Can You Die of a Broken Heart?

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Can you die of a broken heart?

Conceivably.

However I didn’t because here I am.

Broken heart syndrome is commonly described as a physical pain in the heart or chest area, which is due to the emotional stress caused by a traumatic breakup or the death of a loved one. Hmmmm death almost seems like the favorable option here – not mine. His! (Yes, I am a bitch even when I am sad).

Why? What happened? You may ask. Well, this is where you may hate me – I am not ready to write about what happened. I can say this much though that it has been a year since the heart break happened and I am better. A lot better. So much better in fact, that I have a lot less pain in my heart. There are days when there is absolutely no pain. I think of him less and less. I can’t say yet that days go by where I don’t think of him but I am hopeful.

I have been blessed with the ‘moving on’ gene. I thank the imaginary Gods every day for this. It’s not from a lack of feeling on my part (Trust me, I feel wholeheartedly) – it’s just that I am an optimist and believe that good things will happen to me even when shitty things happen.

So why even bother writing this post at the risk of angering or irritating my readers?

What can I say … along with the ‘moving on’ gene – I also have the ‘testing my limits gene.’

But in all seriousness, I am writing the story that I speak of  with good old fashioned pen and paper. I have to do it in very small increments since I don’t want to get sucked into the sadness. I have successfully graduated from the crying, pining, teary stage where I would deliberately listen to sad songs to make me cry in an attempt to let it all out.

I am also looking for the silver lining that every story or event in your life is supposed to have. Thus far I am the only silver and fuck, the golden lining in HIS life. I haven’t been able to come up with ONE good reason why this man came into my life.

As soon as I have some answers, my dear readers, you will be the first to know.

I leave you with this…

This is encouraging:

The wound is the place where the Light enters you. – Rumi

Stick with me please.

Until I date again!

 

 

Desperate times call for desperate measures

 

 

I hate lies – who doesn’t.

This happened yesterday.

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I had written about V in a previous post – the guy who left for India and never returned for several years, all the time thinking we were in some sort of a relationship; all the time appearing and disappearing at will.

I wrote about him in 3 posts actually – the link for one is here: https://datinginnewyorkblog.wordpress.com/2017/05/12/i-think-i-may-have-dodged-a-bullet/

Well, yesterday he reached a new low – showed me a side of him that I never imagined existed.  But nothing surprises me anymore.

I was at work and got a call. The caller ID said Vishal (no need to hide his name anymore). I know another Vishal and thought it was him and answered the phone excitedly. I heard a voice and right away realized it wasn’t the Vishal that I hoped it was. I hung up. Yes I did.

The phone rang again and again. And again. I kept declining the call.

Finally I saw the typing notification on the phone and waited.

I was informed that Vishal has died.

My heart sank. It broke actually. I sat down. I wanted to scream. I wanted to cry. I wanted to call someone. But who would I call in the middle of the day? Plus I was teaching a class.

The phone rang again. I picked up.

“Hello,” I said tentatively.

“Hello madam, Vishal sir has died.”

I didn’t know what to say. “How did it happen?” My ears were burning. I had stepped out of the classroom and into the hallway. I wanted to sit down. My knees were giving in. I looked around and there was no where I could sit, and so I leaned into the wall, hoping it would hold me up.

“And who are you?” I asked.

“I am Babu. Just wanted you to know.”

“And how is his mother?”

“His mother died a year ago madam,” he replied.

No she hadn’t. I had spoken to her just a few months ago.

I could feel the wheels in my brain begin to rotate. I began to listen to the voice more carefully.

“Babu you said? Who are you? His friend?”

“No madam, I work for the family. I am a small man.”

No one says that.

The voice was sounding more and more familiar. I was quiet. Didn’t know what to say next.

“Do you have any message?” said the voice on the other end of the phone.

“Message? Message for who exactly.” Now I was screaming. Now I was angry.

“His mother is dead. He is dead. Who am I sending the message to Vishal?”

I was screaming even more loudly and had walked into the restroom, into a stall and locked the door.

It was Vishal calling, telling me he had died. Bastard!

“What the fuck Vishal. What are you trying to pull here?”

“But madam…” the voice was getting more familiar. The voice wasn’t even trying to alter itself anymore.

“You are a motherfucker you know,” I yelled with tears running down my cheeks.  These were not tears of sadness. I was livid.

