A Snake's Nature

So many of my friends have asked about exactly what has been happening with my "shambles" of a relationship lately. It has been harder than words can say and up until now I didn't really have the heart to talk about it or write about it much to catch people up. Even the thought of doing this now makes my stomach hurt a bit.

When I first discovered the Michael was cheating on me on November 16th, I found out by finding Ashlee's number in his phone, confronted him, he denied it so I ended up calling her and she told me the truth: they'd been seeing each other for a month and had slept together at least a couple times (according to him, but we will get to all the lies he has told me soon--never know what to believe anymore from someone who tells you he loves you then treats you the way he has treated me). (Text from him then: "Shawna, you did nothing to deserve this. I screwed up. It is entirely my fault. I feel terrible. I hate to see you hurt. (Nov 17th, 6:32 am)."

They started seeing each other when I was away in Seattle for the weekend for my first residency interview. We'd had a fight the night before I left and he never came home despite saying he wanted to take me to the airport that morning to say goodbye. I didn't hear from him until the following evening despite trying to get in touch with him all day. (Oct 22 6:35 a text "Shawna. I am okay...") Makes more sense now...or less. Hurts more for sure anyway.

At the time I didn't know what to do. I felt empty and lost and sooo very hurt and betrayed and in disbelief. She is a nurse at the hospital where he works. Goes out to get drunk every weekend, works nights, is not as smart as me, not as pretty as me (according again to Michael when he was trying to still make me believe him, but I agree with that even if it does make me sound less than humble :-), not as nice as me, not as forgiving or kind. I know know she gives his stupid gifts, doesn't know him as well and is immature. She is 22 years old and her life has been hard; maybe he thought she needed him more. Maybe she does. It didn't feel it for a while, though. I really fell apart hard and started acting crazy and not like what I knew I wanted to be and act.

So, loving him as much as I did, and believing his explanations about him wanting me and loving me still and doing it out of weakness and her pursuing him (which I have since found out is false and that he has a pattern of "skirt chasing" at work--even with one of his seniors who said, "don't you have a serious girlfriend?" and when out with "friends"). I wanted to forgive and work on trusting him again and rise above this and get through it to make us stronger. Also we'd had so many plans together and I hate to give up and letting go is very hard for me. I wanted to forgive him and try to trust him again and give it another try.

I was feeling terrible about leaving for interviews. The first I drove to in Columbus and I wanted to be back with him the entire day. I drove straight to his place when I got back into town and we got into another big fight. I was a giant wreck (should have started antidepressants and therapy much sooner than I did) and he threatened to call the cops on me--very sensitive--not at all. What a way to show you love someone. He didn't know what to do with all of my pain, especially since he had caused it, "You need to leave!" was all he'd say. Next day he texted "I am so sorry about what happened last night. Let me get cleaned up and I will come over. (Dec 3 1:16 pm)."

He didn't show up for three hours as I waited and waited. I finally called him and he didn't answer. Apparently, he had fallen asleep and came over much later when I'd already given up on waiting and left for the gym (one of the few places I felt a tiny bit more alive). He had keys to my place still then and left a note asking where I was. He came back by later and I once again forgave him and we "patched things up" again...always temporary, it seemed. He said he would be good while I was gone interviewing, though. And that he'd stop talking to her.

The next day I left for interviews and was gone for essentially a month and a half. The first interviews were actually in Miami--where he will be next year for his anesthesia residency. He would call a bit, but still wasn't sure he wanted to try us again. I bent over backwards to arrange long layovers in Cincinnati to see him even if just for a few hours. Once my flight was changed and I spent an hour on the phone with the airline trying to get it arranged. I finally did and would get in earlier than expected. I tried to call him several times, but he'd left a message on my phone saying he was already in bed asleep. I found out later, that he was actually up much later than my frantic messages talking with Ashlee on the phone for over an hour. Everything I found out hurt. Everything I learned hurt. I couldn't trust him and everytime I dug any deeper than his barely believable lies, there was a painful truth. That particular one I didn't find out until much later, however, so I believed that he'd actually been asleep. He did seem glad to see me when we finally connected on that layover. We had lunch together at an Indian place. I hated saying goodbye to him. Every goodbye felt like it was one step closer to the last. I was hanging on my threads...and I still wasn't sure he wanted to hang on at all.

It wasn't until I got to San Diego interview around the middle of December when he said he did want me. I felt like flying. I was happy all over--briefly--again, but still with the pearls of doubt and worry and mistrust.

We'd talk on the phone, but it was not the same (and in retrospect he was probably seeing her that entire time anyway). He kept saying he needed space to figure this out--whatever that means. I thought if we were going to figure it--as in us--out we would have to go it together and the sooner the better since my rank list was due February 22nd at 9 pm and I needed to decide if I was still planning on going to Miami with him (one of his excuses for his weakness, cheating, lying, etc was that he never thought I'd go down there with him anyway so why did it matter?--would have been nice of him to talk to me about that; why indeed.) He said he thought we could really work down there. It would be a fresh start and things would be different. He said he saw me in his future and thought we could be happy together. (I wonder now how much of that was lies--if any--or insecurity--or manipulation--or uncertainty.)

When I was home with my family over Christmas, we had several conversations on the phone. I asked him to call me at midnight on New Year's, which he promised to do but never did. More excuses, more disappointment, more lies--in a long long line of it all. But still I believed him. Still I forgave him. Still I wanted him. Still...I loved him.

A part of me wanted to cut my vacation short and hurry back to him once he was back in Cincinnati after the winter break with his parents. He told me to spend time with my family, "Don't worry Shawna, I will be here when you get back." (Seeing her even then? Probably.)

