I’m spending every week night on the phone, every weekend on snapchat, and every waking moment wondering what will become of us. We might be lucky enough to have technology help close the gap, but the geographical distance is putting a strain on us. A big one. The strain is rearing its ugly head in a multitude of ways; my bank account, my fuse, my heart and my mind. We’re living single lives, without the single label. My un-trusting, anxious, un-hopeful self has crept back and she isn’t showing any signs of disappearing – if anything, she’s making her presence loud and clear. And it’s not going down too well with my long distance counterpart.
This isn’t sustainable, it isn’t healthy – and I seem to remember these feelings far too well. Been here, done this – got the t-shirt. I hate this t-shirt, I swore this t-shirt would never be worn again, that it would only ever be used as a cleaning rag. Without even realising, the t-shirt somehow came back in to fashion, and here I am again, donning the latest long distance relationship look – drained, tired and broke.
Sitting in a sushi train restaurant on my last night during one of our long weekend visits, we again broach the topic of moving cities to be together. He doesn’t want me to move to where he is – he doesn’t even like the city himself, let alone there being a severe lack of marketing career opportunities for me. This leaves us with two options; Sydney or Melbourne. I’m open to both. He seems to be resistant, but I can’t quite put my finger on it. He looks sad, he looks tired – he looks how I feel. He throws London in to the mix – an absolute no brainer of a move for me. We cut the talk short so we don’t ruin our last night together with the plan to pick it back up in a few weeks after some serious thinking. The rest of the night is pure bliss, hand holding, kisses, cuddles, adorable looks – exactly how it always is between us when we’re together if you take away the annoying but necessary talks that every long distance couple encounters when there is no finish line in sight.
A few weeks have come and gone – I’m pretty sold on the idea of London but he still has no idea. What he does know is that he wants to be in London one day, but not for 3-4 years. He can’t make a decision on where to move to, which in my mind directly translates to the fact that he can’t and won’t commit to me. He acknowledges that his indecision is messing me around, that if he can’t even make a commitment to where he wants to live, how can he possibly include me? I’m pretty hurt – very hurt in fact. I don’t really know what to say or what to do. I want to shake him and make him make a decision! I can’t do that so instead I decide a few days space (ironic I know…) is what we both need – to clear our heads and work out what on earth we’re going to do. The only thing I currently know is that things can’t continue the way they are. I’m turning in to a neurotic, crazy lady. Not usually my style, but it seems to be a natural byproduct of a long distance relationship with no light at the end of the tunnel.
I cry myself to sleep. I know what this means, I know these warning signs far too well. He can’t make a decision on where to be even though he knows distance is risking the end of us. For us to work, we need to be in the same city – but it’s working out that city that seems to be the problem. Although the decision of the city is being blamed…I can help but feel it’s slightly more deep seeded than that. I’m not stupid, I’m not naive. He can’t make a decision and as a long distance veteran I am unfortunately wise enough to know that it’s because I don’t mean enough to him for him to make that call. The risk doesn’t seem to be outweighing the decision.
Day one of space…it’s a miserable day to go with my miserable mood. I get on the bus in the dreary winter weather and it hits me.
I’m moving to London.
All I have to do now, is tell him that.
distanced hearts club ♥