I hung up the phone and walked out to the sink. I ran the cold water and left my hands under the faucet. My whole body had heated and I was trembling. My phone was ringing in my pocket. I wasn’t going to pick up. He had gone too far. I looked into my eyes in the mirror and they were red and I almost saw flames coming out of them. The door to the restroom opened and a colleague walked in.

“Hey how you doing? I have to sit in one of your classes some day. I hear they are a lot of fun,” she said as she walked towards the stall.

“That would be great. Anytime you like, just let me know,” I replied. My voice seeming shaky to myself but I think I did okay. To be sure I threw in a cough, so it would seem my voice was strange because maybe I was choking. I washed my cheeks, keeping away from the eyes so as to not make things worse by messing up the eye liner. I needed to pull myself together and get back to class.

I had turned the ringer of the phone off but could feel it vibrating constantly. There were at least 20 missed calls when I finally looked at it.

What could he possibly want to say to me. He lied. He got caught. Now what?

I dried my face with a paper towel, applied the lip gloss I carried in my pocket and this time the face looking back at me looked good enough that no one would notice that I had just been on a roller coaster where I learned that a man that I once loved had died. And then in a few moments learned that he hadn’t, nor had his mother and that he lied so callously.

I opened the restroom door and walked towards the classroom. The phone rang one more time and without thinking I picked up.

“What is it that you want?”

“I want to know what you wanted from him,” said Vishal still referring to himself in the third person and trying to keep up the charade even though he clearly knew that I knew it was him.

“I want nothing from you. I have wanted nothing from you for a very long time. I do however want you to leave me alone and never try to contact me again. Asshole!”

I turned off my phone, walked into my class and finished the last hour where we were learning about how to fortify braising liquids when cooking meats.

This happened yesterday. I haven’t had much time to process it. I am not going to spend much time doing that though. What I have come up with is that this was some desperate ass move to get me to talk to him, feel bad for him, miss him. I will never be sure really. This is the same man who had feigned cancer a few months ago and now we had escalated to death! Just great.

I will not analyze this any further except he is a sick man and needs help.  That help shall not be coming from me however. He can be rest assured about that.

I now feel that I have heard it all.

Until I date again!

When You Are Always Waiting for the other Shoe to Drop

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When you have been through a lot of crap in life – you are always waiting for the other shoe to drop even when things are looking good.  Is this fair to the person you are with?  Probably not.

But it is a learned behavior and one always has to look out for oneself first.

Get ready for some contradictions in this post…

While I consider myself the ultimate optimist – I try not to be delusional.  And so, when I meet someone that I like, I get attached very quickly and want things to work out.  Even when this new person does everything (well, most things) right, I am looking at him through the lens of previous relationships.

I am not sure if this was a good idea or not but I shared this manner of thinking with the someone new in my life. At first he didn’t know what I was saying, probably since I hadn’t articulated it to anyone before.  When I explained again, he said, “hmmmmm,”along with a nod.” A habit he has.  A habit we have to work on :-).  I get a lot of hmmmmmm’s from him.

I digress.  After the hmmmm he held my face in his hands, stared into my eyes and said, “I am here, you are here and we are happy. Yes?”

True.  I need to learn to chill. But when a new relationship has many things right about it and a couple of big things that are mighty iffy, one can’t help but fret.  Nevertheless, the advice to live in the moment and enjoy what is … is wise.

Besides, what else can I do at this stage anyway?  I am not going to have the conversation about being exclusive now.  It’s way too soon.  But our living logistics are not ideal in that he doesn’t live in my city and I shall see him for a week every six weeks. O well. I’ve had worse.

Well, it’s the beginning of the six weeks and this morning my doorman buzzed the apartment saying, “you have a package.”

I went down, still in my pajamas. I was handed a square white box wrapped in a pretty purple bow.  I had no idea what it was.  The box was light in weight and had no return address or any markings whatsoever.  I took the elevator to my apartment, opened the door and smelled the coffee brewing.  I pulled on the purple bow and opened the box.  There were two petit fours in there with an envelope wedged onto the side of the box.  I was so excited.  I ripped the envelope open to find a note that read:

“Sorry, this is typed and not handwritten.” He does listen.  I had told him that nothing was more special than a handwritten note.

“Sweets for my sweet, even though you call me your sweet, AND told me you don’t particularly like sweets. haha. Just know that I will do everything possible to give you what you want…Lots of kisses.”

My coffee maker beeped and brought me out of the trance the note had put me in. I can’t recall the last time I got a note from a man, and such a sweet note on top of that.

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For now I shall enjoy the sweets with my coffee, enjoy the moment and wait for six weeks to pass.

