If relationships are like swimming pools, then I’m a high diver. I leap in, head first, usually with terrible form and poor training, hoping that it all ends beautifully, with plenty of applause and praise. But it doesn’t end well. More often than not it’s an ugly thing, a giant thud of a splash, followed by the hushed, embarrassed silence to remind me that every step I took along the way was flawed.

Everyone experiences mental issues differently—there are no rules for how it effects you, or how it will make you behave. Mostly it makes me a confusing person to be around, and definitely makes me a minefield for any guy who wants to be with me. The smart thing to do would be to stay by myself, but instead I rush into relationships, clumsily, because I don’t like the feeling of being alone. When I’m alone there are no checks on the crazy thoughts that my brain can come up with—all of it comes to the surface when I don’t have anyone around to at least try to be normal for.

If men use women for sex, I’ve been guilty of using men for companionship under the guise of what we both think is love. I mean, I have loved my boyfriends, but love is a general term. Mostly the love was that comforting, roommate, friend-zone kind of love. I’d end up treating the guys in my life like pets—you want them around, but only when you want them around. After boyfriends grow out of the puppy phase I tend to take them for granted.

But I feel differently about Brandon. We don’t have anything resembling a relationship yet, but already my mind and body respond to him differently than any other guy I’ve ever met. He’s like a depression antidote—or maybe more like a depression band-aid, but it’s more than just that. Once I don’t feel depressed I can get a glimpse of who I really am, underneath all the emotional debris, and I can see clearly what I want. And right now, I want Brandon.

But before I can think of my future I need to let go of the past. I need to clear space so that Joel can let go of the past, also. It’s the least I can do, given how I treated him. I text him before meeting Abby for some coffee. She’s been pestering me to hear all about my lunch date with Brandon, and I finally gave in. We’re supposed to meet at the coffee place by my house in an hour. I have to admit: her reaction did make me laugh. You ate fucking sushi? You? Miss anti-sushi? What? He kissed you? The hot guy from the bookstore? I need every detail!

As I’m halfway through the text to Joel I hear a knock at the door. Oh God, don’t let it be. . . the sound of knocking is followed by the sound of a key in the lock, and before I can even walk over to let him in he’s let himself in. It’s funny how you can spend a year with someone—sharing a bed, sharing bodies, sharing everything intimate—yet once you void the contract with them, seeing them can be the most uncomfortable thing in the world. “Hey.”

“Shit, I had my timing way off, didn’t I?” Joel is Joel, after all. A good guy, but a bit of a mess as human beings go. I’m not surprised that he’s early, he always screws up times. We were always perpetually late or early to wherever it was we were going.

“I guess so.” It’s sad to see him. Not because I miss him, because he reminds me of the kind of coldness I’m capable of when I’m going through a spell. If Brandon makes me forget my depressed self, then Joel is the opposite—a stark reminder of what I’m capable of. “It’s okay, I was just leaving. You can go through whatever you want but I already put most of your stuff in boxes so you wouldn’t have to spend more time here than necessary.” I start to walk past him as he heads into the living room. I’m hoping to get out the door without any bull. . .

“So that’s it, huh? Out of sight, out of mind. I thought at least I’d get a text or call. Maybe an apology. But I guess I was stupid for thinking that.”

Here it is. The anger that he never fully let out. The resentment that’s probably been building for months. He feels like now is his chance to spew it all out because there are no consequences. But I’m not standing around to get berated in my own home. “Yeah, Joel, that’s it. You left. You left a note. You asked to come get your stuff and for me to not be here, and I gave you everything you wanted.”

“I wish,” he snickers under his breath.

“What’s that?”

“I said I wish that you could have given me everything that I wanted. You’re incapable of caring about anyone but your damn self. Lia only cares about Lia.”

I shouldn’t engage. I should be the better person. This is probably exactly what he wants—to goad me into a fight that’ll make him feel better and make me feel like shit. I shouldn’t take the bait. “That’s not true, Joel. I’m sorry that you think so little of me.”

He looks at me with tears in his eyes. Tears of frustration and anger, mixed together and being held back, despite some of it forcing its way to the surface of his eyes. “I wish I thought so little of you, Lia. If I did this whole thing would be easier. The last few months wouldn’t have been such torture.”

“Sorry it tortured you to be with me.”

“No, you’re not!” he screams. It startles me so much that I freeze in place. Joel’s not an explosive guy, so when his voice hits that pitch it frightens me. “You’re not sorry. Maybe in the abstract sense you are, but this wasn’t a quick thing, Lia. We didn’t cheat on each other. Nothing happened. You strangled us, nice and slow, until we were dead. There were plenty of times to pull back along the way if you were really sorry.”

It’s hard to argue with his points, but just because I agree with him doesn’t mean I need to stand here and listen to a list of all my flaws, just so he can feel better when he walks out the door for the last time. “You know what, Joel, I get it, okay. I do. Whether you believe me or not, I get it, and I am sorry that I hurt you, and that you’re so mad. But it’s over, alright? It’s over. We don’t need to do this anymore. There’s no point. Maybe we just weren’t right for each other.” Dammit, why’d I have to add that part at the end?

“Whatever you need to tell yourself.”

“Huh?”

“Maybe you’re not right for anyone, Lia.”

Now he’s just going for low blows, but I just bite my tongue. “You’re right about one thing. There’s no point in me ranting and raving. What is it going to accomplish? So, I’m just going to say one more thing before I don’t say anything to you ever again. Can I do that?” I don’t feel like listening any more, to any of it. But my feelings of guilt start to resurface when I see how sad he looks. I have thick skin, so I can let him get one more shot in before he just becomes someone that I used to know.

“What is it?”

“It’s not as simple as I loved you and you loved me. That sounds great—like a fairy tale—but that’s not how real relationships work. I realized when I was writing that note that I didn’t break up with the Lia I fell in love with. I didn’t break up with you. I broke up with the you that you became, the one you turned into and didn’t bother to tell me. That’s who I was wrong for.”

I start to feel my own tears fill my eyes. I can’t take this. I need to get out of here. “Goodbye, Joel.”

“Goodbye, Lia. I loved you.”

In the hallway, the only sounds are the beating of my heart, the echo of the slammed door, and the death rattle of my last relationship.