I went on a trip in Puerto Vallarta with my brothers and their girlfriends, all of whom I adore. My brothers treat them (and me) with such respect and obvious showings of love. They went out one day and bought us all flowers and wrote sweet notes in Spanish to each of us. I saw how they were with their girlfriends--so kind and considerate and thoughtful and loving. "That is the way you should be treated, too, Shawna," my mom would say.

I called Michael from Mexico--even with the high rates and we talked. He said he missed me. He emailed me once or maybe twice. He said he loved me (though as usual I would have to drag it out of him "I don't like to say it all the time, I feel like it cheapens it," he would say).

Email from him Jan 5, 8:53 am:

"Shawna! What are you doing!

It's nice to hear from you. Last night was sooooo
boring. All I did was lay in my top bunk for about 3
straight hours (literally) watching football and South
Park and various cartoons. Didn't get tired until
about 1 AM, which is about average, but I got my first
and ONLY admission.

I don't like that men down there are making noises and
gestures at you. Figures. It's been my experience
that Mexican/Latino men are greasy and disrespectful,
and usually need a beatdown to be put in their place.
Bet that wouldn't happen to you if I were there.
Especially after having taken Aikido for six months,
which I will have. Oh, Shawna...

Okay, honey. It's about 12:00 here and time for a
nappy. Just got done eating after a 5-mile run. Good
to hear you're trying to stay in shape, too. I'll try
to write you later. Hope you guys are having a good
time.

XO Michael"

Mexico was wonderful, though. We laughed and enjoyed each other among the sun and the care and the love. It was great to spend time with my brothers as adults and really let loose a little. I felt some of my depression lifting. I was anxious to get back to see Mike, through it all, though. He still was (and unfortunatly still now is) very much in my thoughts and the days were getting closer to when I would see him again.

I had to leave early to get back to an interview in Phoenix. I had an awful time getting tickets from the airport and just wanted to get back to see Michael so much that even a few hours delay seemed like an eternity. I was on the phone for hours trying to figure it out (much as I had been the previous month when I'd tried to arrange a long "layover" in Cincinnati to see him--come to find out later that the whole time I was doing that and trying to call him to pick me up earlier at the airport he was talking to Ashlee and ignoring my desperate calls).

Anyway, I ended up having to buy whole new tickets and made it back to Cincinnati only a few hours later than originally intended. He picked me up in his new Silver Avalon that was his Christmas present from his parents. It felt sort of wierd being back. He just drove by to get me. Didn't want to kiss me too much at the airport. Felt a little warmer. Maybe he missed me. Maybe he had been getting all he'd needed from her the whole time anyway.

We tried to get closer for the next three weeks. We spent more time talking and getting to know each other than we in probably the last three years. He said he really didn't care about getting married in his life. If it was the next step in the relationship, then fine, but it wasn't that important to him. While relationships and love and friends are THE most important thing in my life; that was hard to hear. Kind of wish we'd had some of these talks three and a half years ago when we first me. But I was always so very attracted to him that it may not have mattered then. I'll do better screening in the future. He said that he "could" see himself with me. His priorities were (according to him) me and work. He "felt very strongly about me." "Had never loved anyone more than me." "Had never enjoyed sleeping with anyone more than me." What is/was true, I don't know. I know his actions did not follow his words. And the more I found out the more I knew just how much they did not match what he told me.

The last week in January, I discovered that he was still talking to Ashlee (and perhaps more, I don't know) and had continued to lie to me about it. He had rather intimate gifts from her in his closet, which hurt when I found them. He said he would throw them away. I laid down the line: NO more contact with her. I wanted to be there when he did it. He refused. But he went over to her house to "break it off." I'd though there was nothing to "break off."

I told him to stop talking to her and he had to do it in front of me; he didn't he went over to her place to tell her; and was there for hours. I crashed again that night and felt awful. He came over around 8 pm and found me tipsy and sobbing on the floor. It was ugly. I felt ugly and worthless and unwanted and small.

I think the "not talking to her except when he saw her at work to say hi" lasted maybe a week until the next weekend when we woke up late one morning after dinner and a movie together (Memoirs of A Geisha) and he had a text message from her about her brother getting into a bad accident and being in a coma. He felt awful and wanted to call. I told him the only way that was okay with me (I felt bad for her too, of course) was if I was there when he called. So he did. He was comforting to her--that hurt. He said he wished he could help, when I'd expressly told him not to do anything more than call. And he ended the conversation by saying "I'll talk to you later." I told him not to help her OR "talk to her later...or ever"; that it continued to tear me up inside and hurt and make me feel like he didn't love me or didn't know how to love. He said he hated hurting me--again--and that he wouldn't.

We tried to see each other again more but he wanted so much distance and still felt very far away. Nothing was really the same; nothing was great. At one point I couldn't sleep after he'd sent me home on a Sunday night because "he needed space" to play his video games. I called him that night and he never answered his phone. I found out later that she'd come over that night.

The next time I was over at his place there were dark hairs (like hers) on the bed and other evidence that she'd been there and they had been intimate. He lied about it all. "I don't know how they got there; they must be yours." (I'm blond--they were not mine--nor were the female products left in the bathroom.)

In retrospect I don't know how I was so stupid. I wanted to believe him so much when he said she'd just really needed a friend because of her brother; he slept on the couch (right). "She needs to go to another friend--not my boyfriend," I told him. Was it really okay with him to treat me this way? How could he? It was not okay. And I still don't know how he could (weakness, just deceit?).