(The purpose of this post is to figure out if this ‘waiting for the other shoe to drop’ way of thinking is a good thing. And, of course I would love it if those of you reading this would tell me if you relate to what I am saying.  Ever had experiences/thoughts of those that I speak of?)

Until I date again!

 

 

 

Embrace the embrace

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This was the first picture I sent him saying, “the view from my window as I drink my morning coffee.”

“Oh how I miss the city,” he wrote back right away.

We communicated via text and long phone calls, along with face time for about a week and then he was to be in New York. The conversation was so easy and we laughed a lot.  He made many crass jokes as did I.  Our humor was compatible.  We got each other. If you can make me laugh, laugh at my joke –  half of your job is done.  In between the jokes, there was flirting – both sweet and sensual.  Our energy was the same and there was a lot of electricity flowing through those whatsapp and face time lines.

On the day we were to meet he was standing outside the building as I walked towards him.  Our eyes met and he walked towards me.  He gave me the longest, most intimate hug that a stranger can give another stranger.  A hug says so much about two people.  The way you fit into each other, the comfort you feel with the touch. He buried his face in my neck and just wouldn’t let go.  It was more like a reunion than a first meeting. It was as though he was breathing me in.  We finally untangled from the glorious hug; he took my hand and we walked into the building.  No words.  There was no need.  My hand sat perfectly in his hand.  We stepped into the elevator and there was a couple with the cutest baby in a stroller.

“How do you keep from eating your baby’s cute feet?” I said to the mother.

She smiled and he laughed heartily still holding on to my hand.  This was the first sound he had made since we had met downstairs. It was the same laugh he had laughed so often in our phone conversations.  We walked down the corridor, he slid the card into the door and opened it.  We walked in, shut the door and …

(I haven’t said this in a while, but you will need to buy the book in order to get the juicy details.  And there are plenty, trust me 🙂 ).

The point of this post is that sometimes the connection between two people can be so strong and so instant – it’s as though you have known each other for ages.  When that happens, it has to be treasured and appreciated. And I do!

Okay, I’ll let you inside the aforementioned door for a few moments.

“Why are you sitting on the chair?”

“Because there is no couch, just a bed.”

“Why, you don’t like beds?”

“I love beds but I’m a lady,” I laughed.

“You sure are,” he pulled me up and gave me another hug.  This time I was the one with my face buried in his neck as he tried to kiss my cheek. I could get used to this.

He poured me a drink and I sat on the bed, as lady like as I could manage on a king size bed with sheets that had been turned down for the night.

“I just love talking to you,” he said and that doesn’t happen often.

“Me too.”

“I could talk to you all night.  I am so conflicted though … because there are so many other things I want to do with you,” he said with that naughty smile I had begun to adore.

“Are you short on time?” I asked.

“No. Why?”

“Because we could do some conflict resolution. We could talk and all the other things you may have in mind.”

“Cheers,” he said as we clinked the plastic cups and he climbed on to the bed.

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You really don’t expect me to show you more!

Until I date again!

 

 

Then there is that …

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When he wraps himself around you in the middle of the night.  Every square inch of his skin touching every square inch of your skin.

Yah that…

Until I date again!

I Think I May Have Dodged a Bullet – Part 3 and The End!

Part Three:

Well, he did call and had nothing of substance to say.  I have a good memory for memorable things – and since I don’t remember our conversation, you are safe to assume he said nothing memorable.

At the risk of alienating people who are reading my posts and looking forward to the next ones – let me tell you the whole story now.

This story, for me is really about how a person can change entirely that they become unrecognizable. And I don’t mean change in things like – he was nice and then he was not; or that he loved me and then he did not…

In this particular case, the man that I met in New York, fell in love with and talked about getting married (something I haven’t done with many men) became an entirely different man within a short time.  The change didn’t occur overnight but it definitely had a upward or downward trajectory – whichever way you may want to look at it.  And it continued for years; I believe it is still happening.  The difference is that I no longer care, it no longer impacts me and the changes are a tad more subtle now.

A little backstory before we move on:

When V went back to India to take care of his mother who had a stroke, he had gotten a very generous family leave from the company that he was working for.  This was the same company that at the end of that year was going to finalize his green card process. When the leave was coming to an end, he was contacted by the company to ask him of his decision as to how to proceed.  Since we were not in touch, once again, I learned of this after the fact and also was unable to make him answer them.  Well, the day came and went when he was to get back to them and so he was let go.

