"The Rising Price of Love"
Marc is married. Phew! I wrote it. In terms of my personal awareness, nothing is true until it's in print. I can think it, mull over it, sing it, speak it but it's just not the reality until it's scratched out on paper or typed on a clean white background to stand as evidence. For those of you who don't know, Marc and I met in January 2001 while I was breaking up with Lucas. Marc was supposed to be somewhat of a temporary distraction from the mounting chaos in my life. Instead he became the symbol of all that was not quite right.
"The Saint," as he referred to himself, grew into a haunting intractable challenge. I compromised myself for him. I lost myself in him. I feel miserably in love with him. He responded with what seemed like longing resentment. He always popped up, never went away, grew jealous of everyone and everything around me, he'd break plans then complain if I still went our but he really never seemed to like being with me. We split up - many times - but the day that I fully accepted that it was over and that I was not just okay with it but satisfied was April 30, 2003, nearly two years ago. You might ask, "if she was so satisfied with the breakup, why is she writing about him a year and a half later?"
The answer is simple. He's happy romantically but I'm not. I'm pissed about it. He's found someone to share his life with and I let a lot of my youth pass playing house with him. I feel like I missed a lot of something while I dated Marc and he didn't miss out on anything but solitude during the same period. It's classic, I guess, I don't want him, but no one else is supposed to either.
The last piece of my puzzle with Marc revolves around the gulf between what he saw the relationship as and what I did. After things ended he started to refer to me as his best friend. I never felt that way about him. I loved his hollowness, egoism, brashness because they were elements remiss in my own character. But because of all of those things I was distrustful of him. I was anxious around him. I was rarely comfortable telling him what I was thinking or how I was feeling. I was weak. I didn't like myself when I was with Marc and in a way I'm insulted he would want that woman as a best friend, because she's not me.
Marc never knew me and for his sake, I hope I never really knew him either.
ps - the book "The Rising Price of Love" tries to deal with all of the after effects of the sexual revolution (Relationships, Singles, Dating, Marriage, Divorce, Child Welfare)...it's written by a guy who seems to think he's a global economist/futurist. I am going to read it, I'll let you guys know if it is as much bs as it seems at face value.
"The Saint," as he referred to himself, grew into a haunting intractable challenge. I compromised myself for him. I lost myself in him. I feel miserably in love with him. He responded with what seemed like longing resentment. He always popped up, never went away, grew jealous of everyone and everything around me, he'd break plans then complain if I still went our but he really never seemed to like being with me. We split up - many times - but the day that I fully accepted that it was over and that I was not just okay with it but satisfied was April 30, 2003, nearly two years ago. You might ask, "if she was so satisfied with the breakup, why is she writing about him a year and a half later?"
The answer is simple. He's happy romantically but I'm not. I'm pissed about it. He's found someone to share his life with and I let a lot of my youth pass playing house with him. I feel like I missed a lot of something while I dated Marc and he didn't miss out on anything but solitude during the same period. It's classic, I guess, I don't want him, but no one else is supposed to either.
The last piece of my puzzle with Marc revolves around the gulf between what he saw the relationship as and what I did. After things ended he started to refer to me as his best friend. I never felt that way about him. I loved his hollowness, egoism, brashness because they were elements remiss in my own character. But because of all of those things I was distrustful of him. I was anxious around him. I was rarely comfortable telling him what I was thinking or how I was feeling. I was weak. I didn't like myself when I was with Marc and in a way I'm insulted he would want that woman as a best friend, because she's not me.
Marc never knew me and for his sake, I hope I never really knew him either.
ps - the book "The Rising Price of Love" tries to deal with all of the after effects of the sexual revolution (Relationships, Singles, Dating, Marriage, Divorce, Child Welfare)...it's written by a guy who seems to think he's a global economist/futurist. I am going to read it, I'll let you guys know if it is as much bs as it seems at face value.
posted by Fluffy78 at 1:43 PM
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