Love is a Safety Net

“I can’t sleep.”

I lied. In fact there was nothing I wanted more than to go to sleep but my head was pounding out of my skull. I took a couple Advil and rolled over on my side, one hand cupping my head and the other holding the phone to my right ear. I yawned into my pillow so my sister wouldn’t hear.

“It’s four in the morning, you should really try and get some rest,” she replied over the line.

“I know, I think I just overslept this afternoon.” Second lie - I couldn’t sleep this afternoon either. 

“Okay, well I’m going to bed. At least try to sleep. I’ll talk to you tomorrow.”

“Goodnight.”

I wondered if Hailey actually cared if I slept or if she just wanted an excuse to hang up. I wouldn’t blame her if it was the latter. What do you possibly say to a twenty-three year old that just ended an eight year relationship? I don’t even know what to tell myself.

Collin and I broke up about fifteen hours ago. He was sitting up in bed laughing at something on his phone and I was laying on my back choking on tears while thinking about how I would end things. He must have seen that I was about to cry, he knew the signs well at that point. He asked me what was wrong. I told him I didn’t love him anymore.

The second I said it my chest caved in. I was the single entity that destroyed what we had worked eight years to build. I felt like I just stepped off an airplane without a parachute. What the hell was I doing? This was stupid, so fucking stupid, but I couldn’t take it back now. I was already falling.

The breakup seemed inevitable from an outsider's point of view. Collin and I never wanted to do the same things and I stopped wanting to kiss him in public. For the past year I lived in New York and he lived in Philly, and I hated Philly. I never had anything to write home to my friends about. I wasn’t excited, but I was content. Whenever we saw each other we stayed in bed and ordered takeout, sometimes watching a movie together and sometimes facing opposite directions while scrolling on our phones. When I wanted to go out for coffee or take a walk he said he was fine staying where we were, as we were. At the end of the day, as much as I wanted to leave, it felt so safe to do what we always did. 

Having Collin around meant that I would never have to do anything alone. I think that’s what I thought love was for a really long time. Love meant security and safety. I had one thing that I was sure would last even when everything else was temporary. I’d never have to worry about anyone loving me or even liking me because Collin was designated to me. No matter how ugly or dumb or incapable or small I became, Collin would love me. Love gave me permission to be my worst self, and things were easy that way.

I let Collin be my escape from facing life head on. I didn’t take care of myself because I let Collin do it for me, and I did it for him. But Collin was just as insecure as I was, and maybe more reliant. 

When we were eighteen I smoked weed for the first time. Collin and I were both in college in Manhattan at this point, and even though we went to different schools, we almost never spent a free second apart. I was going home from the library after studying with a friend when she caught up with me and asked me if I wanted to smoke a joint in the park. I was as eager as any college freshman at that point, but I knew Collin was against the idea of doing drugs. I went to the park anyway thinking Collin wouldn’t find out, but somehow he did.

“Everybody does it,” I argued. “I don’t understand why this is such a big deal to you.”

“You knew this would make me upset and you still did it. You hurt me.”

“I didn’t intentionally do it to hurt you, why would you think I would do something like that?” 

I was crying at this point.

“Of course you didn’t think about me. You were selfish.”

Collin and I didn’t speak for a week after the weed incident. I felt a small sense of freedom, and I was surprised when it felt good. I started talking to new people, thinking about leaving New York for a new city, maybe even going to parties without Collin for the first time. But there were too many possibilities and as thrilling and shiny and new as they all were I was scared that I wouldn’t like how they turned out. What if I had no one? Maybe being someone different meant being alone. And I couldn’t be alone. I had to be loved. 

A week later I texted Collin to meet me in the park. We said we missed each other and went to McDonald’s to get ice cream.

