On Endings, Ripples and The Conclusion of the Story of My Greatest Heartbreak

October 2001.

The day after his breakdown, Marcus sought professional help. By the end of that day we were sitting in the grass on the side of the road, Marcus having waited for me after work. We talked about what had happened the day before. We talked about how we could make sure things between us got back on track. We decided we still loved each other and wanted to be together.

Nothing was ever the same, however. After just a few sessions, Marcus stopped seeking counseling. The distance I had felt before we had wound up crying on the floor of my bedroom crept back into our lives. As much as I wanted to ignore it, it was obvious that our relationship was failing. I didn’t know why. I didn’t know how to stop it. All I could do was wait for it to die.

The final blow came with a phone call.

Marcus and I had argued earlier in the day and he had left my place promising to call me later that night. I’d spent the day sick to my stomach. I knew that things were tense between us and I just kept waiting for the other shoe to drop. In my heart of hearts I knew this call could be the end.

Marcus called me and told me that he didn’t know if he wanted to see me any longer. He didn’t want to end things, but he also felt like things were not working. When I asked him to explain, he fell silent. When I tried to argue with him, he pulled back. He was not willing to completely break up with me, but he was also not willing to fight for us.

I was willing, however. I became a crazed man, fighting for the love of my life. I tried to remind him of the good times. I tried to make him see that every relationship went through rough patches. I brought up his father and his fears and I assured him that I would always love him no matter what. As long as we loved each other I was sure we could make it through anything.

That is when he said the words that defeated me.

“I don’t know if I love you anymore.” I didn’t know how to respond. “In fact, I don’t know if I ever loved you.”

I didn’t cry. I didn’t scream. I simply hung up the phone. I couldn’t face that kind of hurt.

I thought back on all that we had meant to each other. I remembered the first time he had told me he loved me. I remembered him crying in frustration because he loved me so much. And now, over the phone, he was telling me that all of that had been a lie.

After a few minutes, the phone rang. It was Marcus. As far as I was concerned, there was little left to discuss. If he did not love me, there was no use in fighting any longer. I told him as much and asked him to end it. I wanted to hear him break it off with me for good. I felt like he owed me at least that much.

He couldn’t do it. He wasn’t sure he wanted to. He was confused.

I accused him of being too weak to do what needed to be done. I chided him. I refused to let him off the hook. If he did not love me and he wanted to move on without me, he would have to be man enough to own it.

He asked for the night to think it over. I fought the hope that tried to rise up within me and told him that he could have the night. I also told him, however, that he would have to come to my place the next day to tell me what he had decided face-to-face. He agreed.

The following day, Marcus showed up as promised. I let him in and walked to my bedroom. He followed. He didn’t enter, however. He simply stood in the doorway, looking like a child who had lost his favorite blanket. I wanted to go to him and hug him, but I knew there was no point in doing so. I sat on my bed and waiting for him to speak.

“I’m sorry.”

That was all he said. I broke into tears and slid to the floor. I looked up in time to see him walking away. Seconds later I heard the front door closing. Marcus was gone.

In the weeks following, I tried to make sense of what had happened. I tried to understand what had gone wrong. I forced myself to believe that he really had loved me, but found it impossible.

In the months following, I tried to heal. I tried to bury myself in other things. I forced myself to look for the good in my situation, but could see nothing positive in the ache I constantly felt.

In the years following, I have tried to erase my fears. I have tried to tell myself that loving someone does not have to be painful. I have forced myself back into the dating game, only to pull away before I can care enough to really get hurt.

The ripples from my relationship with Marcus have been far-reaching. Even now, seven years later, the pain I felt that day sometimes hangs over me like a cloud. I know it is in my best interest to move on and let go, but it’s not in my nature to always act in my best interest.

But now my pain is exposed. It is no longer living quietly and maliciously inside of me. I have reopened the wound and (perhaps foolishly) let it bleed all over the pages of this blog. Perhaps expelling it is an important part of the process of finally letting it go.

I choose to remember Marcus fondly. When I think of him, I hope the best for him. I sincerely wish that he has worked through his problems and found happiness.

And I sincerely hope I can someday do the same.