Should I stay or should I go?

The+Clash

For a bunch of punk dudes who were quite possibly off their faces at the time, the Clash sure did seem to know what they were talking about. You see, the lyrics to their early 80s hit, Should I Stay or Should I Go, have been banging about inside my head like a viral ear-worm ever since I walked away from my latest failed relationship a few short weeks ago. Of course, I choose to go, but I can’t help but question whether I should have stayed.

Like any reasonably normal (okay, perhaps I am overstating my case here but it’s my blog, my persona etc), I have spent the past 14 days over-analysing every single moment I shared with my most recent lover. No doubt I have over-emphasised the good bits and over-dramatised the bad bits, which has resulted in me being none the wiser whatsoever. Excellent. I’ve talked to everyone I know about it, about him. I even engaged in a long-winded one-sided (guess which side) conversation with a colleague who didn’t even know I had a boyfriend. Her input was invaluable nonetheless.

I’ve lain in bed, alone and utterly miserable at night, and reminisced about the times we would text each other at exactly the same time (not to mention other more X-rated simultaneous happenings) which obviously meant we were karmically meant to be together or some crap like that. I’ve recounted to my best friends all of the things that annoyed me about him without ever highlighting the attributes that made my heart sing, which makes me question whether all of this verbal diarrhoea is really me trying to justify saying I’m done and walking out his front door.

He laid his cards on the table from the very beginning and I said: Yeah I can work with that, which I think I truly believed at the time. I think maybe I still do. I’ve kept myself busy by booking lunches and dinners and babysitting (when I don’t even like kids that much) just so I don’t spend so many hours navel-gazing and pontificating about what could have been if I’d only had a little more patience. Patience and I have never been easy bedfellows – a recurrent issue that after nearly 40 years of breathing I am still so far from mastering. How very bloody depressing.

All of this bumping of gums and thrashing about morosely in an empty bed makes me wonder if my decision to leave was the right one. Because if it was the only honourable thing to do, for both of us, why do I feel so uneasy about it all? I’ve deleted all his numbers and photos from my phone in a rather pathetic attempt to prevent me from getting pissed and calling him, or from spending hours staring drunkenly at his photo with one eye closed while I try to focus. It all sounds very attractive I must say. Little wonder I am single.

The one thing I haven’t been able to do is delete his home address from brain. I continually argue with myself about the relative merits of “popping” by his house to pick up some of the possessions that I left behind when I left in such a rush – as you do. So far, the rational side of me has prevailed and my dignity remains as intact as ever it was. But it is the emotional side of me whose voice is growing ever-louder. So loud, in fact, it is becoming increasingly difficult to ignore. Hopefully it gets laryngitis very soon because I don’t know how much longer I can put up with it singing: “Should I stay or should I go now? If I go there will be trouble. And if I stay it will be double.”

Postscript: I went….

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