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Dear Breakup Girl,

About 10 months ago, my fiancé and I broke it off. Well, I told my fiancé that we could break up if that is what he wanted, and he didn't tell me no. It all happened long distance over the phone, and we haven't seen each other since.

We were moving in different directions: I was the down-to-earth Arts student from a poverty-stricken background who had fought her way to the Ivy leagues, and he was the privileged son of two lawyers from Boston soon to graduate law school himself and make it big in the corporate world. We were "two-crazy kids gonna take on the world" as he would say, despite the huge difference in our backgrounds and bank accounts. For the last year, we were commuting back and forth every week between NYC and Washington DC, which made it really hard.

Well, the breakup really sucked, and I REALLY hated him. He hadn't tried for a long time before the breakup and had been out of the relationship mentally for months before D-day. He never told me so, though I knew, but didn't admit it to myself. I had been considering ending it myself, but I really cared for him and thought we could make it work. Ours was my first really serious relationship and truly my first heartbreak. My pain was only exacerbated by the fact he had said rather cruel things to me in the months leading up to the breakup, preying on my insecurities...a serious breach of my trust in retrospect.

We spoke a couple of times after that. He called on the day that was to be our wedding day; he was sad because his mother had called and reminded him that it was "the day," Dec 19th. He said to me, "This was to be our wedding day, and instead it is the day our president was impeached." Corny statement aside, I begged him to come home; he said he wanted to, but he didn't. Finally, on Jan 2nd, we spoke once again. I cried that whole call and again asked him to come home. He sang the words of a Crystal Gayle song we used to listen to, "You never want a drink of water, 'til the well runs dry," and then said, "I only stayed with you because I thought you needed me," and that "I was going to destroy him." (I demanded too much attention, he needed to work 120 hours, and I have $100,000 in student loans.)

I hung up on him and told him never to call me again...and hung up on him five times after that. I cried all over the streets of Manhattan for six months; I burdened every stranger and wore out all my friends with my tale of woe. There were times I thought I was going to die...like the time I sent him a check for money I owed him (without a letter) and received the canceled check with scribbling on the back which read, "Under protest." Another lawyer friend of mine explained that was his tacky way of making sure the law understood that I had not repaid in full the $5,000 I had borrowed (mind you, I returned a $5,800 engagement ring when legally I didn't have to).

Flash forward to the first week of August. I'm down to crying once a week, and, though not completely together, I feet like life goes on and have hope for the future again. (Since early July, I had been receiving 5-10 hang-up calls a day that I knew were from him. He even found out where I worked and hung up on me there.) One more call and, finally, he spoke. He wanted to be friends and tell me how well his life was going. He had made a career change, defying his parents, and had moved. He wanted to tell me the good news, but I didn't particularly want to hear it, nor did I want to be his friend. I tried to be gentle, but I just didn't trust him, and he was asking personal questions.

After two minutes on the phone, he started crying and cried for the duration of the call. I told him that I hadn't deserved the treatment I received from him, that I just couldn't be his friend, and that I didn't want him to call me ever again. He wanted to send Christmas cards and call twice a year or so. I said what I needed to say as nicely as I could; I even tried to soothe him but did not waiver from my stance. I was not about to let him in. When he started to go into how angry I was and that it had never been enough for me, I just hung up on him.

It was kind of a knee-jerk reaction, which now I regret, and that was the end of it. That was a little over a month ago. I still miss him, and I still cry sometimes. I wonder now if I should have said that I would be his friend. He is now even further away than DC , and there is little chance of a rekindling of anything. He was, for a long time, before it got screwed up, my best friend.

I am afraid, though, that this is all rationalization and that I would be getting in over my head to extend my friendship. I am afraid that I would get emotionally attached again and wait by the phone for that biannual phone call. But would I? I don't know. I mean, I am proud of myself that I've actually gotten through this half-sane, without calling him or showing up on his door step and groveling, but I still don't think I could listen to him talk about other women. I would, however, like the "amicable closure" he suggested, because I don't really want to be angry anymore. I'm a grown up now and am tired of playing the martyr. I would just like to let go and remember us as something that was good instead of cringing every time I see an old photograph or pass our favorite restaurant. So my question for you is: should I call him or should I just leave this be? I feel kind of guilty as it is and don't want him to think that should he seriously be in need of a kind ear, that he couldn't call me. Am I just trying to be a good doormat again or am I a self-righteous slug?

--Can't Believe I Spent An Hour Writing This

Dear Michelle,

Let's just say that if you use the term "amicable closure," you're not friends, just as if you use the word "pelvis" you're not a "dick." (See Super Guy/Typical Male Jerk). You know? Meaning that two phone calls a year -- max -- sounds just about right to me. That actually is the way to, gradually, time-healingly, de-cringe and de-attach. Meantime, don't misinterpret that "guilt" and "kind ear" business. It's breakup residue that just means you still care, somewhere, about someone who was once important to you. It doesn't mean you have to act upon it. And isn't it nice to at least feel like you'd like to lend a kind ear (as opposed to, say, an elephant ear, which is a weird plant that prickles like needles if you chew it, and which, I'm chagrined to admit Breakup Dad's little cronies, in much unkinder days, once fed to Jimmy Stevens. Which is a whole nother story that BD will be stunned that I even remember.)? So. Not "doormat." Not "slug." Time to wipe your feet and move on, full speed.

Love,
Can't Believe I Got Through My Whole Response without Making a Crystal Gayle Reference

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