Transition Sounds Better Than Breaking Up

Zi is always reminding me to breathe deeply when I'm in pain or upset. And he's been talking a lot more about fate, kismet, destiny, and The Universe lately. I think it brings him peace. A sort-of explanation for this 'transition' we're now in.

For, on Tuesday, I told him the distance was too much. That it didn't feel healthy for me to be in this relationship like it was anymore. I "broke up" with him. And then the next day, when I cried with him again, he wanted to be clear that in no way was he mad or bitter. That he was even sharing this responsibility with me. He felt that, in a way (totally indirectly and not to blame, of course), he put us in this long-distance situation in the first place with his job loss and subsequent move. And that he ALSO didn't want me to be in an unhealthy place.

He believes then that we both have come to this conclusion -- that he didn't really see it as a break up, but more as a transition. And I, of course, clung to that because I felt better (read: less guilty) with those words. Transition sounded better than breaking up.

Something I told him recently (since our ... transition): "If there's any chance we can still be together I want to wait for you. I don't want to start seeing anyone else. But. I can't wait a year. If you could tell me you were moving here in six months -- I'd wait."

And then I promptly widened that to six months to a year. He said, "Then what was the point of the break-up?"

Hmm.

I don't want to dig myself a hole here. After three and half months of "good days and bad days" oscillating back and forth until it became a daily up and down swing, like I was on some kind of upper/downer drug frenzy, I called it quits. I threw my hands up in surrender (which by the way is why I felt so guilty -- "If I was only stronger" -- wreaking havoc on my work ethic and my idea of loyalty.)


It's not that he's not good for me, or that we're not good for each other. It's that the distance has beaten us down. I was going to say beaten me down, but even Zi wants to have sex with others to tide him over between our visits. And I know the distance is getting to him, too. It's true that he'd keep going in the relationship -- most likely indefinitely -- but he needs the stability of a steady girlfriend in New Jersey as much as I need companionship and touch here.

The truth is we've both been living without crucial human needs being met. For months. And it's taken its toll on us. On our minds, on our hearts, on our bodies. It's hurting us.

And there it is. The stalemate.

On the one hand, we love each other. And have for a year. Deep love that grows in our marrow. And despite staggering challenges: first my marriage, then my search and quest within to determine whether I was monogamous or polyamorous, Zi's job loss, his moving away, the whole J thing, and all the months apart. Not to mention the "little" things like: I'm not Indian or Muslim, that he's more conservative than I am, that I'm divorced twice, (and widowed for God's sake), have two half-grown children, and am ambivalent about having more. (Though at times I am completely and utterly obsessed by the idea.)

And despite all that -- there is love and worship and obsession and sex and play and laughter and culture and language and trust. There is tenderness and protectiveness. There is nurturing and comfort. There is pride and -- Sweet Jesus -- a rocking awesome brown cock.

I love the exotic, I love the differences between us, I love his accent and the way he laughs and pushes his glasses up on his nose. The way he wiggles his foot unconsciously, and wears the same outfit every day when he's not at work or going out. Blue sweatshirt, blue hat, white tee-shirt, pajama pants, black slippers.

I love his tongue and his hands. I love his words and the sound of his voice -- calming and grounding. Even when we're disagreeing.

That's all on the one hand.

On the other, we're in pain. Sometimes it rages like a slashing cut at our core, and other times a dull ache, like a low-grade headache that won't go away. We're not alive right now. We're living a shadow life. One where we only come alive when we sext each other, or when we see each other on Skype, or talk on the phone. Or plan our next visits and watch our porn videos. At those times we are manically high. Euphoric. Stronger than the Earth's gravitational pull.

But the worst part? Is sometimes, even those very things that make me feel alive -- the Skyping, the phone calls -- Don't. They make me feel worse. Because it's not happening here in body. It's only real in cyber-world.

So where does that leave us?

And, actually, I should be saying 'me.' Where does that leave me? Because these are my thoughts. My feelings. My pain. I need to own them and not project them onto Zi. He has his own and I hope he'll write them down here, too. So I can witness them, as he is witnessing mine. And then this space can be what we intended: Bare And Raw, both of us.

In conclusion (as if this were some college essay), we are in this weird transitional space. We love each other. We aren't bitter about this new place -- whatever it turns out to be. And we'll always be in each other's lives -- whatever those turn out to be. We don't know how our relationship will change -- but I think it must -- unless a miracle happens and Zi moves to Eugene within the next year.

And by year I mean closer to eight months.

And by eight months I mean a scenario like this: he thinks for a couple months on how it can work, and then has a move-in date I can write on the calendar for six or so months after that. Or gets a job in the NW in next couple months. Maybe he'll find out that his green card process will be far enough along by, say, July, that he could move to Eugene and look for work around here without any marriage. Then we could just live together. No pressure.

I could wait until July.

If I had that month to focus on. An ending to this.
"I can wait. I can handle this distance. It's only for a few more months. And then I can be relaxed and happy and have my man back."

Yes. I could wait until the end of summer, if I was actively planning and preparing for his arrival. It's the not knowing and the indefinite-which-literally-feels-like-forever that I can't last through anymore.

And I still feel sorry for that. Like I've let us down. Let Zi down.

But it seems I've hit my limit. I didn't know I had one. I've never been good at boundaries -- but here is one erected almost all by itself.

Zi says this is an ultimatum -- but that it's fine that I've placed one on him.

But I don't think of this as an ultimatum. It's just a limitation that I've discovered I have.

I can only wait for something (even if it's the most important thing in my world) for a really long time, if I have an end date. Some idea of when it'll arrive. Otherwise, I simply can't fathom it happening. Ever.

I love you, Zi.
I'm still getting that tattoo.