Forbidden

How many times during a lifetime do we fall in love?  I mean, really, in love.  That deep connection two people share as if they are one.  It happened to me once.  I thought I'd spend the rest of my life with him. We had everything in common and could talk and talk for hours on end. I opened myself to him as I've never opened to anyone before. We shared the same values, the same ideals. He was smart and handsome and funny.

I met him at work. He was in management and I was a clerical worker. The company was great fun to work at - all the people were great. We were like a great, big family. I used to stay late because I had a second job and time to kill between. We started out as friends, just talking. He was so easy to talk to. We'd talk about everything from the people at work to the meaning of life. After a while, it became apparent something was happening between us. Our talking became more personal, more intimate. One evening, sitting at my desk talking, he looked into my eyes and told me he was falling in love with me. I didn't quite know what to say. You see, he was married. I remember feeling warm all over and my stomach doing flip-flops. I really never thought about him in that way. What was I getting myself into? In retrospect, I admit I was a bit naive. However, once he declared his love for me, I started seeing him through different eyes. I already admired him as a person, a friend. It wasn't such a long leap to developing strong feelings for him as well. So, I put aside my values, my morals, my very being and we became involved. We tried to be discrete, but I'm sure everyone in our office knew, even if they never said anything. Some people we trusted to be non-judgmental, and we were open with our relationship around them.

He told me we would be together someday, that he would divorce his wife, and I believed him with all my heart. I had no reason to believe he would lie to me. After all, we loved each other.

When my daughter became pregnant at an early age with twins, he was the one I turned to. When my car broke down, he helped to get it fixed. When I needed to laugh, he was there. If I needed a shoulder, I always had his. Always, that is, except for nights and holidays and weekends. Nights I spent alone dreaming of the day we could finally be a couple. Holidays were a nightmare. I missed him more than I've ever missed anyone. Sometimes we might get an hour or so on the weekends to be together. When was he going to leave, I would ask? Soon, was his reply. Soon.

I tried many times to break it off with him. This relationship just hurt so much. I hated the sneaking around. I hated that I didn't have him all to myself but had to share him. I couldn't even call him on the telephone, though I would anyway. If he answered, I would try to speak with him. Sometimes he was able to talk; other times he would hurriedly whisper that he couldn't and hang up on me. This was extremely painful. It was like sticking a knife in my heart. I would tell him I couldn't do this anymore, crying as if my heart were breaking, which, indeed, it was. I was never able to sustain a breakup. I always went back. Things would be good for a while until the next time I sat by myself at home, thinking of where he was, what he was doing, all without me.

I was becoming an emotional wreck. This is not how love is supposed to be. When was he going to leave? It's not that easy, he'd tell me. Why not? I didn't understand. If he loved me, what was he waiting for? I was beginning to lose my sense of self. I began to feel as if sex was the only aspect of our relationship. I loved him, but I was beginning to not like him very much. Couldn't he see what he was doing to me? I was becoming more and more miserable as time went on with no change.

One afternoon after work, I was sitting in his office and we were talking about our relationship. I asked him again, "when are you going to leave?" I will never forget his reply. He said, "I can't". Two little words - two little words that pushed me over the edge. I felt as if I had been kicked in the stomach. I barely remember leaving, I was crying so hard. I never went back to work. I didn't call, I just didn't go. I cried for days, by myself in my little apartment, all alone.

It was all downhill from that point on. I was fired from my job. I destroyed the life I had. My self-worth and self-esteem all but disappeared. I was so very hurt. I went into a deep depression that lasted for the next few years. I was extremely self-destructive. I began to drink, which only increased my depression. I abused drugs, not caring enough about myself to see the harm I was doing, not only to myself but to those who truly loved me. I became became involved with a man, himself an alcoholic and drug-abuser, who mentally and physically abused me. I felt worthless. I didn't kill myself literally, but I did it in every other way possible.

It took me years to pull myself together. Luckily, I met my future husband, who saw something in me, some spark of who I once was. We have been married now for eight years and have a beautiful child of our own.

I learned something from all of this heartache, though. What I experienced may have been love, but not the kind of love that is sustaining. We were trying to build something on sand. It was only a matter of time before it washed away. I now know what love is, and I am thankful to have been given the chance to fully experience it.