By not responding to one email of his intentions, he threw away 10 years of his work at this prestigious company and his chance of becoming a legal resident of the United States where I was; and also where he wanted to live.

This was a very different man from the one I had met in New York. When we met he was ambitious and excited about his future.  He was well educated with three advanced degrees, very disciplined since he had also been an officer in the Indian Navy.  Now he was drinking everyday, not looking for a job; or finding jobs that were not up to par with his education or qualifications.

One might argue that when one is stressed, one drinks.  That is true but there is drinking and then there is drinking.  He rapidly turned into a drunk and then a full blown alcoholic.

Now the calls I got were in a drunken stupor with him telling me he is fucked up, his life is fucked up; and in the next breath, “Come to Bombay and save me.”

So far I still loved this man and did contemplate going to India to be with him and see what could be done to help him.  I was not delusional enough that I could solve all his problems or save him but I sure could be there for him.  That’s what people in love do.  Every time I would start looking at tickets and planning my trip, something else would happen like he had to now take his mother to Agra (another city) for treatment or he would just disappear for weeks.  My concern started to turn into anger and eventually the urge to give up on this relationship was stronger than the love I felt for him.

While all this was happening, I was seeing F and that relationship was developing.

How could I do that – you may ask.  I’m not sure.  That’s just how the cookie was crumbling.

I even told F about V and he didn’t have much to say.  He told me that I was being a good friend and it seemed to him that that was all I could do.

I continued to see F and even wrote an email to V telling him that I was now with someone else and that he should try to get better for his sake.  Not wait for me or anyone else to save him.  That’s just not how it works.  These words were falling on deaf ears – he was consumed with drinking and now his mother started to get better and was very worried for her son.

He did get a job but quickly got fired due to a drunken episode that led to some sort of altercation in a bar.

It was now fall of the year when he left and I flew to Australia to spend about four months there.  By now V had totally stopped contacting me and I didn’t bother either.

Towards the end of my trip in Australia I get a message from him telling me that I was in Australia and he was thinking of coming to the US.  How he knew I was there – I have no idea as I hadn’t told him.  I later learned that he was lurking on facebook and other social media to figure out my whereabouts. I also believe that his messages were written to me during some crazy drinking episodes because they were angry and accusatory of what I was doing in Australia.  Well, I was doing nothing untoward – I was with family.  Besides, it was none of his business any more.

Fast forward to just a few months back – 5 years after he left for India and never returned – he contacted me, fresh out of rehab.  Hallelujah!  I could tell by the way he was speaking and the language he was using.

“How do you know that I was in rehab?” he asked.

“I know the lingo – I have several friends in the program.”

“You know you were right about everything you said.  That I need to get better for myself.  That I need to love myself and only then can others love me.”

“I am just glad you got help,” I replied.

“I am now in Bangalore with mom and have a job.  I am going to get myself together and then I want you to come and then we can get married.”

It was like he was suspended in a time warp, while I had moved on, many many times over.

“I want you to get better and get things in order.  I am very happy for you but I am not going to marry you.  We haven’t been together for 5 years.”

“But, you are my bubu…”

“That was then, this is now.” I felt awful saying this stuff to him.  Actually I didn’t.  I was telling him the truth.  I no longer loved him.  I no longer believed that he and I could ever have a future. The sooner he realized that, the sooner he could move on with his life.

“I told mom about you and she was so mad that I came here and let you go.”

“Your mother is a smart woman!”

“If I somehow come to the US, we could get married.”

“I don’t think you are understanding what I am saying. You are welcome to come to the US.  It’s a free country but there shall be no marriage.  If you do come, call me and we can meet and see what happens.  But I can promise you there shall be no marriage – at least between you and I.”

I have no idea if he even understood what I was saying.

To wrap it up – our last interaction.

“I am going to London for business.  Come meet me there. Please. It’ll be so nice.”

London … I could do that, I thought to myself.

“I’ll send you my itinerary – it will be in the next three weeks.”

I looked at tickets and thought it was feasible.  Why not.  I could meet him for old time’s sake. I could use a mini vacation.

Ready for this?

Two weeks go by. I hear nothing from him.  People don’t change, I suppose.  Or they change so much that they are not even recognizable.

I obviously nixed the idea of going since he couldn’t even keep in touch in the weeks before our trip or tell me the dates so we could plan.

At the time I thought he was to be in London, I texted him, “Hope you are having fun in London.”

“My trip was delayed. I have cancer.”

