Spinster

I know that I call myself an idiot on a daily basis, but this time I mean it -sometimes, when my life is rolling along fairly smoothly, I like to rock the boat by emailing my ex-boyfriend.

We were together for 3 1/2 years, and we broke up about that same length of time ago. We got together in our first year of college, when we were 18. We lived together for 2 years. He was my first love: he fascinated me, frustrated me, made me feel whole. When our relationship ended, he was the one who broke up with me. It had been over for a while, but I wouldn’t have ever had the courage to end things. When he did finally cut the cord, no matter how over I knew it was, I was devastated. I didn’t know what to do with myself. This coincided with graduating from college, and most of my friends had moved away from Portland. I felt completely lost, like a boat without an anchor, like a freed helium balloon. It was the scariest thing I’d ever felt, and I hated it. I still do: I look back on that and shudder, as I shudder to think of the upcoming “freedom” I’m about to experience when I’m done with grad school.

After a while, I started to get over it. I went out with other boys. I made new friends and found new places to live. Meanwhile, my ex had spent a summer in Ecuador and was moving to the Czech Republic for the experience of living in Europe.

Eventually, I moved back to Miami following a bout of almost unbearable depression (my mother: “You either move back home yourself or I come out there and get you. Which one do you want it to be?”). I found the ground a bit more solid there, and I started working at the bookstore. I had a love-hate relationship with that job, but I have to say that it made my time in Miami as good as it could have been. I applied for grad school, and started dating various boys. I had fun. I made friends.

During this, my ex had moved back from the Czech Republic to California. He called me on my 24th birthday, totally out of the blue and unexpected. The year before, when I turned 23, I’d received an email from him, wishing me a happy birthday and informing me that his current girlfriend, some Czech girl, had the same birthday as me (same day, different year). My mom and I figured that the reason he always remembered my birthday was because it was the same as hers. Have I told you how much I hated that girl? As good as I try to be (and yeah, doubting friends of mine, I do try to be good -I try to quell the anger and the sadness and the hopelessness; sometimes it works and sometimes it doesn’t), I often fail.

Since then, I’ve started and almost completed grad school. My longest relationship since my ex-boyfriend and I broke up has come and gone. Again, I’ve made friends. I’m enjoying my time in Toronto. I’ve done some good work at school. I’ve started taking anti-depressants, which has made my life infinitely easier.

I could have easily left well enough alone, but why would I do that?  I emailed him, under the auspices of wishing him a happy new year and asking about his holidays.  I mentioned that I had been dating someone but that he didn’t get my sense of humor and clearly hadn’t been meant to last.  He wrote back, updating me on life in Barcelona (yeah, that Barcelona).  Apparently, he’s pretty involved in a relationship with his roommate.  And things are going really well: each time he experiences doubts, “She comes through with flying colors.”  That made me want to die.  I know it shouldn’t, I know that I should be totally cool with my life: steps have been made in the right direction -I mean, hey, at least I’m not smoking crack or prostituting myself- but I just feel so far behind my peers sometimes.

As my friends, both here and in various parts of the States, get deeper into relationships and careers, I am scared of being left behind.   As my ex-boyfriend, the first and only love of my life (so far, I sincerely hope) moves on (and on), I am scared of being left behind.  As my friends get engaged and married, I am scared of being left behind.  Yes, I know that I’m only 25 and, despite the title of this blog, am hardly at the door of spinsterhood, but still.  What if I am too complicated?  What if my depression and anxiety and abrasiveness all equal a life of loneliness?  If I was convinced that I was fine, being single wouldn’t matter.  But I’m not -I’m convinced that I am toxic and damaged and that I’ll remain this way while everyone else moves on to the lives they were meant to lead.