An Oldie But A Goodie…

Submitted by Lisa Steadman on April 29, 2007 - 6:59 am

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In honor of the site relaunch, I reached deep into The Breakup Chronicles archive for one of my fave early stories. In it, Nina reminds us just how addicting relationships can be. Find out how she went cold turkey and what she learned from relationship rehab.

Kicking the Habit
By Nina Bargiel

Ex-boyfriends are like black tar heroin.  You can’t have just a little.

Current wisdom tells us that An Addict is always An Addict.  In this case, my addiction was Mr. Ex.  Perfect Boyfriend, I used to call him.  The type who’ll walk your dog when you’re sick and tell you you’re pretty when you’re not.  The type who’ll patch all those nasty self-esteem cracks that have been the foundation of your existence since before you can remember.

But I should back up a bit.  I was a 26-year-old woman who didn’t need a man.  Sure, I had had a few boyfriends in my time, but all in all I found that men were an unnecessary evil.  I had a three-legged dog to keep me company and an impressive selection of vibrators to keep me smiling.  But then I met Mr. Ex. And Everything Changed.  I was thrust into the world of Couplehood, and I found that I liked it.  As weeks turned to months, Mr. Ex and I started talking about the Future.  About marriage.  About babies.  About a future that began with “us” instead of  ”me.”  In fact, we had been discussing that very sentiment one gorgeous Saturday in August, an unseasonably cool late summer day that made me think of my native Midwestern upbringing.  Mr. Ex wanted to know about my 401(k) plan, and we mapped out a savings plan so we could retire by 40.  He told me about his desire to Get Away From It All, how we’d take our brood and open a bookstore in his small hometown.  I nodded, mesmerized.  Me.  Us.  A Future Together.  We had been dating a few weeks shy of a year.  We began discussing when we would announce our engagement.
    
The following Tuesday, he dumped me.

Over the phone.

I went from a love-induced-high to an earth-shattering-low.  Life without Mr. Ex?  But what about Us?  The babies, the bookstore, the boffo bank account that would take us to a Simpler Life?  Gone.  He explained it with an “I-love-you-but-I-don’t-think-I-can-do-this” and suddenly I went from being “us” to being “me” again. But the problem was that I didn’t like me very much.  I needed Mr. Ex.  I needed him to give me that rush, that thrill, that boost to lift me above the pits of self-hatred that marked the landscape of my life. 

I needed Mr. Ex to be happy. 

Those first few days, everywhere I turned, something reminded me of him.  A song, a phrase, a scent was like a Tractor Beam pulling me back to him.  I finally emailed him, asking if we couldn’t just be friends?  He agreed, having missed me as much as I missed him.  Friends.  Good. I could do that.  I was a rational, intelligent adult.
   
But of course, I wasn’t rational or intelligent.  I was a moron.

Each time I saw Mr. Ex, the more miserable I became.  Because I couldn’t handle just a little bit.   But like an addict I kept fooling myself into thinking I was okay, that I could take it.  That I was stronger than the drug.   All along I made excuses about why we broke up, about how his life was stressful and he was depressed and I just needed to Hang In There and he’d get better and come back and we’d live Happily Ever After.

Then I learned he was dating someone else. And I hit rock bottom, spending four hours straight crying on my bathroom floor.

I lay there.  Strung out.  Exhausted.  Embarrassed.

I was better than this.  I was worth more than this. I was a brilliant, funny woman with a great dog and I was weeping over someone who obviously thought “the rest of our life” meant “a couple more days?”

I emailed him, tidied up some last minute details about exchanging our belongings and that was it. 

I went Cold Turkey.
 
I kicked the habit.  I used the time that I had previously spent fretting about Mr. Ex to working on my own issues.  Like why I felt so horrid about myself, and how on earth did I expect Some Guy to fix it. 

Each day without Mr. Ex I got a little better, a little stronger, a little healthier.  Until soon he was just a forgotten word at the tip of my tongue, familiar and yet forgotten.

I call Mr. Ex my near miss.  I was under the influence of a potent drug, a drug that made me think I needed it to Feel Good.  Two years and two boyfriends later, I can’t even remember what I saw in him.   Looking back, I’m both mortified and elated.  Mortified that I was such a needy woman that I almost let a man destroy me, and elated that the experience made me confront and change the miserable human being that I had been for so long.

The person I am now and the person I was while dating Mr. Ex share little in common: a name, a dog, and that impressive vibrator collection.

So maybe An Addict isn’t always An Addict, ‘cause I kicked Mr. Ex for good.

Well, it may be cliché, and as much as we don’t want to admit it in the throes of a bad breakup, it’s true. That which doesn’t kill us, does make us stronger. I’m glad Nina found the strength to kick her habit for good. We all could use a little relationship rehab every now and then. Don’t you think?