Good friends are half the battle if you want to survive such passages. Mine were pretty patient. Listened to the whining, the repetitions, the curses – and gave me sensible advice: to forget the woman, to eat well, to meet other women. Unimaginable, I thought but promised anyway. Alex advised me to go through the pain to shorten the path. After that, I would breathe a sigh of relief. That made sense to me. I became almost euphoric at this vision, but after the phone call, I wanted to run barefoot into their neighborhood with longing. Two days later she was at the door. Like in old times. She immediately saw what was going on and immediately began resuscitation. There they were again, those arms. This body. This closeness. Afterward, we went swimming and our little parallel world was almost all right again. When she drove home at midnight, I thought I had finally understood the cosmic formula. The ultimate solution to all relationships and fears: It’s not about holding on, it’s about being. But what happened? The next day I woke up in the hell of longing. I missed her more than ever. A picture-book relapse. I swore to myself that I would never let them touch me again, and if I should ever write a guide about the art of parting, it will be at the forefront: If you have to go, never turn around. I missed her more than ever. A picture-book relapse. I swore to myself that I would never let them touch me again, and if I should ever write a guide about the art of parting, it will be at the forefront: If you have to go, never turn around. I missed her more than ever. A picture-book relapse. I swore to myself that I would never let them touch me again, and if I should ever write a guide about the art of parting, it will be at the forefront: If you have to go, never turn around.
Then the cycling phase began. Finally out of the apartment. I drove as I could drive away from myself. That didn’t work, but I got my appetite again and cranked my systems up. I also noticed other women again. That was a turning point. One Sunday afternoon I put away her presents, including the little plastic frog. I left your best-of text messages on file but stopped reading them all the time. I stopped wearing her hoodie and staring at our photos. And I started a list: “Why it is good that she is gone.” Soon I had 100 reasons, but my heart was still beating violently when I saw her toothbrush in the bathroom. The old story: the head already knows what’s going on, but the heart has different timing.
I sat in the car in front of her house for three half nights and stared up at the dark windows. She didn’t feel me, but what did I expect? That she wakes up and throws down a silk scarf with her perfume? Yeah, something like that, but maybe I just saw the wrong movies. Sometimes I went to our favorite bars. Gnawed at the pictures that came up. Suddenly saw her come in the door, but of course, it never was. I remembered an acquaintance who was once looking for an ex-girlfriend across half the planet – in this respect, I did not find my emotional rides to be a problem. Just the fact that I still missed her incredibly. I was powerless against that, but it didn’t sting that deep anymore. And I also showed increasing strength when she tried to get to me. I no longer responded to their text messages and calls. Four months after Asia, a stable, dark blue basic feeling finally arose in me.
Expelled from paradise, but survived. It was autumn, I was taking long walks and thinking a lot. About me and my life, about my mother and my patterns. I figured out what makes me tick with women and why. Or that it is not worth fighting for someone who does not stay voluntarily. I even began to cautiously accept how things went with Lisa. Recognizing this was a precision job, but that is exactly the opportunity offered by violent lovesickness: evolution. You can learn a lot from it. Get up again, for example. Realize that nothing and nobody can make you happier than a vital affair with yourself. Only then will the partner game probably work. Sounds good, doesn’t it? Only I wasn’t through yet. It wasn’t until many weeks later, shortly after New Year’s Eve, that I woke up one morning and realized that something was different. Then at breakfast, I knew it: the alien was gone.