When the pandemic hit Collin moved back to his mom’s house on Long Island and I stayed with my parents in Connecticut. We called each other every day and every few months or so we would plan a visit to see each other, but I never felt like I was missing something. Collin wasn’t in the same room as me, but he was still my boyfriend. We would eventually move back to the city and I would still be Collin’s girlfriend. I didn’t care if it was anything more or anything less, because at the end of the day, being in a relationship made me comfortable. 

Eventually Collin and I needed to go back to New York for school and decided to move in together. I finally found a place I liked in the East Village, and when I signed the lease I realized that my first apartment would simultaneously be our first apartment. Wasn’t moving in together supposed to be a huge milestone in a relationship? Why were we so nonchalant about it?

Collin and I fought the most when we lived together in the apartment. We had to be with each other twenty-four/seven now, which meant seeing the worst in each other. I remember a Friday night when Collin was applying to grad schools:

“I’m not going to get in anywhere, I don’t have enough experience and I’m just an average student.”

“Collin, you have a 3.9 GPA and you’ve been volunteering since high school. Your resume is exactly what admissions officers want to see,” I replied while I put my shoes on.

Collin shoved his head in his hands and mumbled something.

“What was that?” I asked.

He let go of his head and turned his chair to face me, his eyes darting back and forth between my face and the keys in my hand.

“Can you grab me some dinner, I’m really stressing out over this.” 

“I was just on my way to see Alana.” We’d been planning the visit for a while, I hadn’t seen her since she got her new job.

“Can you please just do this for me? I do so much for you all the time and I’m really upset over this right now.”

Collin often talked about the things he did for me like he was reading off my credit card statement. Cleaned the bathroom this morning, paid for our last dinner out, canceled playing PC games with his friends because I was having an anxiety attack. I never argued because he made me believe love was transactional. He wouldn’t bring these things up if he wasn’t bothered by them, right? Collin sacrificed his time, so now I owe mine.

I called Alana and told her I had a stomach bug on my way to grab takeout. “We’ll hang out soon, I miss you.”

“I miss you too,” she said.

Collin got into the University of Pennsylvania a few months later.

I still hadn’t seen Alana.

When you’re with someone for eight years, especially when your relationship started as teenagers, you don’t learn much about yourself. Everything I knew about who I was I saw in the context of Collin. I didn’t care if I felt pretty or smart or worthwhile because I had a boyfriend that told me I was all of those things. I didn’t need to like myself because my boyfriend did that for me. I didn’t need to be anything because I was already something. I was already loved.

When Collin moved to Pennsylvania I was forced to be with myself, and only myself. It took a while to be comfortable with it, but eventually I felt at ease. I started a new job and met people who enjoyed my company. I made plans for myself to the point where texting and calling Collin became an afterthought. I felt like I was meeting myself for the first time, and I started to find out who I was without Collin.

Over time I started to like my life without Collin more than I liked him in it. I wanted to grow up and learn everything there was to learn about myself, but for whatever reason, I didn’t see him coming with me. Our entire relationship was based on him being comfortable, and that meant staying the same as we were when we were fifteen. I knew I was missing out on something. I needed to grow up. Breaking up with Collin would be an irreparable debt. It broke my heart to even think about it, but when it happened, it didn’t feel like a mistake.

Nobody ever tells you how selfish heartbreak is. I wanted Hailey to stay on the phone with me even when she was exhausted, and I wanted her to feel bad for how hollow and evil and sore I was. I wanted pity. At the end of the day I wanted the validation that I was wronged, and I deserve to be this sad. I don’t want to be alone. I want to be loved.

But in reality I was the one who put myself in this position in the first place. I ignored myself for eight years, and I look back with regret and anger at Collin when I should be mad at myself. I’m grieving who I could have been for eight years, and I’m the one who killed my own potential. If I sit here and hate myself and tell myself that I deserve to be in this hole then everything I’m feeling is for nothing. My breakup was a revenge on myself, for myself.

I started feeling tired around 5:00 AM. I think I was just out of things to remember. My headache was gone. I layed on my side with my phone and tried not to imagine Collin doing the same.