Letter number 6: Patterns. The ides of March.

Dear Alexandra,

Having an analytical mind can be a real curse — it leads to overthinking, and a desire to diagnose and solve problems, to seek patterns. I did that yesterday.

We’ve had falling outs before — the first major one was when we’d gone to a gig in Burton. We’d got a hotel, we arrived at the venue and everything was really good. The band played the song that sometimes you got on stage with them for (you did the backing vocals on the album too!), but they didn’t ask you. Shortly after this you became extremely angry.

I was really confused. I assumed, possibly wrongly, that you were over-reacting to the snub. You were furious with everyone and everything, including me. It felt spectacularly out of the blue and unreasonable — you left the venue and started walking to nowhere in particular. I followed you, walked with you, you wouldn’t talk to me, you kept telling me to go away. As if I could leave you alone walking around a strange town.

That was probably the first real glimpse we had that you were having really serious hormonal issues. You weren’t in control, you couldn’t articulate it, I couldn’t understand it. I was angry and hurt, but tried to make sure you were okay. After hours of walking we arrived back at the hotel. I got up early and left — on reflection, not the best reaction. Your Dad was staying there too, so I wasn’t abandoning you without a way to get home.

After a few days things calmed down and we were able to talk and sort through things. I’m sure you felt terrible that you weren’t in control of your emotions and were acting so irrationally. This was in April 2016.

Fast forward to March in 2018, it was my 40th. Now I fully recognise that I’m a nightmare when it comes to making a fuss, I don’t court it, I say I don’t like it, but well, like most people I do want a bit of fuss. My birthday that was a Friday so I’m not sure why we’d not arranged for you to come up, but I do know that you didn’t call, text, send anything. I felt so hurt, and I responded by closing up. An immature response, I admit. And you did the same. We basically didn’t talk to one another, a battle of wills waiting to see which immovable object would crack first.

We never actually ‘split up’ — because that would imply a conversation had taken place. A few weeks later we both went to the same music festival — it was awkward, we said hello, we kept our distance from each other. You were playing in the opening evening, you included the song you wrote for me in the set. Eventually we walked and talked, we went back to my van and reunited quite vigourously and things felt amazing again, but again, we probably glossed over how ridiculous we’d both been over the last few weeks.

Now fast forward to this year — March again. I know the first one was April, but it’s still Spring. Is this a strange time of year where bad things happen between us? It was March this year when you did what I thought was unthinkable — whatever doubts I’ve harboured about the longevity or health of our relationship, I never thought you’d cheat, albeit in a virtual sense.

Are you going to get through April and have a sudden moment of clarity? I hope that I am!

I’ve not done very well at the ‘trying to give space’ thing. I didn’t look at your Twitter feed at all yesterday or check if you were online on Messenger, which I’m counting as a win. We did exchange brief texts as I mentioned before, which you initiated unusually. I’ve falled off that wagon today — I looked at your Twitter feed where you’d posted something about not wanting people to get tired of you.

Of course, that probably isn’t meant for me — you’ve blocked me on Twitter, but before I thought it through I’d dropped you a text just to check in, to let you know I still care for you and love you and that I’m trying to find the right balance of showing that whilst also giving the right amount of space. You’ve not replied to it yet, although you’re at work (as am I). I feel weak for having done it.

I find myself drawn to ‘the other man’s’ Twitter page too today, looking for clues. He’s not giving much away, I imagine you’ve probably chastised him for his posts that led me to find out what was happening. Maybe you are distancing yourself from him too, or maybe there’s a tacit arrangement not to interact with each other in a public forum. I really hate myself for falling back into that. But well, I will have good days and bad days. His profile bio no longer professes being madly in love, but still references ‘moonlight’ — and an oddly incongruous quote he must have made up: “don’t waste sunsets with people who will be gone by sunrise” — which if that were a riddle, the answer would be moonlight, surely?

I did start by saying I was cursed with the mind of an analyst.

You just replied to my text and let me know that you’ve been cutting down on online time, which is great — and that you’ve got yourself a diary to keep track on how you’re feeling and use that to help conversations with your therapist. These are great steps, I’m glad you’re not just withdrawing from everything and taking some positive action. I do feel glad to have had that from you, but of course also feel churned up with the unanswered questions.

Are you still talking to this other dude? What’s going on there? Is it serious? Do you even love me?

Which is probably indicative that whilst I’ve got some sense of relief that you seem to be making progress and not just wiring yourself permanently into your PC like Lawnmower Man, it makes me yearn for the things we’ve lost, the things you seemingly found so easy to cast away.

Maybe it will get easier for both of us when April turns into May, a little more time passed to heal, and out of this weird couple of months where things seem to get out of control for us. Albeit not every year.

I mentioned the pattern to you as we were texting each other — you made the observation that it’s when your contraceptive injection starts to run out and the hormones take over. It makes sense, and fits the narrative of you not being yourself. It just makes me feel so sad for you, to get in to such a self-destructive cycle, and for me too, as get swept up into that maelstrom when it happens, and seem to be powerless to find a way to help manage it.

Patterns and trends can simply be a fluke, of course.

I love you, Bert