Two days later we had planned on going to dinner together; this was probably around January 31 by this time. I expected him home by 5ish and started calling him to see where he was. Called his friends to see where he was. Was starting to get worried by the time 8 rolled around. I'd been to look for him at his work, at his apartment, even at the hospital where I knew her brother was. He was no where. I felt worse and worse. He finally called me back around 8 pm claiming he had been at his friend Patrick's the entire time smoking pot.

I called Patrick who said he hadn't seen him all day. He didn't smell like pot when he got home either. "So you want to go to dinner he said?" "Where have you been? Why didn't you answer my calls?" He lied again and I told him I knew he wasn't there and he confessed that he'd been at the hospital with Ashlee and her family "interpreting" for them "she is in a really bad spot and doesn't have anyone else." I wanted to tell him I was in a really bad spot and didn't have anyone else. I'd become so dependent on him and us that that really felt true at the time and it hurt that he gave so much of his care and energy to her and didn't even recognize me. He was being weak or deceitful or both and more. It made me feel very unimportant to him--all of his actions had started to make me feel that way.

He never seemed happy to see me ("What are you doing here?" coldly, he'd often say). He always told me to go home whenever I saw him. He was never in the mood for anything with me despite the hours I would spend looking up stuff to do together.

We had a BIG fight the night he came home from the hospital--from her and her family--and apparently that is when he decided he didn't want to be with me anymore (though didn't tell me until the next day, which just prolonged/added to my misery). I still stayed at his place (thinking in the back of my mind it may be the last time I get to sleep next to him), took benadryl to try to help me sleep. We slept so far apart. I woke up at four in the morning and he woke up once and yelled at me to let him sleep, "I have to sleep! I have to work in the morning. I am an intern. You don't understand!" And he rolled over and pushed me away. I moved to the couch and sat in a ball and wrote him a long note and text message on my phone.

When he finally had to get up I followed him around and watched him shave and get ready for work. He said perhaps two words to me. I knew somewhere deep down that this could be the last time I would see him get ready. That this would be another step in what was becoming a long awful painful goodbye. "We'll talk about it later. I have to get to work." Is all he had time to say to me. And he left. Didn't even have time to read the note I'd left him, in which I emphasized how much I still loved him and wanted him to feel better and for us to work (really hurts to love that much and be hurt so much--higher to fly means further to fall--and I was falling fast and hard and insanely and out of control).

I went to his work that day; he didn't want to talk about it then. "We'll talk at home." I couldn't leave though so I sat in elevator well and called my friend I. I gave him the update. He is training to be a therapist and was good to talk to as I sat there sobbing and wiping my running nose on the sweatshirt Mike had let me borrow that morning (for perhaps the last time) while people around me pushed buttons going up, going down. I. said it sounded like he has already made up his mind about quitting us. He ended up being right.

When Mike was finally finished with work, he called and I was still there. He wanted us to drive back separately, but I couldn't leave him so we both went in his car. We got back to his place and spent hours talking. Mostly I did. All he had to say over and over was, "S., this is not working out. It is too hard for me to be with you right now." Breaking up with me. Giving up. Choosing her? When I had been working so hard, and trying to hard to trust and forgive. And I had seen none of that from him even though he insisted that he thought about it all the time...thought about me all the time...and about how bad he felt for hurting me this much. "It is just too heavy for me," he said, "Relationships shouldn't be this much work."

"Relationships are always hard," I pleaded, "when they are worth it. I love you." He said he loved me and I was worth it, but he just couldn't do it anymore right now. Maybe later. Rank list was due in less than three weeks. We were running out of "laters." He said he never thought he deserved me anyway; and that I knew I was never going to follow him to Miami since the previous year when he'd matched there. I had been planning on it. I'd put a lot of energy into the interviews and the programs. "It's just not working out right now. It's too hard to be with you." I was a wreck. Hit bottom--or a bottom--one of many.

We gathered my stuff from his place--overnight case, clothes, what little there was left that he had not already done away with--and he drove me back to my car. He followed me home to make sure I made it okay. I had some of his stuff in my place so he came in for a minute. I had bought new clothes for myself the previous day with the intention of wearing them on our planned trip together to Miami on March 2nd to look for a condo together.

I had also got a Valentine's day gift for him--shaving stuff from Crabtree and Evelyn. He was always very much more in my thoughts than I was in his it seemed. I wanted him to see the new clothes, so I tried them on for me. He remembered how beautiful and strong I could be for a moment, I think. We kissed and more. He said I made it hard for him to keep up his resolve. "Why resolve to push me out of your life, then? When you still love me?" But he left anyway. Had to go to the grocery store. Always something more important. I said goodbye with a smile, hoping that somehow things would still work out. Or at least it could be a brave goodbye and he would remember our good times.

I called S. and stayed with her that night. I couldn't sleep. I couldn't eat. I'd already lost about 15 lbs since November and was still going downhill from there. I tried some Ambien that night, but still was awake way too early with awful thoughts in my head...and still missing him. I went to see him at 4 am. Woke him up and he yelled at me and told me to leave.

I went that day, Feb 1st, the first day of my new geriatrics rotation, to get a referral for a psychiatrist. Sobbing in the primary care practice, they made every effort to get me in soon and tried to give me something to help me sleep (trazadone this time--at my request). The benadryl hadn't helped nor had the ambien...I was a wreck and sleep deprived on top of everything else. Thankfully I got an appointment the next day with Dr. L.

But that night the trazadone didn't help either. I woke up at 4 am and thought awful thoughts about him and missed him and though about him with her and drove myself crazy until I actually did get up at 4 am and drive over to his place. I got there and knocked on his door. He was angry I'd come.

