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Dear Breakup Girl,

If you remember, I made the Predicament of the Week back around the holidays last year with my dragon-fighting adventures concerning Object of Affection in A Foreign Land. His feelings had changed, I told him to sort them out, blah, blah, blah. When I left His Country, I told him not to contact me for 3 weeks while I took care of important stuff in my life. Which he did. 'Round about Christmas, we were back in touch via telephone. That went on for a while--until February, I guess. Then, I went skiing by myself (good way to clear one's mind) and decided to write A Letter. I told him how I feel about him--I do love him but that hadn't been said before--but that I recognized sometimes it's just better to be friends when life's circumstances aren't conducive to the relationship I would ideally like to have. And I really meant it. I also threw in two poems I had written and tried to make it all mature, guilt trip-free, and honest. After 3 drafts, it went in the mail. I was happy, I had started to Move On.

I know it was one of "those letters," so I didn't expect (but hoped) for a reply. He never told me when he got The Letter, but I could tell by the way he got weird before the end of a phone call. A few weeks later, when he returned from a trip, he said he put A Letter in the mail. My mind did the quick mental calendar check, and when it got close to when it should have come, I watched the mailbox like a hawk. Two and a half weeks after he said he sent it, he called and asked somewhat abruptly if I had gotten it. I hadn't, and I was losing a few marbles over it. He got it back and told me he would resend it. Rewind to mailbox scene. Replay. Only add a little more obsession. When he said, sheepishly, that he forgot to send it the week he said he would and instead it would be another week, I decided that either a) he was feeling really insecure about what was in the letter or b) whatever he wrote in that letter didn't matter much to him because he was in no rush to send it.

The Letter still didn't come. More than a few marbles were lost over this. I was going away for a month and decided not to tell him how to reach me. I would call if I felt like it, which I never did. And The Letter NEVER came. I decided that if it didn't, then I wasn't meant to get it anyhow. Whatever was there wasn't something I was ultimately meant to see.

I didn't talk to him until I SAW him at a conference in a foreign, but neutral, land 6 weeks after we last talked. I had packed my mental (and overhead) baggage carefully for this occasion. So, when I first saw him, it only took a little while to dig out the courage and maturity to go speak to him. The first thing out of his mouth was, "I thought you weren't going to talk to me." My reply? "I'm a bit more mature than that." Which kinda surprised him.

With that out of the way, we started catching up on friends, lives, etc. Over the next two days, we hung out a fair bit but also did plenty without each other in the group. Casually, I let it out in conversation that I had never gotten The Letter. He was surprised, as it had never been returned to him. After that he got pretty quiet, and we didn't really talk for two days. When we did start talking more again, it was over business-type matters. Somewhere along the way I had started backsliding and going kinda mushy again. I knew this was bad and tried to begin pulling myself out of it.

At an evening party shortly after that, he quietly came up to me and said he was "sorry for all the difficulty" he had caused me. My mouth was a little lubricated by wine at that point (but I was far from drunk), and before I knew it I blurted out, "I'm not." And I proceeded to make a toast "to no regrets." He toasted me, and then I bolted off to examine the last nail on the coffin of our relationship, as I saw it. And then I knew I was out of the backsliding rut I had been slipping into. I was back to my independent, accepting of reality self.

And then he got hurt playing sports. When I saw him walking off the field, I dropped my Frisbee and went straight to the middle of things. I rode with him to the hospital and watched as he got teary and nearly threw up from the pain. I remained strong. Good thing: without the fit I began to pitch at the hospital, he wouldn't have gotten his pain meds as soon as he did. I had my doubts about the wisdom of riding to the hospital with him. I am not his girlfriend anymore, he wasn't going to die, and most of the rest of our party didn't know about things between us. Why start then? But I couldn't just let him go more or less alone. I knew it would dredge up my feelings, but I decided to take that chance What made it worse was that I instinctually reached for his hand earlier in the afternoon when I was having a hard time hearing something he was trying to tell me. Fortunately, I stopped myself before the action was completed, but it was kind of awkward. Anyway, upon returning to the barbecue from the hospital, I let him be the star as I dissolved into the crowd with my faithful girlfriends to dance off some steam. I knew that the hospital trip wouldn't, and shouldn't, change things. I knew what the writing on the wall said, and he was free to go the rest of the evening and forever on. He did thank me for going to the hospital with him, which of course was OK. Problem was, he seemed to linger a bit much in the areas where I was being my confident self with people other than him. And he even started to dance with me and make a few suggestive gestures. But we both realized how much trouble that could lead to, and he stopped. I was leaving the conference early the next morning and woke him up to say good-bye. We had a passionate hug, and he told me he was OK with everything that had happened. I got out before it got too intense.

So, Compass Rose returned to her native land feeling good about how she had handled things and optimistic about the potential for a good friendship to come. But another problem is that 2 days later, Object of Affection left a message on the voice mail saying he would try to call the following weekend. Our knightess-errant then did another backsliding episode and did stuff like put the cordless phone in the bathroom while showering in case he called. A week and a half later, he hasn't. And she's finally quit doing the cordless phone, check the voice mail thing. Again.

I've realized, though, that he has become something like an addiction for me. If he says he will call, I wait for it. Even when I know better. I told him he had to stop asking me to do favors for him (mostly send material things like books that are cheaper here than where he is) because as soon as the words leave his mouth, my mind latches on to the task like a pit bull. And I feel kind of used but can't say no. So no more favors. I know a lot of this is leftover codependent behavior from growing up in an alcoholic home (don't worry--I'm working my AlAnon program all the time!). I just wanted to tell him to back off and stop calling me so much, etc., but it felt unnatural and another poor-coping-skills habit to just cut him off like that. He needs a friend; he doesn't know what he is doing with his life, and it is eating him up (although he won't talk about it). I truly love this man, but I'm not sure I'm strong enough to be his friend and hospital advocate while still being my own advocate and continuing my life in a forward progression. My question is: do I tell him to back off/cut him out of my life, or do I try to bear through this and know that it is out of my hands? I am a strong person, and I know it won't kill me. But I also hate acting like this. I think my day-to-day life would be healthier (read: safer and easier) without the specter of him hanging around on my voice mail. At the same time, I'm wondering if he isn't my soulmate or something. How does one cut off a soulmate?

--Compass Rose

Dear Compass Rose,

Out of your hands? No Rose, no. Take up arms anew. Well, perhaps your dragon-sword is too strong and sharp -- but BG does call upon you to gently rend the ties between you and this suitor-errant. Your soulmate? I say: nay. Not because I disavow Destiny, but because I embrace Reality. Which is: at the end of the day, soulmates -- even allowing for rocky-start "What is this thing called ... this thing?" jitters and confusion -- do call when they say they will, write when they say, swing by the castle when they say they will. Are are trusty as their steeds. And their deeds. They actually talk to the friends who are there in their need. See? As Princes go, this one's hardly, like, Of Darkness. But you say yourself that your lot would be better without his specter; yea verily, high points for Wisdom. So I simply submit, Knightess Rose, that somewhere there does wander a mate who merits your soul. Seek him.

Love,
Breakup Girl

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