“Why don’t you just admit it: you never loved me; you were in this only for yourself, weren’t you in this just to give yourself something to do?”

I couldn’t believe Dimitri’s words. Here we were, standing in his stupid basement “apartment”, and he was turning the tables on me again.

Let me explain this briefly, from the top, before we tune back into the scene before me.

My name is Morgan Blake; I am 22 years old, Hispanic, and very tired of dealing with this same bull. I know, I know…”Blake”, that’s not a very Hispanic last name. That’s my step-father’s last name. I never had much of a relationship with my birth father; “Blake” is the only last name I can remember.

I met Dimitri through my older brother; they went to college together. In typical Dimitri style, he did not finish what he started and dropped out of his course.

In my oh-so-young naivety, I believed Dimitri to be deep and mysterious. To me he was like the romantic brooding artist; jaded sentences spilling from his lips in lengthy speeches. Well, I had the “brooding” part right.

I began to date him when my high school prom rolled around. I graduated thinking I had quite the catch on my arm. The next 4 and half years were a brutal slap in the face.

I don’t mean to say that it was all bad. Clearly, it was not, or else I would not have stuck around for that long. In many ways I should be thanking him. He has taught me a lot about myself and about life.

As he was my first for quite a few things, I worshipped him as only fresh faced, blushing s can worship. So when things hit the rocks, I was quick to forgive and quick to accept the blame as my own.

You name it, and I’ve dealt with it.

I’ve never been slim (except maybe when I was under the age of 14); I prefer to say I fall into the curvaceous category. That’s what I’d say on a good day. Don’t ask me what I’d say on a regular day, or even worse…what I’d say on a bad day. The point is, I have been curvy for such a long time and this is the way I was when I met Dimitri.

So explain to me why he broke things off with me, after year 1, for failing to meet his skinny ideal of what a woman should be?

Anyway, let’s move on from that.

In dealing with my first serious boyfriend, to my delight, I discovered I enjoyed all things intimate and had the accompanying high drive. I thought we shared this in common. was plentiful at the beginning but then it dwindled down to the rare monthly occurrence. We even went 2-3 months without any physical interaction. When questioned, Dimitri would always say “ is too special to do all the time” and that he “does not want to cheapen it”.

Not everyone is raging with passion as I am…but this would have been more believable on Dimitri’s part if I had not found him registered on adult dating sites or storing on his computer.

Through all this, through 3 (or was it 4?) break ups and even the possibility that he was seeing someone on the side, I stood by him. Why? I’m going to say because I loved him. This much is true…if all else in this “relationship” is false, I can at least stand tall and say my feelings for him were genuine.

So this is where we are now. After the most recent break that he initiated, I informed him that I would not be taking him back. And now he is throwing a temper tantrum at me.

“Dimitri, believe what you want. I did love you, and still do…in a way. But I need to take care of myself now.” I calmly say.

Dimitri’s face flushes red and he pounds a fist on the nearby wall.

“Why are you doing this? I just wanted some time.” His voice sounds strained.

I sigh, “Time for what? How many times have we been through this?” I ask.

I look around. I see his bed, the book shelves, the dusty floor and the computer in the corner.

“Dimitri, I’ve stuck by you through everything. When you lost jobs, when you searched for jobs, when you finally got another job…I stuck by you every time you needed to take a break and left me all to myself. I forgave every single harsh word against me. What more do you want from me? I’m tired.” I rub my hands against my temples.

Dimitri’s face contorts in anger, “So this is about money? Is it because I can’t keep a job and because I live in the basement of my mother’s house?”

God he doesn’t get it.

“Dude, I just think it’s better for the both of us if we stop fooling ourselves. This…US…is not healthy. We are destroying ourselves. You should focus on yourself and give yourself the life you deserve. I need to be by myself. Every time we broke up I spent my time waiting for you. I need time for ME now, can’t you understand that?” I plead with him. I need him to understand this.

I look at him and he just blinks at me. I feel myself get frustrated. Suddenly, I don’t care if he understands or not. For years everything has always been my fault. I am entitled to my own space, right? Is it so wrong for me to want to focus on myself, rebuild myself after he so diligently broke me apart?

I grab the bags at my feet (full of my stuff) and meet his eyes, “I know I’m not without fault in all this but when you left me this last time…it finally broke me.  I just can’t do this anymore. I’m sorry”.

I walk past him, half expecting him to reach for me and half knowing that he won’t bother with a gesture like that. I make it up the stairs to the front door and slip my shoes on.

I walk straight to the bus stop at the end of his street without looking back.