There it was, staring up at me; the pink latex peeking out from underneath a few days worth of used tissues. As I stood there, wondering what a used condom was doing in my boyfriend's trashcan, I saw the past 2 years I spent with Justin flash before my eyes. The birthdays, the vacations, the holidays—none of it

mattered anymore.

 

Only three weeks ago Justin and I were hand in hand walking down a white sandy beach in Thailand falling in love all over again. How did this happen? I cautiously picked the hot pink condom out of the trash with my tweezers and closely studied whether the creamy liquid at the bottom was lubricant or, well, not lubricant.

 

After close examination, I came to the conclusion that the condom was in fact a vital piece of evidence. I stared at the millions of microscopic Justins swimming around staring me straight in the face. Justin and I never used condoms, not even once. The first time we had sex was sort of a real life version of Seth Rogen and Katherine Heigl in Knocked Up, minus the baby.

 

So I was back to square one.  What was a condom doing in Justin's trashcan when we never use condoms? I slowly cracked the door open and watched Justin with assuming eyes as he flipped through New York Magazine. I told myself I would calmly approach him and ask what happened.

 

Five smashed plates and three broken glasses later, I found myself screaming words that were definitely not part of the English language, or any language for that matter. In between the sound of china smashing against granite counter tops and Justin screaming at me to slowly put the dish down, I realized that I hadn't even asked about the condom. He sat there with his mouth to the floor totally unaware of why I decided to ruin his dish set like I was at a Jewish wedding.Prepared to perform an exorcism, Justin stared at me confused by my outburst. I managed to run out the door and hail a cab back to my apartment before he had the chance to ask what was wrong.

 

Dramatic? Yes. Crazy? Most definitely. But I knew. I knew that it had been months since I asked how his day was. I knew that I was suffocating and jealous. I knew that I was controlling. I knew that he was loyal and sweet and giving and loving and I knew I never fully accepted his love. I knew that I had just smashed an entire set of dishes. I knew that whatever had happened, it was my fault.

 

After three days of re-runs and delivery, I couldn't escape it anymore. I crawled out of bed, threw on a pair of sweat pants, and went to Justin's apartment. The second I turned the key I could hear him crying. I stepped inside, and for the first time in over a year I asked him, "How are you?"

 

I didn't have to hear how it happened or who it was with. We both knew what had happened, and we both knew it wasn't just sex. Justin needed more from someone, even for just one night. He needed to be listened to and noticed and I was too preoccupied with my job, my friends, my family—my issues—to ever be there for him.

 

 As I sat on the edge of his bed, listening to what he had to say I realized I had two choices: I could leave him, or I could forgive him. Forgiveness is a powerful tool. I knew if we continued our relationship, I would not only struggle with forgiving Justin, but it was going to be a long and hard road before I forgave myself. So what do you do when the man you love, and who loves you back, cheats on you as an act of desperation? Do you stay and live every day wondering if you made the right decision, or do you move on, knowing that he will always be in the back of your mind?

 

When it comes to relationships, no matter what choice we make, in the end we have to let go of what could have happened. We must forgive, even if we cannot forget. Hate is baggage and life is too damn heavy already to take on any more weight. It doesn't matter if we stay in our relationship or let it die. What matters is letting go of what us humans so desperately try to hold onto: perfection.

 

My relationship with Justin was never perfect, but whose is? So instead of

striving for a perfect relationship, I’m trying for an understanding and

compassionate one. I want relationship that survives on trust and respect. And if we slip up along the way, then we can always practice the art of forgiveness.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

There it was, staring up at me; the pink latex peeking out from underneath a few days worth of used tissues. As I stood there, wondering what a used condom was doing in my boyfriend's trashcan, I saw the past 2 years I spent with Justin flash before my eyes. The birthdays, the vacations, the holidays—none of it

mattered anymore.

 

Only three weeks ago Justin and I were hand in hand walking down a white sandy beach in Thailand falling in love all over again. How did this happen? I cautiously picked the hot pink condom out of the trash with my tweezers and closely studied whether the creamy liquid at the bottom was lubricant or, well, not lubricant.

 

After close examination, I came to the conclusion that the condom was in fact a vital piece of evidence. I stared at the millions of microscopic Justins swimming around staring me straight in the face. Justin and I never used condoms, not even once. The first time we had sex was sort of a real life version of Seth Rogen and Katherine Heigl in Knocked Up, minus the baby.

 

So I was back to square one.  What was a condom doing in Justin's trashcan when we never use condoms? I slowly cracked the door open and watched Justin with assuming eyes as he flipped through New York Magazine. I told myself I would calmly approach him and ask what happened.

 

Five smashed plates and three broken glasses later, I found myself screaming words that were definitely not part of the English language, or any language for that matter. In between the sound of china smashing against granite counter tops and Justin screaming at me to slowly put the dish down, I realized that I hadn't even asked about the condom. He sat there with his mouth to the floor totally unaware of why I decided to ruin his dish set like I was at a Jewish wedding.Prepared to perform an exorcism, Justin stared at me confused by my outburst. I managed to run out the door and hail a cab back to my apartment before he had the chance to ask what was wrong.

 

Dramatic? Yes. Crazy? Most definitely. But I knew. I knew that it had been months since I asked how his day was. I knew that I was suffocating and jealous. I knew that I was controlling. I knew that he was loyal and sweet and giving and loving and I knew I never fully accepted his love. I knew that I had just smashed an entire set of dishes. I knew that whatever had happened, it was my fault.

 

After three days of re-runs and delivery, I couldn't escape it anymore. I crawled out of bed, threw on a pair of sweat pants, and went to Justin's apartment. The second I turned the key I could hear him crying. I stepped inside, and for the first time in over a year I asked him, "How are you?"

 

I didn't have to hear how it happened or who it was with. We both knew what had happened, and we both knew it wasn't just sex. Justin needed more from someone, even for just one night. He needed to be listened to and noticed and I was too preoccupied with my job, my friends, my family—my issues—to ever be there for him.

 

 As I sat on the edge of his bed, listening to what he had to say I realized I had two choices: I could leave him, or I could forgive him. Forgiveness is a powerful tool. I knew if we continued our relationship, I would not only struggle with forgiving Justin, but it was going to be a long and hard road before I forgave myself. So what do you do when the man you love, and who loves you back, cheats on you as an act of desperation? Do you stay and live every day wondering if you made the right decision, or do you move on, knowing that he will always be in the back of your mind?

 

When it comes to relationships, no matter what choice we make, in the end we have to let go of what could have happened. We must forgive, even if we cannot forget. Hate is baggage and life is too damn heavy already to take on any more weight. It doesn't matter if we stay in our relationship or let it die. What matters is letting go of what us humans so desperately try to hold onto: perfection.

 

My relationship with Justin was never perfect, but whose is? So instead of

striving for a perfect relationship, I’m trying for an understanding and

compassionate one. I want relationship that survives on trust and respect. And if we slip up along the way, then we can always practice the art of forgiveness.