Break up suddenly. The Defective Relationships of Ester Viola

Break up, suddenly

We celebrated our fifth anniversary in Venice, two and a half days where we had a great time. On our return that same evening we were at the condominium meeting of the new house and from there I no longer remember anything about us, I only know that a vortex sucked us into a whirlwind of messy and stressful everyday life where in all this he worked too much and I didn’t work at all. I had been at a standstill since early February and the CVs sent were not answered or it was negative. I was starting to get worried and nervous.

There our intimacy has been greatly affected, we did not live together and that house finally represented being able to live 100% without more hours and people around. We were finally going to start building a family we talked about. We were mature and ready at 34 for this important step. Or at least, so I thought.

I, falling from the clouds

He was affected by this period I fell from the clouds, love for him was never in question. I realized that I had inadvertently and momentarily put myself in standby mode perhaps, I concentrated on looking for a job (which then actually arrived right in the middle of the fray) because otherwise I felt that that relationship would be unbalanced if we went to live together where the financial commitment would have been only his, but above all I also did not want to be realized only on a sentimental level. He too confirmed to me that perhaps it would have been better if we had entered the house with equal strength.

Too bad that my efforts did not help, not even trying to fix it by showing how much I was there and loved him deeply, apologizing for my distraction of these months.

Anything.

He icily turned on his heels and away

We will sell that house without ever having lived it because according to him “better sooner than later”. But after what? Why so much distrust in us for a period that is perhaps not very exciting but aimed at something better? Why was there so little and he didn’t feel like it anymore? According to him, he lacked strength. He imagines my strong disappointment.

So tonight I try, with my heart that burns and hurts, I put on the new fuchsia pumps that I would have worn to go out with him, and I try to see how much I still exist even without him.

AND.

Ester Viola’s answer

Dear E.,

I never understood if breaking up is always the same or always the same. I know there are a thousand things to do with it, “not being what it used to be” is one of the packs, not even the most important. Just as it doesn’t matter how much love is left, because the one to be cut down is the tree of habit. And he wants some.

Breaking up is a much darker business than falling in love

Breaking up is a much darker matter than falling in love, nothing is explained, nothing is to be explained.

Recovering then is still another thing. Breaking up is slow release. The deadly end of relationships coincides with the moment you realize that you have not thought about it for a whole day and you do not remember that you are sad. So you have also put aside enough strength to ask yourself: “Did I win the war or did I just do it in vain?” and the answer is the first.

As for “it helped something” or “it didn’t help”, of old loves, nobody knows. And it’s better this way. Life is made of the same substance as attempts. Wrong, it is not pleasant but the possibilities increase.

It seems that it is love only when there are people who give the impression of being loose in it, like clothes. The more they seem irreplaceable, the more insignificant you become: the game is zero-sum. In short, very beautiful thing, this love: it is your brain, usually a great servant, that conspires to make you feel inadequate.

The search for the culprit

The worst part is that conditioned reflex you tell me about: always think that somewhere a slice of the fault is ours. There must have been an avoidable mistake, one says. And it would almost be better, to be the idiots and not infallible life to displease. As if to say that they grant us decisions.

What’s hateful about breaking up is that it’s not a snap. It would be nothing. How to give birth in reverse: a bad dog half a day and then you don’t think about it anymore. He is instead of the class of crafty pains, gods poisons that kill a little at a time, of the cuts that remove the stitches and it was too early. What happen. Every thought is always an effort of memory and not of reasoning: it is a smuggling of good memories that come back, but how the vultures come back. “Leaving” means months of solitude tempered by work: the future promises nothing, the present languishes, the past is ferocious. Three hells.

Break up, and then?

Meanwhile he, the one who has gone, remains the protagonist of absurd fantasies of superiority. Indeed, over time he improves. Forgive him the forgivable, even imagine him more beautiful. Each separation is a kind of second half of falling in love. You are as you were in the beginning: only that when you started there were the little happy doubts, now you have the big dejected questions. It would take always to see each other, to forget, go to understand.

The most unbearable part you are seeing now: having the oversized sensitivity.

And the only way to let it go – and you’re already ahead of the job – is: do what you don’t want to do. Forgetting is not done by thinking about it. Give your hands something to do and you’ll break cupid’s bow (Ovid goes for two thousand but he’s always there to be right).

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