I finally broke up with him.
I swore I would never be one of those girls who stayed with someone just because it was better than being on my own, but for months that’s exactly what I did.
I tried to make it work.
I confronted him a few months ago about his commitment issues and my suspicions that he was spending time with others. He denied it, of course. Told me he was still interested in me and begged me not to leave him. He blamed his behavior on a crazy work schedule and asked me to give him another chance.
So I did.
I knew better, but I took him at his word and gave him another chance.
In all fairness, I’m not proud of my behavior in all of this. I admit that I stalked him. There was Googling involved. I checked his twitter account. I started paying attention to the other people he spent time with.
It didn’t help that I could see the pity in my friends’ eyes when they asked about him. They knew it wasn’t working out, that I was making excuses for him and that he wasn’t good for me. They kept telling me I should find someone better, but I didn’t want to hear it.
Sure, I wanted to be with someone who appreciated me, but I knew I couldn’t find someone else while we were still together. We had a commitment, and even if I feared it meant nothing to him, it still meant something to me.
I finally just couldn’t ignore the signs. I knew he was stringing me along. He stopped communicating with me. He made promises about the holidays, but they came and went without notice.
I had to stop making excuses for him.
So, as scary and awful as it was, I finally made the decision and went through with it.
He acted surprised. Couldn’t believe I was taking such a drastic step. Blamed me for the problems in our relationship. But I held firm.
In the end I knew I’d made the right decision. I needed a clean break and as much as it hurt, I believed we’d both be better off in the long run.
And that was how I broke up with my literary agent.