’re not angry? Well maybe you should have not acted angry the past 7 months. Well I’m angry! I’m angry I trusted you with everything! I’m angry you let me down with threats and accusations! I’m angry you made me angry! I’m angry you made me scared of you! I’m angry you made us this way! I’m angry you didn’t give us a chance and got impatient! I’m angry I risked everything and you always looked at it as if you were the only one hurt and affected! I’m angry for the pressure! I’m angry you’re not respecting my wishes! I’m angry!!!”

“I’m angry you didn’t give us a chance and got impatient” hit me at my heart’s core. That singular honest statement took a million negative emotions away from me in an instant. It even justified her reasons for misrepresenting herself to me—done so she could feel loved. This kind of emotional honesty, although unpleasant came from the Anya I fell in love with. The beauty in her anger was the passion behind it—she was dying inside over this, over us turning out the way we were, and I needed to feel that. She never fought with Jackson because there was no passion there and it made her “I’m angry” message translate to “I love you, fucker.” When I sent those texts to her the previous night, I told her to not respond to them—they didn’t need to be discussed. I thought she would appreciate that—but the fact she responded at all to defend herself was why I fell so in love with her. Anya and I butted heads because we were the same person and she taught me more about love than I would ever know if I hadn’t have met her. My presentation was too emotionally unintelligent because my feelings for her had outgrown the contained nature of our relationship—more so after Jackson stalked me on Facebook. This response, as brutally honest as it was, is all I ever wanted from her. I could let her go knowing it was not what she wanted.

ME: “Ok. Relax. I don’t want you to get angry.”

ANYA: “Too late!”

Knowing first hand how she felt, anger was a natural emotion when you were passionate about someone. If she wasn’t angry, it should scare the shit out of me. I preferred her being at peace than being angry—her anger was just something I needed to see. When she told me she was angry that I didn’t give us a chance and got impatient—I took it to heart because I felt the same disappointment she did. Her anger provided the spark needed for a connection and that’s exactly what I needed. I never wanted to inspire anger from her, but rather emotions consistent with being in love. Whenever she acted like she could care less, that’s what made me question her love out of fear. Our love shouldn’t be anger less—no real relationship was and this confirmed it’s what I had. If she felt like she had to let me go then she should be livid with me. If she was truly in love with me, it should feel like something she wouldn’t want to do. Sadly, I needed her to let me have it so I could respect her wishes.

ME: “I’m sorry. Let’s calm down. I didn’t realize how angry you were with me. I’m glad you got that off your chest.”

I hoped she wanted to talk to me, but after ten minutes of my life passed me by without a word, I responded to thin air.

ME: “I understand, ok? I do.”

After an hour of silence passed, I sent her one last text.

ME: “I’ll leave you alone.”

ANYA: “Don’t message me. I don’t want to talk to you. My kids left me cuz they are scared. I have to go. I’m leaving town Thursday and I will not talk to you. This is their trip! I will be fully engaged with them! Take care.”

I remembered the days my texts felt like presents to her, now they were more like improvised explosive devices.

ME: “I like it when you’re real with me. Even if it hurts. You don’t have to tippie toe past me. There’s no charade here. Just two people with real feelings being honest with eachother. I appreciate you telling me that you’re angry. You won’t hear from me. Please have a nice trip.”

I needed to respect her wishes—it killed me to learn her emotions scared her kids away. I felt even worse knowing I ruined her day with them. She was well within her right to tell me to get lost and to leave her alone. As she vacationed in Boston, a descent from life truly began for me. I visited my mother just to load up on Vicodin, using them for survival. I then made the executive decision to stop taking Zoloft, sending me into brain shivers. When my therapist forgot to log me into her schedule book, it seemed to be a sign from the universe—there was no saving me. After this last argument with Anya, it was time to accept there was no chance for us. I had to face reality—no matter how hard I worked, or hard I tried, or how much I sacrificed, things I wanted in life always found a way to elude me. I couldn’t even have my soulmate without a caveat attached to it. This was the last joke I allowed the universe to play on me. With the exception of one day, getting out of the house to stock up on Vicodin, I spent the last five days of August in bed, unable to move or even the strength to eat—opting to swallow five Vicodin pills a day to help get me through the greatest depression I’ve ever felt.

