As Carrie Bradshaw would say, “Things are so over, we need a new word for over.” Yes, I finally broke things off with D. on Friday, and while I’m happy I did so, his passive-aggressive response to the whole thing is really dredging up bad memories of the weeks surrounding the abortion. I’m starting to view his behavior in a new light: not necessarily an indication that he’s in a lot of pain himself, but definitely a sign that he doesn’t give a damn about my own pain. This realization was so painful that I canceled my group therapy/post-abortion support group session last night. I just didn’t feel like facing those demons while struggling to cope with these new ones. Once again, the abortion — while not being an Active Issue — remains the harbinger of so, so many bad things between us. I wish he’d just grow up and move on and stop causing working so hard to be a complete asshole. Barring that, as with the abortion, all I can really do is focus on myself, my choices, my responsibility to heal myself and my refusal to react to his childishness. This isn’t about being strong; it’s about protecting myself — because surely he doesn’t give a damn about my being safe.

If last night was crying (and crying it was), today is cleansing. I’m going through stacks of papers, sorting through work to be done, taking inventory of my home and my life. I’m beginning to remember that I was a whole person before I met D., and I will be a whole person long after he’s gone from my life (which looms sooner with each passing day). I am a strong woman — a strong woman who, inevitably, will cry herself to sleep again many more times before she dies, a fact that depresses less than it heartens.

D. hung up on me yesterday and, other than a couple of nasty e-mails, nothing for 24 hours. He’s been telling people about our situation, and I pointed out that I felt my privacy was being violated. I received I didn’t do anything wrong and how dare you tell me whom I can tell… then silence. I typed up an e-mail I didn’t send:

I don’t know what to say anymore. I’m tired of working hard to stay in love with you. I’m tired of fighting for our relationship. I’m not saying it’s over, because I don’t think that’s inevitably the case, but you’re on the verge of losing me. I have made mistakes, but I don’t deserve malevolence.

I’m at the point where I no longer know what the best thing to do is, both with the pregnancy and this relationship. I talked with my friend N. last night, whom I’d called to set up a lunch date. He called back almost immediately and said, without provocation, You sound really depressed…more than I’ve ever heard you. Are you okay? What can I do? The answer is that I don’t know what anyone can do, short of taking a two-by-four and whacking D. across the head to get him to wake up to the fact that he is completely fucking things up. From abandoning me when I’ve needed him most to a complete lack of empathy about his violation of my privacy, I don’t know how much longer I can hold on.

As I stave off both tears and episodes of vomiting, I both want D. to go far, far away and come rushing back to take me in his arms and apologize. But apologies only work for so long, and there have been too many of them for too long. Perhaps what I need is to learn how to do this alone.