Using writing, and meditation, and ice cream, and reading, and dreams,

and a whole lot of other tools to rediscover who I am,

after six years living with a man with OCPD.

Friday, January 13, 2012

The Relationship Was Toast from the Beginning

Breakfast featuring an omelette at an IHOP res...Image via WikipediaNot that I realized this.

See, I'm a breakfast-y person.  I have been since back in the day on the pill, I had to take my pill and vitamins with food, otherwise they made me nauseated.  I had an irregular work schedule, so my lunch and dinner were always at different times, but I could always have breakfast before work.  Might just be a bagel and some orange juice, or a bowl of cereal, but I always eat something in the morning.

Later, when I would spend the night at (an early)  boyfriend's place, if I/we had work we'd get up early and make love, then he'd treat me to IHOP.  If we didn't have work he'd make us breakfast, then we'd go back to bed and make love some more.

With a brief break for the child-rearing years, I became addicted to the whole cycle of lovemaking/breakfast/more lovemaking.  Perhaps lingering in bed or on the couch, watching old movies and cuddling, long past noon.  All of my lovers enjoyed it too, until...

At first, when I began seeing OCPD ex, we would make love first thing in the morning - but he was still caring for his aged father, so he would have to get up, go bathe and feed him.  Later, he was still set in that routine of get up and get the day started.  We might make love (morning wood), we might even linger in bed for an hour or two on a Sunday morning watching TV, but he was not a breakfast-y person.

Not knowing about OCPD, I thought it would just be a matter of time to coax him into such a fun, sensual experience on the weekends.  Memories of loveplay in the kitchen, kissing and caresses and feeding one another tidbits while making omelettes or blueberry muffins...  Forget about it.  One person in the kitchen at a time.  He had no interest in sharing the kitchen with me if I was cooking, and it was a federal offense if he was cooking and I came in, playfully grabbed his butt or kissed him.

A lot of times he claimed queasiness in the morning, that if he ate anything he would get sick.  (Since he self-medicated his anxiety with copious amounts of alcohol, can you say hangover, boys & girls?)  Most of the time, if I wanted a weekend cooked breakfast, I ate alone.  Sometimes he would allow me to fix a weekend breakfast for him, too, but we always ate at the table, never in bed or at the couch.   No loveplay during food preparation, at the table, or afterwards.

I missed a lot of things I'd come to believe were a normal part of a love relationship, but this one was a biggie for me.

And frequently, even when he "allowed" me to make him breakfasts, he found fault with them anyway.  The eggs were over or underdone.  Or cold (which often happened because he would delay coming to the table).  I prepared too much food.  Once I made scrambled eggs with bits of bacon crumbled into them.  Though he'd never told me, I should have known he didn't like bacon, ever, in any form.

He didn't even like the way I buttered his toast.  Generously, with the butter extending all the way to the edges of the toast.  That meant he got icky butter on his fingers, so unpleasant!  I began, on breakfast mornings, to simply put out the butter dish and a knife, slap the dry toast on his plate, and let him butter his own damn toast.  That way, he could leave the edges dry the way he liked them.

Although I am not yet ready to take a new lover, I am back to enjoying breakfasts again.  Quickies during the week; on the weekends, perhaps a big eggwhite scramble with broccoli, cheese and tomato.  I don't have to buy the bread he preferred, but can experiment: double fiber, whole wheat, potato bread...   Sometimes I even put jam on my toast!
A buttered crumpetImage via Wikipedia

This morning, a work day, I had a decadent two slices of Cinnabon toast (cinnamon gave him heartburn, he said) with butter (Smart Start butter substitute) spread all the way to the edge, so that each bite was equally flavorful.

I enjoyed it, but it makes me wonder...  It's been a year and a half since I moved out.  When will I stop remembering and reacting to that relationship, every time I butter my damn toast?  I enjoyed it, I am grateful to be able to do it the way I want without criticism or disgusted looks, but shouldn't I be over emotionally reacting by now?

Or is this a good thing, part of mindful eating?  I don't feel I am there yet, I think the hurt/trauma is still taking up a bit too much real estate in my mind.

What do you think?  Should I be over this by now?  Do you have hurts/traumas that are taking you longer to get over than you think they should?

As always, I love and appreciate your feedback.

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