October 2017
A few months pass, and with them, the masks begin to slip. What once seemed harmonious and simple reveals itself to be far more complex. Our differences, initially anecdotal, become increasingly pronounced. She was much more down-to-earth, even prosaic; I was more spontaneous, always inclined to play the clown. Two temperaments that, over time, grew more and more opposed.
I quickly discovered that her family and social circle was far more closed off than I had imagined. While family gatherings remained pleasant, I struggled to find my place among her friends, and every moment spent with them reminded me of the absence of my own. A latent frustration emerged, one that I unconsciously attributed to her, and numerous conflicts began to arise over various subjects: our values, our views on life, spirituality, religion... Before long, jealousy entered the picture—a feeling I had never anticipated and one that I would later help fuel myself.
Indeed, one of our very first sources of conflict revolved around Elyne, my best friend at the time. She was part of the group of friends I mentioned in the previous chapter, the very same group from which I had gradually distanced myself after meeting Miss C.
Back then, Elyne and I were a bit like the Bonnie and Clyde of the group, almost always together, laughing about anything and everything. From the outside—and before I met Miss C.—many people even assumed we were a couple. It must be said that our little nicknames, such as “My Dream” or “darling,” did little to dispel suspicions among those who were not part of the gang. Yet I never considered her anything more than what she had always been to me: a true friend, with no ulterior motives whatsoever.
“— You got a message...
— Oh, who is it, sweetheart?
— It’s ‘My Dream,’ she said in a cynical tone.
— Aren’t you a little jealous?
— Of the lesbian? Give me a break.
— It’s true that she has a bit of a tomboy side... But as far as I know, she’s not really into girls!
— Why? Have you already had her in your bed? Ha ha...
— Of course not. It’s just that I’ve always seen her with guys. Besides, she’s moving in with her boyfriend next month.
— The one who’s never around when we hang out with your friends? That’s still pretty strange.
— Well, yeah... What do you want me to tell you?
— Maybe he finds all the ‘darling,’ ‘My Dream,’ and all that a little strange too.
— Alright, what exactly are you trying to prove?
— Me? Nothing. I have nothing to hide.
— Neither do I.
— Mmh... I talked about it with my parents and my sister. They think it’s rather unusual.
— Do they even know her?
— No, but I told them what I thought.
— And what do you think?
— That I can’t stand her.”
Once Miss C. entered the picture, it was obviously no longer so easy to convince her that it was all just harmless banter between friends. So even though I didn’t want to change the way I behaved toward Elyne, I began to tone down the nicknames out of respect for the woman who now shared my life.
Little by little, Elyne and I stopped seeing each other as often and eventually drifted apart, especially when she herself began her life as a couple and moved in with her partner.
June 2018 — September 2020
In June 2018, our relationship was still hanging by a thread, but another project with a redemptive appearance began to take shape in our minds: buying a house of our own.
We were convinced that a new home would be an opportunity for a turning point for us, the start of a new chapter. It is true that the apartment we were living in was a bit cramped and that we lacked personal space. And then, as time went on, the moments spent with her family became increasingly frequent, resulting in a proximity that bordered on suffocation, for both her and me.
At first, I wanted to believe in it. After all, the previous summer had been incredible—so many great moments, especially those spent with her and her family: those gargantuan meals where her father would open his best bottles while her mother prepared memorable feasts. But what had once charmed me at the beginning had now become oppressive. Weekends oscillating between endless evenings and burdensome obligations: the Friday gatherings, the Saturday flea markets, the Sunday football matches, and the everyday hypocrisy throughout the week, including those already mentioned days. I constantly felt like I was lying to myself, and everything inside me was screaming to escape.
And so, in September, after completing all the administrative steps, we moved into our new haven, eagerly beginning this new chapter aimed at restoring balance to our relationship. But unfortunately, the arguments continued and quickly accumulated, with new themes emerging—such as the distress caused by the lack of visits from her family, which turned out to be more difficult than she had imagined. Something new also became increasingly recurring.
From the beginning of our relationship, I knew that Miss C. was seeing a kinesiologist. Up until then, I saw nothing unusual in it. However, the rational man in me began to have serious doubts when she started telling me about past lives she had supposedly lived, as narrated to her by her therapist. At first, I remained neutral, even though many inconsistencies caught my attention. But when the therapist began acting like an oracle about our relationship, and—using Miss C.’s emotional vulnerability—it became impossible for me to stay silent any longer. Our opinions gradually diverged, and some exchanges became very heated.
A few months after moving in, following a major argument, Elyne sent me a message along the lines of, “Hey, what have you been up to?”
As the conversation went on, I stirred things up by asking her if she wanted to come and see where I was now living. I had, however, somewhat covered my tracks—Miss C. had told me she was going to stay at her parents’ place, which shows how far things had escalated. On my side, I think I needed to share my daily life with someone who knew me, since I had been keeping it fairly secret from those close to me—though they weren’t fooled, of course.
But when you play games, you have to accept that your plans sometimes fall apart. That was the case when I heard the living room door open while I was still talking to Elyne. Miss C. clearly did not expect that. Shortly after she came in, I heard her storm up the stairs at a frantic pace, full of anger. I have to admit it wasn’t very fair of me. I then felt ashamed, because I didn’t want to put my friend in an uncomfortable position or involve her in such a situation. She quickly understood that things were tense and gathered her things, leaving me to deal with my own mess.
If this is just one story among many, one thing is certain: these chains of disagreements and arguments only widened the gap between us. But leaving seemed impossible. Despite the toxic atmosphere, part of me was still attached to her, to this relationship, and I was afraid. Afraid of going back to my previous life, to that small room soaked in solitude. Afraid of losing the status I had acquired, of abandoning the image of the “successful” thirty-something I had worked so hard to build. The house then became a symbol: that of a dream that blinded me. What we had imagined as a solution to our problems, a refuge, ultimately only amplified the cracks in our relationship. Our relationship revealed itself for what it truly was: a house of cards, fragile and unstable. Arguments became increasingly violent, reproaches constant. We spent hours rehashing our faults, trying to determine who had hurt the other more. Every unresolved conflict fed a silent anger, a resentment that kept taking root.
Moments of happiness became rare, replaced by accumulated frustrations, unspoken words, and betrayals. Jealousy, lies, and a lack of emotional support became our daily reality, and what had brought us together at the beginning—tenderness, laughter, shared projects—faded away, leaving only illusions in this oppressive routine.
Nearly two years later, at the end of September 2020, I was at my breaking point. Exhausted by a relationship that had become a battlefield. Arguments reached absurd proportions as we repeatedly broke up and got back together. Public scenes multiplied, dragging our loved ones into this chaotic whirlwind. When I wasn’t with her, I would escape into outlets of my own: brief reunions with friends I had pushed aside.
And then…