He had been out drinking late that night and got pulled over for speeding--passed the DUI test just because he is coordinated and came home late. I found out later that she showed up after that really upset about her brother and they stayed up "talking."

I saw what I was pretty sure was her car in the driveway. He denied it, "I don't know who's car that is." But he wouldn't let me into his apartment. I sat outside his apartment building in the cold in my PJs for hours as the sun came up trying to figure out if it was her and hurting and not knowing what to do anymore. I finally called a friend who made me leave after a while. When he dropped me off later to pick up my car, who did I see drive away, but Ashlee; the car had been hers (another lie from him; betrayal by someone you love--someone who says he loves you). I followed her and called her and called him and felt awful and crazy and out of control.

The afternoon after I saw her leave his place, I had my first appt with my psychiatrist--the first of three that week. Staring out his window I related the whole painful awful hurtful story. He started me on an anxiety medication ("get this filled and take it right away"; I was literally shaking and sobbing the whole time in his office; I would also use the for sleeping) and an antidepressant (though that wouldn't kick in until about a month later--around now actually) and got me into therapy with Dr. D.

That phase is a blur. I still wanted him so badly and it hurt to be rejected and feel like I was worthless and forgotten and passed over so easily and imagine them together and him choosing her over me. I would think myself into a mess. My friends were wonderful. I have been staying with S. since then and she hides my keys sometimes so we don't have a repeat of the breakdown moments.

And I discovered sometime during that time that some of my very special jewelry from my dad and grandmother was missing. I searched everywhere, called everyone, ran over ever action in my head. I was not thinking clearly to begin with (hadn't been for weeks if not months) and felt like this was the last straw. What was I going to do? I called my dad crying again and told him. "Shawna don't even worry about it." It had been a graduation present from high school and he'd looked all over to find the best and most beautiful bracelet for me. "The sentiment doesn't change. We still love you very much." I felt a little better but was still very upset and fixated on finding it. I couldn't let go of that either, even though I knew it was just an object. It was so important to me.

Dad emailed a few days later:

"Hi Dear,
Here are a couple of photos from today. Baby goats are everywhere, kicking up their heals and climbing anything. The pine cupboard turned out nicely, I like the milk paint and covered it with linseed oil for a darker appearance. The milk paint is like watery clay, has a rich deep color.

Can't wait to see you, wish I could kidnap you and protect you from all unhappiness.

Dad"

There is always comfort in the fact that so many wonderful people love me as much as they do. That they always have...and always will.


A week later, Mike said he wanted me back; he missed me. Maybe realizing how special I am after all?

Email from Feb 6, 7:03 pm:

"Dearest Shawna,
I finally finished my call duty and am now home in my
flannel pants and Cleveland Browns sweatshirt (evening
formal wear). I capped around 5:30 PM, though, which
isn't too bad. I stopped by your place on Linshaw to
change your sheets as promised. I couldn't find them
the other night when Andy and I brought your
mattress over in a U-Haul truck. Your overhead
kitchen light is burnt out, as I'm sure you know.
I've thought about you a lot. Especially over the
past few days. So don't accuse me of not doing so.
Like I told you on the phone, little things remind me
of you. Like our pictures together on your SnapFish
stuff you sent me (in e-mail; haven't picked up the
stuff from UPS, yet). And how beautiful we are
together in them. And the fact that I'm realizing how
goddamn cold it is at night in this place (around 62F
this AM). And the knowledge of how cute you are and
how much of a better person I've realized you made me.
And the little things. Especially the
little things. The kissing noises, pet names,
Shawna's obsession with cuddling ALL THE TIME.
I'm a terrible person, I think. Terrible for putting
you through all of this. For making you feel these
emotions. I've felt bad about it. Worthless. Maybe
how you've felt. I was watching TV the other night
and the show that was on had a little girl character
who was crying when someone hurt her feelings. I
changed the channel because it reminded me of you and
how you've been lately. Dealing with myself is
probably the next hardest part, second next to
seeing/hearing/reading/knowing how much I hurt you. I
would take back all the bad stuff, if I could. I
don't know if you know that or not. I've told you
that my "weakness" is women, which to any third party
is obviously a self-esteem or character issue.
Perhaps I'm the one who truly needs the therapy, here.
I've always prided myself as a sentient being, but I
have a strange suspicion that at least a few of my
friends, being told or having already known what
happened between you and I, might say, in reference to
me, something along the lines of "He's a nice guy, and
a great friend...but not a very good person." I think
I've been overcompensating, lately, to make up for
this notion. Taking extra time to write progress
notes at work, helping people out when they need it,
among various other things. Taking back your
mattress, fixing your bed, other stuff.
Given the way things "ended" with us recently, and the
way you've been reacting, I can see how you might
think that the past three years meant "nothing" to me.
That couldn't be farther from the truth. Like you've
told me before, I don't see how I could have gotten
through medical school without you and the support you
gave me. We supported each other more than you know,
I think, since you seemed to think I was the only one
who did the "supporting" emotionally and "kept you
here". I felt that I grew a lot as a person from
knowing you. You taught me, directly and indirectly,
greater patience, tolerance, self-analysis, how to be
in touch with emotions--good ones--without feeling
like less of a man. I don't know what I taught you,
if anything. But I do know that there was a time not
too long ago when I was there for you physically and
emotionally, at least.
Thinking about all this sad crap is tough--an anguish
I deserve, no doubt. I've been looking at properties
in Miami Beach online in attempts at distraction.
Coldwell Banker is the realtor for my dad's Ernst &
Young. Sometimes I think about us there. Maybe
you'll end up down there. Who knows? I'm exhausted.
Have to look up an article for tomorrow's morning
report presentation. I'll try to write more
worthwhile material when I'm more rested. I do miss
you and I do still love you. I just want you to know
that.

