Growth vs. Brown

The truce with Brown didn't last. But neither did my emotional neediness. Slowly but surely, I was starting to outgrow my dependence on him – a process that he accelerated by only seeing me once or twice a month.

You see, my first act of independence was that I stopped going to Brown's apartment every weekend like a cheap, convenient and dependable little treat. I filled my empty evenings and weekends with The Artist's Way, a self-help book that had changed my life four years earlier.

After a 27-day absence, Brown appeared on my doorstep, and we made love.

I took a six-day trip to Detroit for my birthday, where I hung out with my Best Friend and got an over-the-top, orange-blond hair weave that mirrored my messy inner transformation.

Brown picked me up at the airport. He gave me three pairs of earrings and a necklace, along with a bunch of reasons why he wouldn't be around for the rest of the weekend.

I found out that I was the lowest-paid secretary at Looney Tunes Home Video and waged a campaign to get a raise.

Brown reappeared. We made love, but now something was different. I was squirmy and skittish. I couldn't relax. In the middle of the night, he woke me up, hungering for round two. I couldn't. Making love to him hurt, like cutting open a scab that had just begun to heal. He left before dawn. The next day, I broke up with him over the phone, saying that I loved him, but the relationship was causing me too much pain.

A software company that I'd interviewed with a year earlier called. Back then, the hiring managers had wanted me for an editor position, but the VP with the final say was turned off by my secretarial background. They still remembered me, and offered me a freelance writing job. It meant an extra $300 a week, which I sorely needed.

Brown and I got back together, and the sex was magical once again.

The software company interviewed me for a full-time, permanent writer/editor position. There was a glimmer of hope that I might finally escape the executive-assistant ranks.

Brown and I fought over the phone. He questioned me about how much the new job might pay. I got an attitude. When he uttered the words, "I don't want to deal with your sh#t," I slammed the phone in his ear.

I excelled at my freelance-writing assignments, and I got the full-time job. A writer/editor title. A $13,000 raise.

Brown came over. After another attempt at nervous, jumpy love-making, he accused me of having an affair. An affair? I told him I didn't know who he was anymore, what he wanted from me anymore. Not to mention, he was talking about moving to Vegas. Without me. He asked if I was afraid I'd be alone when he went to Vegas. I replied, "I'm already alone."

I broke up with him again by phone. Told him that I still loved him and I probably always would, but my needs weren't being met and apparently neither were his. Twelve days later, he was back in my bed.

I started my new job, which was both terrifying and gratifying. I was officially a writer now. Working with people I liked. At a company I liked. At a salary where, for the first time in my life, I wasn't broke.

My life without Brown was looking up. My life with Brown hurt like hell.

(Brown Diaries Part 17 of 18: 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13 14 15 16 17 18 | Lessons Learned 1-3: 1 2 3)

---

Please "Like" Don't Be a Slut on Facebook or follow on Twitter.