I met you at work

I first met you at work. You seemed so ordinary; innocuous… unremarkable even. I did what I usually do with people and put you in a box. I didn’t for a second think you’d have any kind of impact on my life. People usually don’t. I never let them in so how would they? And you weren’t my type anyway so it didn’t matter. You were a colleague at best. Until you weren’t. Until you were kissing me in hospital corridors, we were staying up until 4am, I was telling you about my childhood and sharing things with you I hadn’t told anyone else. You were my first experience of love. You were the first boy I hugged, held hands with, kissed…everything. We were always running on borrowed time. The clock was going to run out so we had to make the most of it. The 1st wave of COVID hit, and it was the happiest time of our lives. We were sweating in our PPE but I could see the smile in your eyes behind the giant mask and goggles. You’d make a joke and throw a syringe at me. We didn’t need to make excuses for being at home and isolated from everyone around us. It was just us in our bubble. You and me. We were locked away in the sheets of our first home, I waited desperately for you to come home from work and the hardest part of my morning was waking up and leaving you in bed if we weren’t working the same shifts. You’d give me a hundred kisses if you left me asleep in bed. 

Eventually the clock runs out. It’s more than 2 years later and all the differences we tried to ignore come to the surface. All the hurt and betrayals that can’t be ignored. And we’ve been living in this space where we can’t seem to make it work and we keep feeling hurt. Every time we see each other, it never lessens, the spark never fades. If only it would and we could move on from the pain and limbo. Then something explodes that summer when you met her. It wasn’t your fault. You were only trying to move on from a situation that had no outcome. A situationship. There was no solution to you and me. You’d tried, we’d tried. Maybe not in the same ways. How do two people move on when they still love each other? And I hoped we could both move on. I just didn’t expect it to be so rapid. In the space of 3 weeks, you’re spending all your time with her, you’re cooking her the same meals and it makes you happy because she likes the eggs you made her when I didn’t… maybe it’s some kind of reassurance that it’s the right decision. You’re struggling with the sex. And it seems strange that you’d share that with me, but at the time, I know exactly why you’re telling me these things. Because I’m still your friend. We can lie next to each other totally naked and comfortable and understand each other. Because as much as it’s made our lives so difficult, that connection doesn’t fade or lessen. You want to do the right thing. You try to do the right thing. So do I. We try to stay out of contact. And I want you to be happy. … I really do. But then you’re on holiday with her, and you’re even talking about love. And suddenly, I can’t be happy for you. Because you being happy with someone else feels like my insides are being shredded. You could have waited a little… until the bed was cold and you’d thrown away my toothbrush. And I explode. I tell her everything. And in those moments you hate me. Why couldn’t I let you be happy?

It takes an embarrassingly short time for the anger to fade. At each other. A few weeks later and you’re cooking me dinner again, making love to me and telling me you love me. When we’re together we’re ok. When I’m looking at you, I know we’re still the same people we met... who just failed monumentally at dealing with a shit situation. Maybe we can make it work this time… we’ve made a mess of everything else. But between the gaps of seeing each other, we remember all the ways we fucked up. All the ways we hate ourselves for the car crash of a situation. I start googling emotional abuse. I have a terrible experience with a therapist. Thinking about the entire experience feels traumatic. What did I do? What I have I become? Words like ‘home wrecker’, ‘cheater’, ‘bad person’ go through my mind. How do I explain to her that this isn’t who I am. That I didn’t mean to hurt her. That he's the only person I've ever slept with. That he’s only slept with a handful (one to be precise) of people. This isn’t normal behaviour for either of us. 

Months later, I think I have a slightly better handle over things. But it doesn’t make it any easier to grieve. How do you grieve someone you shared your first experience with love with, which was beautiful, full of trust and openness but then… also became toxic. We ended up in a horrible cycle of behaviour where we kept hurting each other because we couldn’t work it out. And then ended up causing a lot of hurt to other people. Forgiveness helps. Forgiving you, but most importantly forgiving me.