Talk to you later,

Michael"

Email from me to him Feb 10, 6:12 am:

"Maybe if you get into therapy like NOW and see if you can figure it out. Or if we do together. The problem is that I think this will be a long-term struggle for you to change the person you have become over the past year or so. Not something to be fixed quickly. It is true the we may (and likely could) work it out given more time and a fresh start in Miami. But you have to realize that given all that has happened and all that you have done and not done what a giant risk that is for me. It has hurt already more than I could take...you saw what happened...and the way that you handled it with me (not supportive really).

Maybe if you get yourself figured out you could transfer to wherever I am in a year or something even by the time June rolls around. Yes the condo, your plans there, all that, Brent, etc. I know it's important to you. It just come down to choices and what you're willing to do. That's why I was asking what sacrifices you are willing to make for me. If you really want to be with me it might take something big and more long-term risk like that.

I'm still struggling with what I am willing to do for you. The choice was easy months ago, but now it's become much more complicated. Not a done deal, just more to think about.

I'm thinking of ranking Miami second now. I just don't know what I'm going to do yet. If we work, then good, but if we don't everyday there would be hard for me. I just can't trust you right now. And I think deep down even you know you're not trustworthy right now. And that scares you more than anything. You have to learn to be stronger in yourself and it's not going to happen in 10 days.

Shawna"


Email from him Feb 10, 3:20 pm:

"Shawna, seeing those pictures of you/me/us that you
sent me was tough on me. Only because I miss you so
much. I miss US so much. I miss myself, the way I
was and the way I know I still am and can be with time
and effort and insight into my own wrongdoings.
Things were brighter then. You're right, we were
happier then. I was happier then, too. Many of them
weren't taken too long ago, though. We are so
beautiful together, two tall, blond, sexy bitches, you
and me. Anyhow, I still
believe that we can get back to the way we were with
each other. You take the leap of faith in just
forgetting all this stuff, as best you can, and I do
the same with your "stuff". The only way for us to
survive as a couple is our mutual and combined ability
to push past this, out of the shadows and into the
light, back when things were good and easy. Yes, I
have many things I must do, like get out of my
depressive state (which I think either spawned or was
spawned BY my behavior) so I can enjoy myself, my
place in life, and let you in and let you love me. I
must also do my very best to rid myself of my demons
and, without risking permanent damage by delving too
deeply, find the reason for their existence. If you
should decide to go to Florida for a few years, I do
believe that you'd be happy in Miami and the program
there. I would do my best to make you happy and start
a new life together. The warm weather you were raised
on. The ocean proximity. We could work together and
go to the beach and visit the Keys on a whim and a
weekend...

Just things to think about. Bit by bit. Rationally.

Glad your therapy went well. I didn't
go to bed 'til around 11:30 last night but the power
surge protector died well before then and I had to
figure stuff out with the damn outlets. I had chicken
and rice for dinner, and a protein shake.

Have a good night. Find peace with yourself and with
your friend. Talk to you later Shawna,

XO Michael"

He said we'd do something for Valentine's Day. (Txt: Happy Valentine's Day to you, too! I hope you find your bracelet. Have a good day at work. Feb 14 9:09 am.)Which, when it came time to go to dinner or even see each other, we didn't...because he felt like it was too much and wrong and felt bad about himself or insecure or whatever. I went over to give him a tulip and he looked awful and distraught that I was there and wanted me to leave. He said he would pay for my YMCA membership for the rest of the year as a Valentine's gift. I thought that was nice enough--a gesture at least. I thanked him and he texted back: "You're welcome Shawna. I'm sorry. Love you..." (Feb 14 9:10 pm). I'm still paying for my own membership. Turned out to be another empty gesture and another hollow apology for some sort of vauge hurting of me that he couldn't seem to do anything real about to stop.

We did go out to dinner together that Friday. I was excited about it, but also very worried. I was beginning to realize how very much hurt I continued to expose myself to, and this had the potential to be disastrous. We ate at a nice restaurant. Ran into a few of my friends there even. He was his usual cold quiet self with them and didn't say anything. Dinner conversation was hot and cold. I got sad once and he said, "S. get a grip! See you're not over this." Of course I'm not over this!

We went to the Party Source after that because he wanted cigars for Miami (or just around here). S. called then, but I didn't take her call because I knew she'd be mad at me. I found myself wishing I was with her instead anyway. Instead of feeling ignored by someone I who I still loved, but for whom I could no longer muster much respect. We went back to my place and he spent the night. It was nice to sleep next to him. Nice to wake up with him. Even now, it's the into and out of sleep parts that are hardest--but getting easier. Then, though, I'd wake up every morning and reach for him, only to find him not there.

And rank list was due in five more days. We had to talk about that. All he did was write me an email and tell me to read it over and over again. I'll include it here. How much is true, I don't know:

"Shawna, I want to wish you luck in making your rank
list. Like I've said before, I want you to make these
very important decisions about your career and your
future based on your gut-feelings and on what you feel
in your heart. Sit down by yourself or with your
family, take a deep breath and relax, and try to take
a step back from the situation for a bit. Temporarily
remove yourself from all the craziness and stupidity
that's been surrounding 'us' lately and imagine what
you'd do if you and I weren't having all these issues,
for better or for worse. Make your decisions as if
you and I were NOT to work out, as there is no real
guarantee that we will. Saying this does not mean
that I don't BELIEVE that we CAN or WILL work out in
the long run, but rather that I want you to make the
most clear-headed decision that you can. If you love
me then you need to do this for me. I want you to be
happy above all else. If that means trying
long-distace or one of us (me) re-locating in the
future, then those little practicalities will sort
themselves out for the best. Even if it means
possibly losing you, I want you to be happy, because
the happy Shawna is the one I love, even if she's not
necessarily the one I can have... Be good to
yourself. Be true to yourself, and to your family,
the ones that loved you first and the ones that will
love you through any and all things to come.

