WHAT THE HECK AM I THINKING?

Every time I come back to San Francisco, which is definitely "home" for me now, I wonder, what the heck am I thinking? Why am I even thinking about moving to London?

I have amazing friends here. I mean, really amazing. I have a full social calendar, and in this case "full" means full of doing things like last night's party.

When I was in London, I was desperately unhappy. I was experiencing culture shock, I had no belongings, no home, and few friends. Matthew made my life a living hell.

I didn't have any money, so I couldn't do the things I usually do that lead to a social life of my own. Incidentally, Matthew was an idiot about this. He looked at me as, geez, she has no life and wants to spend all of her time with me, and I don't think it ever occurred to him that I have a full and meaningful life, it just happens to be 3000 miles away at the time, and it's going to take me a while before I establish for myself here what I have at home.

The single stable element in my life was Matthew. By 'stable' I mean, I knew him before I arrived, and he seemed to me to be the thing to hold on to, to make me feel less alone and scared in a country in which I had to stare at the coins for five minutes before figuring out how to pay for a bus fare. Two days after I arrived, I found out that he'd been seeing someone else in my absence, and when I asked him about it, he lied. I trusted him, because I wanted to. I wanted to believe that I wasn't alone and lost.

Of course, then everything else happened. Him continuing to sleep with the ex-girlfriend who used his affection for her as a weapon in a battle she created. He not only watched her hurt me, but participated in it. There was a pretty constant stream of shows he invited me to, and then would argue with me two days before the show, and take her instead. I know this sounds really stupid, but I was really looking forward to those shows. It was like looking forward to Christmas and then realizing that your parents had forgotten to get you parents.

He was mean to me--when he argues, he gets really cruel and says really cruel things. When I'd confront him about his behavior, he'd say, "Well, I figure if I say cruel things to you, I must not love you," like the problem was some defect in our relationship--like if he'd found his 'soul mate' that he'd be kind, and I obviously wasn't living up to this theoretical person--instead of in his own character. He'd screen my phone calls. He'd tell me not to come over because his ex-girlfriend was at his house. One of his friends invited the two of us to parties, and he decided not to let me know that the invitation had been for the two of us. He never took me to a party that he went to. I think he was ashamed of me, because I'm not attractive like his ex-girlfriend. He made a lot of comments about how attractive other women were. He never complimented me, but would compliment them in front of me. He thought I was insanely jealous because I cried when he said that he really liked Michelle, but she was his friend's girlfriend, and he didn't steal friends' girlfriends any more. I don't know; I can't imagine telling my boyfriend that I'd rather be dating someone else who was just unavailable.

A typical day: I'd asked him if he had enough time to get together with me for an hour or two the next day. He said, sure. I asked what time, and he said to just call him right before I wanted to come over, because he'd be home all day. I took the hour train ride into the city, spent time in the Internet cafe looking for jobs (which was my daily routine) and then tried to call him, since I obviously didn't want to take the hour train ride back home and then another hour into the city to see him. He didn't answer.

I spent the rest of the day finding things to do in the city, and calling him, and he never answered. Finally, around 7:30 pm, I decided to leave and go home. I tried his phone on my way to the train station, and he answered. He said he'd gone to work that day, but didn't bother to tell me. He said he was too tired to get together that evening, and he didn't want to see me, but at that point I was hurt enough that I talked him into it anyway.

Almost every meeting we had was like that. We'd meet after he'd just done something so outrageously inconsiderate and insensitive, and then he'd say that he didn't like getting together because we had such a miserable time. It never occurred to him that he was creating those miserable times.

Why did I stay with him? I don't know. Because I'm an idiot. Because he was once kind to me. Because--because of this compilation CD he once made for me. Because I kept thinking that all of his behavior was due to the fact that had been hurt himself, and I thought that eventually he'd come around and see that I wasn't going to hurt him like whoever it had been in the past.

When I got sick, he just waited until I got better and called him. He never came over when I was sick. He never called and asked if I was all right. He never asked if I would like him to come over and bring medicine or cook. I remember telling my friend Sarah that it's easier to be alone. Because if you're in a relationship, you hope--you think there's the possibility that someone will be nice to you, that someone will want to bring you medicine when you're sick, and it hurts your feelings when it doesn't happen. When you're alone, you know it's just you, that there isn't anyone to bring you tissues or warm blankets, and you just get them for yourself, and it's no big deal. You don't even think about it.