Unprepared mentally to go back to work in a mental profession—I stopped sending resumes out—resigning to hopelessness and the greatest recession in the history of the United States. Imagining her in Boston, relieved to be with her kids and Jackson, and not with me—inspired an appetite for pain killers. Knowing her only remedy for my situation was not a promise, but to let me go, also made me reach for more painkillers. I had no choice but to accept her terms once again—a relationship she said I made about myself. The more anguish I felt, the less I felt deserving of it.

I no longer wanted to go through life getting over a heart break for the next several years after it took me so long to get over Denise. This broken heart would be by far the worst and the hardest to understand—there could be no reason for this. I hated who I was—how my heart and mind constantly waged war against each other, destroying any chance to have love—or the marriage and kids I always dreamt of having. Women would only judge me for not having any significant long-term relationships. They would also continue to think I couldn’t be for real if I loved them—even judging me for things I had no control over. It was men like Jackson who had dreams come true for them. I came into this world a century too late to be appreciated. I gave all I had to offer to someone who never needed it—love was a luxury to Anya because she believed it would hurt her kids. Women would only continue to judge me for showing the heart on my sleeve too soon or using it to gain the upper hand when the time came to show it to them. Anya’s silence confirmed what I already suspected—she only needed me when her kids were in school or her stress level was high and needed a break from it. No doubt she loved me, but she was never willing to lose the life she claimed to hate. She was definitely willing to risk losing all Jackson gave her, but wasn’t willing to lose it. After our weekend in San Francisco, when she told me she loved me more than ever, a promised seemed to be on the horizon. When Jackson got into my Facebook account, I truly believed it would be the last straw for her. She even joked around asking me if I was willing to teach Andrew how to play tackle football—an opportunity I would’ve given my life to have. Instead, she immersed herself in the façade, afraid to lose it all—dooming my heart for the rest of my life. There was no doubt she loved me, but only if the relationship remained on her terms. It wasn’t fair to encourage and allow me to fall deeply in love with her if being with me meant having to give up her kids. I could only feel the lust in that, but not the love. Whenever I threatened to shift the relationship towards any terms and conditions of mine, she’d leave me in the dust. It was her way or the highway, and once I began to learn that, I knew this depression I’d sink into would only consume, then eventually end me.

On the thirtieth day of August, marking the twenty first month of our relationship, while reaching for another pill to get me through the day, I received a message I didn’t expect to hear any time soon.

ANYA: “I just want to let you know that I’m ok and that I hope you are too.”

ME: “I’m glad. R u home?”

ANYA: “No not till Wednesday.”

ME: “Ok. Thanks for letting me know you’re ok.”

There was no way I would tell her what I was going through—she’d only feel burdened by it. Of course, losing Anya put it into motion, but ending my life has been in the works for years before I met her. Wanting to remove myself completely from the world I hung up my bed cover over my window, not allowing a sliver of sunlight into my room—from the same sun that used to inspire beach days. Feeling like a paraplegic, I laid motionless, submitting to total despair and darkness. How could I show so little gratitude for a life that others would’ve died for? My mind was completely diseased—unable to step outside of myself to consider how wonderful my life seemed to others. We only knew the pain we felt—mentally I felt I had been dismembered and dumped in a grave to rot. If my mind couldn’t differentiate that feeling from the actual thing—there was no hope for me.

On the second day of September in the middle of the afternoon, Anya texted me again.

ANYA: “How r u? How is the interview process going?”

ME: “I’m ok. To be honest not really going at all. I was supposed to interview with my friend’s dad’s firm but they are busy right now. My heart isn’t really into it much anyway. How r u? R u back home now? How was the trip?”