XOXO Michael"

I still didn't know what to do with my list, though. If things worked out with us, Miami could be wonderful--the dream that I felt was slipping further and further away every day. But if things didn't it could be very very bad. I had my preliminary list as San Diego, Michigan, Miami, etc. I struggled with it a lot that weekend. Should I risk putting Miami first? I didn't want to take it off; I felt like that was giving up on us. I called my parents that weekend and apparently sounded catatonically depressed enough that my mom (who had been asking me for weeks if she should come out) decided to buy plane tickets for her and Dad at 2 am. They were coming Tuesday, the day before my list was due. And would leave early Sunday moning. I had mixed feelings about them coming to "take over my life" and do this intervention. But it ended up being the best thing--surrounded by love always helps and they love me more than anyone ever has (maybe ever will?).

Fortunately (particularly in retrospect), I had an appt with Dr. D. Tuesday before my parents got into town. He posed the question, "How do you feel if you take Miami completely off the list?" I'd thought about it before and it had scared me. It was giving up all of the plans we had and all of the security of going to residency with someone you love. But this time, I felt something that suprised me. It was a tiny speck of relief. I would be able to get my independence back somewhere else. I could start fresh. If we were meant to be together it would work out, but going to Miami was too big of a risk for me. If things went bad, I would be all alone without anyone very very far from home with him as they only person I knew. Bad situation. I moved Miami down to #7 on the list. Couldn't quite bring myself to take it off, but I won't get to #7 so it won't matter anyway.

And my parents got there that night. They spoiled me (and S.), they loved me as only they can. On the night the rank list was due we went out and got a little tipsy, so I couldn't change it at the last minute like that--it went is as I'd left it the day before after my therapy appointment. That night we also watched a hilarious and touching video that my brother C. had made of Puerto Vallarta which made us all laugh. It was so nice to be with them and S. (I was still staying with her--not strong enough to be alone--or stay away from Michael--who mom started referring to as Voldemort.)

We went for a walk that afternoon and saw Mike out running. He hardly even stopped to say hello to any of us, especially my parents. He was downright rude about it. When I asked him about it later, he didn't think he was rude at all--just awkward and embarassed. Mom and Dad hated to see him treat my that way and me have to hold him from running off again. "He never would have fit into our famiy anyway," Dad told me later. "He is not warm. I don't even think he would be a good father."

Thursday night we went to dinner at Newport and Mike called me while we were ordering. He was on call that night. I took the call. It was fine to hear from him at first as it had been a couple days, but then things got bad with the conversation again. He didn't want to be with me again. He loved me but it wasn't working out. I pleaded with him to just not do this now on the phone. To at least give us a chance to say goodbye and see each other again. Bad move, probably, but all I could see to do at the time. He said he'd write and we'd talk after my parents left. I was getting so torn up from all of this up and down and manipulation and what I now figure were a bunch of lies.

"Just don't do anything more to hurt me in the meantime, okay?" I asked of him.

"I want to be alone, S. I don't want to see anyone. I need to figure myself out."

"Promise you won't see anyone? Especially her."

"I don't want to."

"Promise you won't."

"I promise."

"Tell me you love me."

"You know I love you, S. I have to go. I'll talk to you soon." Another series of empty promises in a long long line. Hopefully one of the last since I have to stop believing him no matter how hard it is for me. "Two steps forward, one back." says my good friend J. And I can believe him.

Friday, Feb 24th, I didn't have to work too much so spent most of the day with Mom and Dad, which was just want I'd needed. We just had lunch and went to the Freedom Center downtown then went shopping to get me some pants that actually fit. Down over 20# now from depression/lack of appetite, all of my clothes hung off of me like potato sacks, especially the pants which I'd been having to roll the waist band to keep up. We found some nice ones for me...and mom got some cute clothes too. I was feeling better being surrounded by them and their love.

On our way out of the Mall, Dad said, "Want to look at some bracelets?" I looked at him for a minute. "We don't have to." I felt sheepish and emotional all at once again. "I know," he said, "but let's just check some out." The first one we saw was not as nice as the one that I now suspected had been stollen by the previous shady maintenance people at my new apartment. "I just want my old one back," I said to him with my eyes welling up. "I know but's it's not coming back. This will be part of the letting go. This will remind you of how much we love you." We found a beautiful bracelet at the second store--perfectly matched, hand made by the owners, a slightly different design that would not get caught on things. It is beautiful. I knew Dad didn't have the money to get it, but he got it anyway. When they asked if we wanted it gift wrapped, I looked at them with tears in my eyes like they were crazy and said that I was wearing it and never taking it off.

They made me feel so surrounded by love and reinforced what I had know about Mike for a long time but did not want to admit to myself: he has become a bad person; he is not respectable or honorable; he is not even someone that he respects; he lies; he cheats; he is deceiptful; manipulative. I knew all of that but didn't believe it really until this past Tuesday morning (February 28th).

I was feeling stronger and more independent after their visit and decided to try to stay at my own place that Sunday night. I made Mike bring some of the stuff I had left at his place over and we said what was a vauge but what I thought was loving goodbye. It still seemed to me like we were together. I thought we were anyway. Sunday night went okay on my own at my own place.