Call me what you like – intuitive, a bitch, callous – but I knew he didn’t have cancer.

He said it just to get a rise out of me. And in other news, he had started drinking again.

There were some exchanges in text – I said some nasty things and in a couple of days his cancer had turned into the flu.

“Was it cancer or the flu?” were my last words to him.  Ever!

I got texts from him from London or wherever the hell he was. I never responded.

I got texts when he got back to India. I never responded.

I was done.

I am done.

And that is the story!

Wait – I am still done but I want to say this that I am so sorry that a man like him – so full of life, love and aspirations has now been reduced to what he has. I am sorry that his father died.  I am sorry that his mother got sick but we have to take care of ourselves first before we can do anything for any one else.

I feel so sorry for him even though I don’t love him any more – he really is stuck and doesn’t know how to get out of the situation he finds himself in.

He was compelled to tell me many times that he had not been any other woman since me.

“Well, that’s awful. I don’t know why you would do that to yourself.”

“I know you have been with many men,” he would reply.

“That’s really no longer your business!”

Okay now that’s the end of the story.

I am curious to hear from you – should I write a script and send it to a C class Hollywood producer 🙂

There shall be no script but I would love to hear from you about this story or any of your experiences.

Until I date again!

 

I Think I May Have Dodged a Bullet-Part 2

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Upon reading the first part of the story someone commented they like watching their shows on Netflix so they can binge watch them. I am going to take that as a compliment – that my story is binge worthy.  What can I say? I take what I can get.

Part Two

…months go by and I don’t hear from him.  I move on – I don’t want to move on – I was perfectly happy where I was.  I went through the gamut of emotions – mostly I was sad and eventually I was angry.  Angry is ann emotion I am far more comfortable with than sadness.

I was sitting in a cafe having lunch with a girlfriend, telling her what had happened with V and my phone rang.  Guess who it is?

Yup – you guessed right.

Some other woman may not have picked up the phone.  I am not that woman.

I answered and heard his voice.  It was him.  Sounded just like him and his tone was as if we had spoken yesterday and were speaking everyday. Not as though he had disappeared for four months.

The cafe was loud and I walked outside onto the streets of New York which are not much better but I think what he told me was that things had gotten crazy.  In the din of the traffic, I heard someone died.

“I’m sorry,” I said.

“Mom is not taking it well,” he replied.

Oh there is still a mom?  So who the fuck died?

We began having a parallel conversation.  He was telling me something and I was asking him something else.  After struggling for a few minutes, trying to hear each other in vain, I said I would be home in a couple of hours and that he must call me then.

I went back inside where my friend was waiting anxiously.

“What does he have to say?” she said as I struggled to slide back into the booth.

I moved the food aside, kept the cup of coffee in front of me and put my face in my hands.

“What? Don’t do that,” she said trying to move my hands away from my face.

I looked up, tears streaming down my face.

“What did he say?”

“I am not sure,” I said.

“What does that mean?”

“That means,” I said wiping the tears with the paper towel from the dispenser.  It scratched my face and also disintegrated at the same time into my hands “Cheap shit,” I said.  “Why do we even come here?”

“We come here because you love it here,” she said.

“True,” I said laughing.

I looked like a crazy person – tears on my face and laughing with a wad of flimsy tissues in my hands.

“Would you fucking please tell me what he said.  What do you mean you are not sure what he said?”

“The connection was bad and I couldn’t hear or understand what he was saying.  I thought he said his mom died but then said she was not taking it well; and so I assume a grandmother, an auntie or someone like that died. I told him I was pissed that he disappeared – didn’t ask him why because I couldn’t hear what he was saying anyway. I told him I would be home in a couple of hours and that he had better call me then.”

“Oh.”

“Yah,” I said taking a sip of the now cold coffee.  “What am I going to do about F?”

“F, yes.  What are you gonna do about F?”

“I have no idea. I obviously loved V.  Maybe I still love him. I am just fucking F, but… May I have some more coffee,” I said gesturing to the waitress.

“Go home, let him call and see what he has to say.”

“You are right,” I said as the waitress brought me a fresh cup of coffee.

We sat there in silence, my fingers wrapped around the coffee mug and me staring into nothingness.

“Let’s go.  You need to get home.”

“You are right.  Let’s get the check.”

“I paid the check.  Now let’s go.”

“Thanks, you are a good friend.”

We walked out of the cafe.  I took the bus home and she walked down the stairs to the subway.

Does he call? What does he say?

Now you get to wait for Part 3

Until I date again!