The Crash

I remember in our first meeting with Karen, we'd been told to watch out for The Crash.

'For the first two weeks to a month everything's so new, so exciting, you don't have time to physically adjust. You're just too busy, too blown-away by it all. Then you go through a sticky period when it all catches up with you. Then, at around the two-month point, you have The Crash. You get sick. Depressed. You miss home. You're exhausted. You're lonely. It sucks.’

I've had mine early.

Something had been wrong for a while. First, my girlfriend's computer wasn't working, then her college's too. Then, when she did contact me, her emails or phone calls were as cold as an ice lantern: you know there's a light inside, but you can't feel the warmth. She ceased to use the words essential in a relationship such as 'need', 'miss', or 'love'. She never asked how I was doing, and at the time I really wasn't doing too well. So I started telling her quite graphically how I was. I told her all about my Crash. I gave her all the details. Not trying to goad her into caring for me, more like trying to find out just how much she'd stopped caring.

I didn't ask for sympathy, just told her the facts: food poisoning, exhaustion, culture shock, isolation. In her replies to me she never showed any sign of concern. It was as if she were saying, 'Well, it was your decision to leave me and go to China. It's not my fault you're having a tough time'. True enough, but she didn't seem to realise I was having a tough time because I could feel her love for me slipping away by the day, and she didn't even want to talk about it.

She phoned on Friday and, somehow, was put through to my boss's office. He came in looking none too pleased to be carrying out my secretarial work, and told me there was a girl on the phone for me. Eyebrows rose in the teachers' office. She'd phoned to tell me that she wouldn't make our now not-so-regular Sunday phone call, as she was going clubbing in London. Had a semi-domestic in front of Charles. We resolved to sort things out on Monday morning but, after three almost sleepless nights, I couldn’t get through. Got up early Tuesday morning, Monday night her time, phoned, got through, ran into a wall of ice. Told her I missed her. Silence. Told her I loved her. Silence. Asked her why she couldn't reply. Silence. I hung up.

Got sick again during the week, and she didn't express one iota of concern. The only email I got was this:

'Hi,

I'm very tired because I've just finished a major report. My new horse is being a real sweetie at the moment. Getting on really well with her. Speak to you Sat.'

Which could be translated, or analysed, something like this:

'No 'dear' - I'm not going to say anything that might incriminate me later-

I'm very busy, so not going to spend a long time on this email. In fact, I haven't the time for you any more. I'm now talking about my horse as a defence mechanism. It saves me from having to talk about myself or my emotions. Anyway, I love my horse more than you. Face the facts. Speak to you Sat. so don't expect me to bother to get in touch until then.

No 'love', for the same reason as no 'dear'...

This was a reply to an email I'd sent telling her about my being off work with food poisoning and exhaustion.

When Saturday's call came around, she immediately adopted a cold tone of voice that suggested she didn't want to be there. She never asked me how I was. As an unsubtle icebreaker, I said:

'Look, I need to ask you something. I need to get this off my mind. Do you want out?'

'I don't know,' she replied.

I was practically spoon-feeding her an exit-plan, suggesting to her what I thought she wanted to say, but she couldn't admit it and I, stupidly, selfishly, didn't even realise that she might have been acting like this because of me, for me.

'What d'you mean you don't know?' I shouted down the phone. 'It's a simple enough question. A yes or no answer will do.'

Then it all, finally, came out.

'I don't know, Ross. Really. I just think... I just think that we're drifting apart, moving on with our lives. You sound so confident and happy in China [sic], and I'm beginning to feel the same in England. Everybody's been saying to me that I'm back to my old, confident best. I've got my sparkle back. And it sounds like you have too [double sic]. I just think that we're no good for each other anymore. I'm no good for you. We're just making each other unhappy now. We're changing, becoming different people, stronger people...'

'But but but that doesn't mean we can't be strong, change for the better, then sort our relationship out this time next year. Just because I'm becoming a stronger person out here doesn't mean I don't need you.'

I imagined her, long hair, bright smile, laughing at something.

'But, by the time you get back, we'll have changed so much it won't be us anymore.'

'That could be a good thing.'

'I don't think so.'

'You've obviously been thinking about this a lot.'

A loaded question.

'A bit.'

'So why the fuck didn't you talk to me about it? Why didn't you tell me you were having doubts, instead of giving me the cold shoulder treatment?'

‘...’

'Well, it'll be the last time.'

A silly thing to say. It was her dumping me, after all.

'I know it will be,' she said.

'I just wish you'd told me sooner.'

'I'm telling you now.'

'Is there someone else?'

'Of course not.'

And suddenly I was five thousand miles from home, alone.