Monday I texted him that I'd forgotten something else at his place "what" "you" "Oh Shawna. (Feb 27, 10:21 pm)" He said he was going to bed soon but would see my before he left for Miami on the Thursday (to look for the condo that we'd orginally intended to share--I had long since changed my tickets to not go with him and meet my family at my brother's baseball tournament in Tampa instead).

I went by his place on my way to the gym the next morning. He was finally on an easy rotation and I thought I could catch him before he left to say hello in person. But guess who's car was there? Ashlee's. I just could not believe it. I went up and he came to the door in his boxers with her make-up smeared on his sweatshirt telling me they hadn't slept together and that he loved me and not her and that he was so confused and down and didn't know what he was doing. I wanted to believe his so much that part of me still did.

I waited there outside though until she came out and confronted her for the first time about it. "Hey, Ashlee."

She turned around and rolled her eyes, "What do you want?"

"What are you doing with Michael?"

"That is none of your business. That is between you and Michael. I have nothing to say to you. You two are broken up and you just need to get over it." The broken up part was news to me again. He'd never really clarified with me. Guess he had with her.

I had to know. I had to pour salt in the wound I guess, "Are you sleeping together? Having sex?"

"What do you think?" I thought they were. "Well, yeah," She admitted they had been sleeping together.

"Just leave him alone, okay? He loves me and not you. Just leave him alone; don't call him."

"Yeah, okay," she scoffed back and drove away in a huff.

By this time Michael had come out and asked what I was doing. What we were doing. I told him his girlfriend and the girl he was sleeping with were talking. He pulled me to one side as she drove away. "You can't do this. Look, I love you, not her. You don't understand. I don't know what I'm doing. I'll fix it okay? I have to get to work. I'll call you."

He called and left a message around 1:30 when I was at work about not getting friends involved. Then a text from him "I am sorry. Your forgiveness is undeserved. (Feb 28, 1:26 pm). Apparently S. had called and told him to leave me alone. That upset me and made me mad at her (displaced anger, I know) so I called him back and left messages telling him that none of that came from me.

He'd lied to me again...and again...and again. He has become so weak and slimey and low. He is nothing like the man I fell in love with. The problem is that I still love him in some ridiculous non-rational part of me that I wish I could just turn off.

Fortunately later that day I had already scheduled an appointment with my therapist (who I really like and who the previous week had saved me from ranking Miami high enough that I might end up down there--thank GOD!). I was speed talking and crying and frusterated and had a pile of kleenexes in front of me so much so that he finally moved the trash can over by my chair. I'd been angry with my wonderful friend S. for calling M. earlier that day and telling him not to talk to me. I knew I was displacing the anger, but not why.

We talked in that session about how I needed to get angry with Michael--the real snake and cause of all the hurt and pain and everything that I never deserved (nor does anyone). I just had not been angry with him (I'm doing better now with that as you can see from some of the earlier comments in this rant). He thought it might be that I was feeling guilty or that it might be my fault. Part of me thought it might be my fault since I'd questioned our relationship all along and made him insecure about it but that wasn't the real problem.

We talked about how it wasn't necessarily bad or weak of me to have gone over there that morning. That it was what I needed to heal perhaps--that cold bucket of water in the face that proved to me the reality and depth and longevity of his lies and deceipt. "When you stop needing to have that wake up call, you will stop going," Dr. D said. That made me feel better since I'd been feeling guilty and weak about going over there and knowingly exposing myself to more and more hurt.

We also talked about how he was probably telling Ashlee the same things he was telling me; that he is just not trustworthy and that I have seen that over and over. And I just didn't know why he could see that it was wrong and yet not stop himself. Dr. D. told me it was like the fable of the snake and the frog. I must have looked at him blankly so he paraphrashed: There is a snake and a frog on one side of the river. The frog wants to get to the other side, but can't swim well enough. The snake offers a ride, but the frog insists that the snake will eat him if he agrees to ride over on his back. The snake promises and insists that he will now. Finally the frog agrees and is taken to the other side of the river...where he is eaten by the snake. Moral of the story: it is in a snakes nature to be a snake.

Since then I found a couple others on the internet that I think get the point across better:

A scorpion, being a very poor swimmer, asked a turtle to carry him on his back across a river. "Are you mad?" exclaimed the turtle. "You'll sting me while I'm swimming and I'll drown."

"My dear turtle," laughed the scorpion, "if I were to sting you, you would drown and I would go down with you. Now where is the logic in that?"

"You're right!" cried the turtle. "Hop on!" The scorpion climbed aboard and halfway across the river gave the turtle a mighty sting. As they both sank to the bottom, the turtle resignedly said:

"Do you mind if I ask you something? You said there'd be no logic in your stinging me. Why did you do it?"

"It has nothing to do with logic," the drowning scorpion sadly replied. "It's just my character."


This girl finds a snake that pleads with her to place it in her winter coat because otherwise the snake will freeze. The girl goes "No your bite me blah blah blah". Anyway the girl eventually puts the snake in her jacket to keep it warm and she continues on her walk. Then she feels a sharp pain in her side, the snake drops out and begins to slither away. The girl say something like "Why? I took care of you, blah blah blah". The snake simply replies "You knew what I was when you found me".


Although I'm not sure I knew what Michael was when I "found him." I think for our first couple years he was different. He was kind to me. Thoughtful even. Would come over all the time. Honorable. Respectful. Loved to spend time with me more than anything else. Was always happy to see me. He told me once that when I didn't answer my phone one night, he slept in his car outside my apartment just because he wanted to be close to me. That's the man I fell in love with...not this shell of a lying creature that he has let himself become.