I didn’t know how to feel about her text when I received it, but at least she cared enough about me to see how I was doing. If she truly wanted me to let us go, she wouldn’t have messaged me, helping me feel a little bit better.

ANYA: “Oh I see. Something will turn up. Have you heard from any other places? Yes, got home late last night and was at Katie’s new high school all day for orientation. Trip was good.”

ME: “I’m sure once I start getting on it I will find something. I just want to be happy where I’m at. I know it’s “work” but I want to be someplace that inspires me. Did Katie like the Harvard campus?”

ANYA: “It makes sense if you can do it financially. Katie loved it but getting in is another story.”

ME: “I think anyone can do anything they wanted to if they really set their mind to it and really wanted it. I think she has all the tools, that’s for sure. I think she’s really bright.”

ANYA: “How’s your mom?”

ME: “My mom is doing pretty good. No more chemo treatments for the time being and her hair is even starting to grow back a little bit. It’s different to see her with gray hair. Thanks for asking. About my job search, fortunately for me I saved but I need to get my butt in gear. I hate my life right now.”

ANYA: “I’m sorry. I know it’s partly because of me.”

ME: “I know it’s been too tough for you. Just don’t hate me please.”

ANYA: “I don’t hate you I promise.”

ME: “Thank you.”

ANYA: “Thx. R u still taking ur meds?”

ME: “No I decided to stop against the doctor’s orders.”

When I didn’t hear back from her after my text, I sent her a follow-up white lie.

ME: “Just kidding. I’m still on them.”

ANYA: “Ha! Think it’s still helping?”

ME: “My therapist called me today wondering how come I haven’t seen her and I had to tell her I lost my job and I’m waiting to get medical again before I see her. She offered her services for free but I felt bad. I think I may have to up the dosage to be honest. I can’t get out of bed. I woke up at 1:30 today. I’m just really listless.”

ANYA: “Really? How have you been spending your days?”

I couldn’t tell her about quitting Zoloft, or about the brain shivers, or how I’ve been in bed for four straight days popping Vicodin like candy. What I felt was years in the making before we met and although our relationship kicked my depression into overdrive, it wasn’t fair to make her feel guilty about it.

ME: “Haha! I have to plead the 5th on that one! Let’s just put it this way. I’m not sure what day it is.”

ANYA: “Ok u need to get out of bed and go do something babe. Really.”

ME: “I’m just in a funk right now. I’ll snap out of it.”

ANYA: “I’m worried about you. Are you still in bed?”

It was sweet to read she was worried about me, but my mind to leave this world was pretty made up. Without her, my journey on earth no longer made any sense. Afraid she would feel responsible, I had to lie to her.

ME: “I’m out of bed now. I’ll be ok babe. Please don’t worry.”

ANYA: “Ok. It’s nice out.”

ME: “It is pretty nice out. I just noticed it. It’s been hot here. How was the weather in Boston?”

ANYA: “It was perfect in Boston. No humidity and in the high 70’s – 80’s. Tons of history in Boston. Lexington and Concord were cool! We went down the road where Paul Revere alerted the minutemen and walked on the actual battleground. I’m no history buff but I loved it!””

ME: “That’s very cool! I was there with my Dad back in 1989. We basically did an east coast sports trip through Boston, Baltimore, D.C. and New York for a week. It was fun.”

ANYA: “Did you go to Fenway Park? They are very serious about their Red Sox team.”

ME: “I’ll never forget my time at Fenway Park. I got to watch Roger Clemens pitch in his prime, and before all the steroid allegations. They are very serious about their baseball team and even their football team—I caught a Patriots game too. Boston fans take their sport teams seriously.”

ANYA: “Yea you don’t dare say you’re not a Red Sox fan when you’re in the audience!”

ME: “Haha! That’s for sure!”

After imagining her family trip with Jackson, with her kids likely having their own rooms, and planned even after he stalked me on Facebook, I felt more paralyzed than ever, as I threw down another Vicodin, my sixth of the day, sending my mind into shivers and threatening to destroy a heart that still wanted to believe.