Eventually, we broke up, and then eventually got halfway back together. Somewhere between friends and 'dating' or whatever you'd call that. I had no money and was running out of time, and knew I had to come back to the United States, and I was scared about it. He knew that. I knew that the moment I stepped on the plane, I was stepping out of his life. He would screen my calls again, he wouldn't email me, I would be out of sight and out of mind.

It didn't matter that I was scared. It didn't matter that I had no money and felt like I was jumping out of a plane with no parachute, and he knew this. None of this would matter to him, because he'd be too busy questioning his feelings for me to take time out to be kind. I didn't get any support from him when moving to the city he lived in--how could I possibly expect any kindness when I was moving away?

I would never expect someone to try to force himself to love someone he didn't love. But if you decide to be someone's boyfriend or friend, then you do have an obligation to be kind. You have an obligation to be as kind as possible to all human beings.

I was right. He did everything I'd imagined. Contact all but ceased. I finally confronted him about it on the telephone, and he acted like I was some stranger he'd had a one-night stand with at a party. He said I was asking for things he didn't want to give me. That I was not someone who had any kind of relationship with him, I was someone who had just once been in his life.

I spent the next three months completely alone. My sister and niece went to Alaska for the summer, and it was just me. I didn't know anyone in Spokane. There wasn't much within walking distance--a library and a couple of grocery stores. I had $20 per month. Not enough for gas in the car to get anywhere else, and not enough for groceries. It was really hard to be completely isolated like that. I was sometimes afraid, walking long distances and then fainting, and knowing I had nobody to call and couldn't afford a taxi ride home. It's really hard to have nothing but empty hours to fill when your heart has just been broken. I really wish I'd had someone. I sometimes would cry, and sometimes would stop myself from thinking about crying, because it felt like if I started, I'd completely break into pieces, and I was scared of what would happen.

So why am I thinking of going back?

Because it doesn't have anything to do with Matthew. I'm going to go back to London, not to him. Not that he'd have me anyway. It's kind of weird the way that works--pretty much every time I've seen people in a bad relationship, it ends up being the crappy person who leaves and doesn't want to get back together. Like they're some kind of fantastic prize that is undeserved by the other party. It's weird.

And I figure that when I go back, it will be like being sick. This time I'll know. I won't be thinking that there's the possibility that Matthew might care when I'm sick, or that he'll introduce me to one of his friends, or take me along to one of his parties. I'll know I'm alone. I'll know what the money looks like, even though I won't have much of it. And I'll concentrate a little harder on finding things to do that don't cost anything, so maybe I'll meet some people.

London's a big city. There must be people there something like my friends in San Francisco. I just have to find them. I don't know how, but I do know that I have only myself.

By the way, strangely, Matthew wrote to me the other day, and we ended up having an email conversation for a few hours. Nothing serious; just kind of idle banter. I'm not quite sure why he wrote me, although I know on some level he wanted something from me. I don't know what--maybe he was bored, or maybe he was looking for some kind of affirmation. I wrote back because, well, I'm stupid. Because I wanted to. Because I enjoy stupid little idle conversations with him.

Whatever it was, I know that he got what he needed. He believes he's a good enough person again, or he believes that he can still have a friendship with me if he wants it. Believes that he still retains the right of first refusal. I won't hear from him again unless I initiate the contact and give him a compelling reason to respond.

Under normal circumstances, you think things like, well, maybe he's just busy and has legitimate reasons for whatever. I'm really considerate when it comes to things like that. If him forgetting to call me when he wouldn't be available after all had just been an isolated incident, I wouldn't even remember it. But it happened constantly. I waited alone at pubs where friends' bands were playing, checking the door every few moments. Things like that. It's not an incident, it's a lifestyle.

So I still talk to him occasionally, just sort of leaving the door open in case he wants to change as a person. I know it won't happen, but it's this weird almost reflexive action on my part. Always give people chances, always send the inlaws who aren't speaking to you invitations to your parties. If they come, you'll make them feel welcome, but you know they never will.