Sex and the Single Soccer Mom

I ended my brief affair with the quirky artist (aka, Mr. Duracell, the sex-addicted, sandwich stealer) three months ago. It was a two and a half month long stress-fest that I hoped would smooth into something resembling a real, lasting relationship. Clearly, that was my first mistake. If things are stressful after a month, they are probably not going to get less stressful. All the desire in the world for a healthy relationship will not make it so. After lots of small things, building into bigger things, morphing into the ridiculously huge things…well, even my optimistic-about-love self had called it quits.

However, SASS (Sex-Addicted, Sandwich Stealer), as I shall refer to him henceforth, clearly did not comprehend. The nasty emails started within a few days. I was gentle, as I have dealt with my own fair share of pain during ending relationships. As the emails continued and turned accusing, even going so far as to question my mental health (Ha!), I finally grew frustrated.  We managed to make a semi-peace by the end and he said I wouldn’t hear from him anymore.

A few weeks later, he shows up unexpectedly in a public place that he knows I will be at, doing his best (aside from a nasty look) to pretend I don’t exist. I get another email from him a few days later, insisting that we meet so he can have “closure”. Closure? For a two and half month long relationship? I thought the emails were closure! I gently respond in the negative, letting him know I don’t think a face-to-face meeting is a good idea. He becomes angry and I receive nothing else. Until he shows up at another public event he knew I would attend, but that he was unlikely to. Despite some passive-aggressive behavior on his part initially, we talk and it is civil, if awkward.

A week later, I find a letter in my door. It describes his emotional pain in wrenching detail, along with many statements about the mistakes he made while dating me and his acknowledgement of them. He states that being with me was one of the happiest times of his life. I read it, then tuck it away inside a drawer, thinking this must be the closure he was looking for.

Within the past two weeks I have received an expensive “belated birthday gift” (my birthday was two months ago) and an inappropriately intimate birthday card. I’ve arrived home to find 18 red roses sitting on my porch with a card that states: “Hope your day is as wonderful as you are, SASS.” However, the absolute shining star on the top of the stalking tree is what I discovered in my carport just the other day: A painting that is as tall as I am and would cover an entire wall of my livingroom. I lugged it into my kitchen and simply stood staring at it for a long, long time. Then I began to laugh. I laughed and laughed and yes, perhaps there was a note of hysteria in there for a few minutes. It would have been entirely appropriate if it had a plaque that read: “I will not be ignored!” Did he wake up that morning and think, “I know what will get her attention! A painting that will be the focal point of an entire room by its sheer size!” I also realized this painting was a perfect example of exactly why I ended the relationship. It mirrored the level of ego, self-absorption, and desire to control I saw during our time together.

The painting is beautiful. It speaks to my soul, as though he plucked the image from my head (which I’m trying to not examine too closely). Now I have to decide exactly what to do with it. What exactly does one do with a gigantic piece of artwork, created specifically with you in mind, from an ex with an unhealthy fixation? Do I keep it? Sell it? Give it away? I have no way to send it back, as I no longer know where he lives! Will it bring bad mojo to my life if it is in my house? Is it overly pragmatic and cold to think: “Cool! Free artwork!” when it is given to you by someone who claims you have decimated their soul (after 10 weeks)? If the various opinions regarding the symbolism in the painting are to be believed, he has worked everything from a giant vulva, to symbols of desolation and loneliness, to images of impending rebirth into this five foot tall statement.

I also realized that over the past two weeks, I have been obsessed with his next move. Afterall, he’s unstable! Will he leave something else? Right now it’s flowers and gifts and ludicrously over-the-top paintings…what if he starts leaving feces or dead kittens or severed fingers (okay, I don’t think he’s self-sacrificing enough to chop off a finger, thank goodness!)? What if he will never go away? What if he’s watching my house and peering into my window at night while I’m in my nightgown? What if he knows EVERY SINGLE MOVE I MAKE? I began to go to his Facebook page daily, trying to gauge by his activity what his state of mind was. Wait! He removed his profile picture! His friends dropped by twenty! He just removed two family members! Oh God…what if he’s suffering a complete psychotic break???

Then it hit me like a ton of bricks. I was actually stalking my stalker! In focusing on his next move,  I was not only allowing myself to be controlled, I was also beginning to mirror (to a lesser extent) his unstable behavior. So I sat down and I wrote him an email laying out my boundaries in terms that could not be misinterpreted: Do not ever contact me again, in any way. I copied someone else on it, so that he could see I was making someone else aware of my statement. Then I clicked send. In my mind, this is over.

Clearly, SASS and I don’t have that Vulcan mind-meld thing going on, because he’s already sent two emails. I am ignoring this and all future contact, unless I begin to feel I need the next step of a restraining order. I can only hope that won’t happen. I do know that I am moving on. No more obsessing about what he will do. He either will respect my wishes or he won’t; I can’t control him, only my own response. I have better things to think about.

This entry was posted on June 28, 2011 at 3:57 pm and is filed under Dating. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed. You can leave a response, or trackback from your own site.