That night after my counseling session, staying back with S., I called Mike. I was very rational. No crying, no ranting, nothing. I just told him that he had changed. That he was a much worse person that he used to be. That he was losing a treasure in me. That he probably already lost me. That it was all his fault. That he didn't even like himself, and hadn't for months. "You're right, S. How did you get so much insight." I told him I'd known for months.

"You are a bad person. You have treated me abomibally. Your family would not be proud of you. Your grandfather [who has passed away but who Mike respected very much] would not be proud of you."

"I know; that hurts to hear, but I know they wouldn't be proud. You're right. I have have these demons that I can't handle or get rid of."

"Demons like inability to be faithful; to resist women? Demons like insecurity?"

"I don't know," he said, "Maybe something like that. They are intangible; that's why they call them demons." I am thinking this is riduculous and that if he knows he has these "demons" and they have caused him, me, us, everyone such anguish, that he should try to identify them and banish them. So I tell him so. He sort of shrugged it off. Maybe too much for him to take on, I thought, but the alternative is just such deep dissatifaction and unhappiness. This from the person who told me what he wants most out of life is to be happy.

He said he no longer respected himself; no longer liked who he was or had become. Had been depressed for months. Felt insecure and like he never deserved me. Felt like there was no way to fix he and I. "You may be right about that," I said "But at least fix yourself. Get help. Get rid of her. Be alone for a while. Become someone you can respect again. Someone you can live with. Otherwise you will never be happy."

"You're right. I will. I'll do something about it."

I tried to get him to make a plan, but he wouldn't say anything for sure. If I felt that way about myself, I'd waste no time fixing it. But he and I are not the same--very very different, in fact, which is good for me. I could not live with myself if I behaved the way he has--with such weakness dishonesty and lack of moral fortitude.

He ended the conversation abruptly, "I've got to go."

"Are you okay? Are you mad at me?"

"No, I just have to go. You've said some things that make me feel pretty bad about myself and I need to go. I'm going to play my motorcycle games for a while."

"You needed to hear the truth. Hopefully it will get you to feel enough to do something about it. Fix yourself, Michael, okay? I still love you and want you to do that for yourself, no matter what happens with us. And email me tomorrow to let me know what you're doing and if you are getting help."

"I will. I will. I have to go. I'll talk to you later," impatiently.

That's the last I have heard from him (four days ago now). He didn't even say goodbye when he left for Miami on the second--not even a text message. I emailed him, texted him, called him; he's not answering anything. I was afraid all along that he couldn't take my anger and honesty...or face the real truth about himself. Perhaps she makes him feel better about himself--for the time being, but it is superficial. It is only skin deep. It won't last until he fixes himself. If he ever does.

It wasn't until the next day when I was in a giant funk all day--in PJs until 6pm, staring at the wall, that I began to figure out why I had been unable to get angry with him. The biggest part I think was that I pitied him. Like I said above. I could not live with myself if I'd behaved the way he had. If I made someone I loved feel the way he has continued to (knowingly, perhaps weakly) made me feel. He is a wreck. He is the bad person in all of this. He will be the loser in the end. He has essentially lost me. He may have lost his happiness, too. Not because he has lost me, but because he has lost himself.

S. finally convinced me to take a shower that day and J. came over and we watched my brother's video again. I was exhausted having been up early that morning after dreaming about Michael and that he was happy to see me again and in bed next to me. The video of Mexico helped. And a call from my brother's girlfriend, B. saying she and her mom are coming to my graduation was an unexpected and nice surprise.

The next day I could finally get angry. It happened all at once when I was talking to one of my classmates on the first day of my Complementary Medicine elective (just want I need to heal right now, too). One of my friends and a Mike used to work with before he started med school is in the class. She and I talked about the whole disaster on a break. It started off slow with me giving her a brief sketch of the events and what he'd done (and not done). "Yeah, I never really understood why you were together to begin with. It was one of those relationships that never made sense to me. You seemed so smart and pretty and everything. And he was such a grumpy cold player. I thought you must see something in him. Or maybe he'd changed. He did seem to change for a while when you were first together; he was better. I guess his foundation was flawed from the beginning, though."

For some reason--right place, right person, right time--I finally got angry with him. Explitives started pouring out of me as we sat there on the steps in the sun in front of the HPB talking about him. "He is just so weak!" is what I always came back to, "It is not my problem. It is not my fault. I really really tried and did everything I could possibly think of. He is just a snake!" And worse. It felt good to get angry. Good to let that out. It's a step in the right direction. Still probabaly two steps forward, one back, but for now, I'm hanging on.

My brother texted me as I was collecting myself after my therapy session: "He knows that he is the asp in this situation. (Feb 28th, 4:40 pm). "Asp--like the snake?" Did my brother know that story? I texted back to ask him. "The ass," was his reply. He is the ass and the snake.

Dr. D. had said also that I'd done nothing wrong in the situation...expect perhaps love too much. The fact that I had tried to hard and was hurting so much showed how much I loved him and how much I could love. "The more you love, the more you risk feeling this way."

"Yes," I replied, the tears a constant well in my eyes, "But it's worth it too love that deeply. Plus I don't have a choice; it's the way that I love people." (I just need to choose more carefully next time.)

"The fact that you can say that even in this moment tells me that you are strong and that you will be fine and get over this," He said. I just have to remember that for myself too. Fortunately, I have family and friends who love as much as I love them--and who treasure me--it helps to have you all out there and here and in my heart.