It was a crush, all right. It crushed my long-term relationship. It crushed even longer-term friendships. It crushed my job. It crushed my finances.
I was with the man I had wanted for 11 years. We had been together more than a decade. And then Pete showed up to my place of employment one day. And the way he said my name, actually pronouncing the “t” as a “t” rather than the Americanized “d,” was how it started. It grew from there, certainly.
The feelings I had sent me, for the very first time, to a therapist. “How can this be happening,” I wanted to know. I dreamt about him. I became fearful that I would talk about him in my sleep.
I told my secret to Jeff, the friend I had first made in San Francisco a dozen years before. He was someone that I was working with, who I was working for, really. In the end, he probably thought he could make it all go away by firing Pete. Thinking about it clinically today, 11 years after the fact, he probably wanted to fire Pete so that I would not leave the other, the other who was also Jeff’s friend.
Instead, I did the complete opposite. I confessed the crush to Pete. And I left the man I had been with for so long. It’s what was meant to be. I walked away from it all. And in walking away from what I thought was all, I found everything. “Everything” is called Pete and the kids and our lives together. Thank God it also crushed my resignation to never have children.
[Written for Sunday Scribblings. They provide a word, you do the rest.]