schweblog

You guys may remember the point in my life a couple of years ago when I wanted to leave Chris for good. I had another living arrangement worked out and was ready to pack up and leave. In the end, I decided to stay, but made it clear that I wasn’t her boyfriend. The next several months involved a lot of emotional discovery at the expense of Chris, but she stuck it out for me. I honestly put her through the ringer at a time when she didn’t deserve it.

I called yesterday afternoon to accept the lease on the new studio and I found myself unable to do so. Something told me that I shouldn’t go through with it just yet–to wait just a little while longer–and I trusted it. My gut has been more faithful to me than any other thing I’ve ever known.

After that, I was a wreck. The emotion that I knew was waiting in the background came forth in full force and I was pretty much sobbing on my bed. Chris came in to attempt to comfort me and I shrugged her off. I had my “good cry” for it all, realizing everything that had transpired in the last 72 hours. I felt hurt. I felt used. I felt trapped.

Chris left the apartment to go get some food and came back a short while later. She explained that she couldn’t really eat and that her “single” experience–however brief it was–made her aware of a lot of things that she needed to know and sort through. While she regretted the fact that she hurt me so bad, she needed to get through it all in order to sort things out for herself.

I remembered the months where I shrugged her off emotionally and neglected her mentally while remaining in the apartment as a person that could pretty much be called a boyfriend. I remembered how she stayed with me through it all, even though she was sobbing most nights in bed. And I remembered telling her that I would go through hell and back for her. And I did.

That’s right. I decided to take her back, well aware of the massive emotional gamble that I was taking. Right then and there every fiber of my rational being was rallying against me and telling me to act otherwise, but there was something deeper–call it love, call it naivete, call it whatever you want–that compelled me to accept her for all of her faults, her insensitivities, and all the beauty that was contained therein.

I made Chris a cheese tortilla and went out with some good friends last night to just talk about it all. They’re fellow philosophy geeks and probably the most logical people I know. They gave me the warnings, told me to be on the lookout for establishing myself as a long-term safety net, and made sure that I was completely aware of what a high-risk emotional investment all of this is. I realize fully the weight of my decision. I accept the risk. And I’m willing to potentially expose myself to the overwhelmingly painful consequences if this blows up in my face. The past couple of days, I realized, were just an appetizer for what’s to come if any of this happens again.

I love this girl. My friends saw it in my eyes and I realized it in myself. I can’t deny it and I can’t get rid of it. I used to be the super-rational asshole–if it wasn’t rational, it wasn’t justified, whether it was emotional or otherwise. Understanding the phenomenology of Heidegger and Sartre, though, opened my eyes to the primacy of the human experience–emotions inspired by events are the first things we have, before we sit down to think about them and analyze them, discuss them amongst our peers.

To deny this feeling and to let this slip through my fingers would simply be foolish. Chris and I have both fucked up in this relationship. When I messed up, she was there for me and I find myself compelled to do the same for her. We can forgive. We can forget. We can move on. And at the same time, we have to realize that there are boundaries–a relationship is only so elastic. Stretch it too much and it’s going to break. And I honestly think we might have lost the elasticity of it all with this, on top of the past events. If it ever even approaches this kind of point again, things are going to snap and more pain will ensue that I’ve ever known. I know it. I’m aware of it. And I’m taking the gamble.

That’s the long and short of it all. I don’t expect it to make sense to anyone but me and even then I realize that I can’t rationalize this with an entirely logical explanation. So call me a helpless fool, a romantic doormat, or anything else you want; I’m at peace with the fact that I am going with my emotion this time around.