I have a difficult time understanding why I’m so attracted to my friend H. When I first wanted to sleep with him, I tried to convince myself that there was some mistake, some kind of glitch in the filing system of my libido; after all, he wasn’t as physically attractive as Husband, didn’t have the same sense of humor that I loved, wasn’t as educated—on paper, H is significantly less desirable in pretty much every regard.
I guess these issues are irrelevant, though. Whatever magical properties of attraction dragged me to him in the first place have held fast for the past eight months, despite evidence that I’d be much better off without him. There have been plenty of good times; after all, he calls me his best friend. But there are also the bad times: the times when my emotional stability is completely dependent on how much attention he pays to me. The times when he ignores me for days on end because he simply can’t be bothered to answer the phone. The times when he breaks things off with me, only to change his mind days later when he wants sex and I’ve just barely recovered from the emotional blow. He’s inconsiderate, dishonest, and deeply, incorrigibly self-centered.
I know better than to think I can change anyone, but my behavior around this guy doesn’t appear to involve rational thought. I keep wishing he’ll treat me better, come to his senses, think of others, for a change. I have this mad idea that if I just hang on to him, the good will appear, and he’ll turn into an emotionally-mature adult capable of respect and honesty. And no matter how many times he reminds me that this is pure fantasy, I continue to return to it. I need, desperately, to move on; but knowing and doing could not be more different.