PROLOGUE:CHAPTER 2: The Dreaded DMX

So a little bit more about DMX. I haven't fully dealt with the residual bullshit that any long-term relationship leaves behind when it ends. Given that, my ranting is going to erratic, emotional, and pretty raw--so be forewarned. Please do not operate heavy machinery...Humor will, as always, make cameo appearances, but know that I am still devastated by the lingering questions of what the fuck happened. Given that we never talked about ending our relationship or why he never proposed, there are many question marks that continue to loom over my head. I am learning to deal with the fact that I may never know the reasons, and I am just adding those to the list of things that I don’t know—like why Christians worship the son of God, and not the head honcho himself. I just won’t ever understand.

So-DMX and I met in college—that is to say, I was in college and he was a Grad Student. He was a good friend to me—no thunderbolts or electricity—he just was THERE when I had gone through a succession of men and had gotten fed up with dating. But to say that I was with him out of convenience would not be accurate…I did love him. But a small part of me always felt that he was the lucky one and not vice versa. Many others agreed.

He did start off a completely brilliant and affectionate boyfriend. And did he look good on paper: Indian, PhD, good job…fine, my parents found fault with him (a couple of things which I can’t disclose here)-but for the most part, he was an Indian parent’s wet dream.

Things seemed good—it even went as far as meeting both sets of parents, and suggestions of kids, marriage and the like by mine. He stood by me (not really-but so he claims) when his parents basically rejected me outright. Now, I am as good of Indian girl as you can find anywhere. Am fluent in several Indian languages, do Indian dance, can cook, and am mad respectful—shit—I am an Indian parent’s wet dream!! So they had nothing to bitch and moan about. So-I very understandingly said that we should call it a day and be friends, so that his parents wouldn’t disown him.

In true Hindi film style, he stood by me (though no hard labor or borrowing money from local Bania usurer was required). But he never told me (until much, much later) what it was about me that they hated so much. Of course, like any neurotic girl, my imagination and every self-loathing part of me went into overdrive and I let it destroy me. That was the beginning of the end.

Other things happened in rapid succession that led to what I call D-Day. There was his moving and deliberately leaving me behind in NYC (when I could easily have gone with him), my 3 months of staying with him-only having to move out after month 1 because his father decided to come and stay (and then his not helping me find another place to live), and then, of course, the fact that through it all he refused to talk about anything relating to the decline of our relationship or even to be decent and end things.

D-day was June 15th—the day we had decided on as the day by which we would be engaged. We had decided on this three years earlier, when I started law school. I moved to where he was so I could make things work and renew our love for each other, stupidly thinking that all the problems were caused by distance—when in reality, the distance was the only thing that was keeping us together. Up till the target date, I was not so subtly dropping hints about it: posting Tiffany’s ads to the computer, designing rings on the DeBeers website and emailing it to him. I was hardly being coy. His response to all this, you may ask? A smile.

Now, ladies and gentlemen of the jury—what the fuck would any normal girl think? That he was going to propose, right? Well, it didn’t happen. Why didn’t he TELL ME that he wasn’t going to do it—instead of building up my hopes? Good question…and I don’t know. This person, who was supposed to love me and care about my feelings, put his convenience above and beyond my every happiness. He just couldn’t do it, he said that he was scared to tell me that he couldn’t.

The version changed, eventually, and I somehow became the reason for the phantom proposal. Everything got blamed on me intermittently, and I ate it all up like some starving pig wandering the streets. I ended up hating myself for shit that I KNOW that I didn’t do. And he got off scot-free. I stayed for a while—eventually left in September for good. I was in contact with him-trying to work things out till January. Then he did something that broke the proverbial camel’s back. My beloved Dad had a heart attack and my whole life was again thrown into a tailspin.

I already had enough on my plate, what with a broken heart, trying to still salvage a relationship, convincing my parents that DMX was still worth talking to, taking the bar exam and trying to find a job. My safety net was snatched away and I had to rely on my own balance and poise to get me through it—no wingmen or anyone to hold my hand. Mom was a wreck, and brother, though nice, was still worthless in every way. It was at that moment that I needed my friends, and the first person I called was DMX.

He was great at finding flights for my brother and doing the nuts and bolts types of things, but, as usual, he was bolting at the thought of providing moral support. He was emotionally unavailable, and then made himself physically unavailable. Forget about coming down to be with me during this hard time, he decided to call me and tell me he was going to the movies. This, of course, while my Dad’s life was still hanging in the balance.

It was unforgivable-and a blow that struck me down and threw me hard across the wrestling mat. It became clear what I had to do—I had to throw in the towel before I got knocked down. I was bloodied and battered and pretty much reeling from the blows…but I had some fight left in me yet. But it is the winners who know when to fight the good fight, and when to walk away. I preserved my energy to fight the demons in my head and ran away from the losing battle with DMX.

We are taught that love is worth fighting for and that relationships are worth dying for-but not at the cost of killing off who you are and what you stand for. I was not willing to kill off my soul for someone who didn’t share my values of friendship, dedication and loyalty. This man would sell his mother into slavery if it meant him getting ahead in his career. And he was not what I wanted or needed in my life. I made the choice: fight the losing fight or walk away? I RAN.

It took my Dad’s ailing heart and DMX’s lack of one to get over my broken one... (EPILOGUE: Dad is doing great and so am I--can't even tell anything happened...amazing how much you can heal when you open your heart up and clear out the bad stuff...)