The Nuremburg Break-up Defense

Sometimes, you just have to go. Everyone’s got their limit, and sooner or later we all come to a point in our existence when we have to say, “Fuck this. I’m out.” It doesn’t really matter whether it’s a job, a scarring sexual encounter, or a relationship: regardless of the consequences, we’ve reached our limit and there is nothing on earth that can make you stick it out for another second. This is a story about such an occasion.

I had been dating a girl for around a month and things were just not working out…for me, anyway. She was as happy as could be. I was contemplating suicide. Love is seeing someone’s faults and caring for them anyway. I saw her faults and wanted to strangle her with my shoelaces and leave her for dead in the trunk of a car at the airport.

She came from money, and, in the way that people who’ve been humored their whole lives do, tended to assume that anyone who disagreed from her was wrong.

“My friend is dating this guy who treats her poorly” I said one night. “It’s driving me nuts.”
“Well, that’s her mistake. There’s nothing you can do. You shouldn’t feel bad.” She said.
“Of course I should. She’s my friend. It’s my job to look out for her.”
“Well, you already told her how you feel. Fuck her. Cut her off.”
"She's my friend! I care about her."
"No. It's wrong to care about someone who won't listen to you."
“Well unlike you,” I retorted, “I know what it’s like to actually have friends.”

This was the pattern of all our arguments. I’d say something that was irrefutable: something about how I felt or what I liked, and she say, “Well, you shouldn’t. You’re wrong.”

After one such battle where she insisted that I liked punk music, I’d had it. I’d reached my limit. No more.

Now, there’s a certain ruthlessness involved in any break-up, particularly when you’re ending things with someone who has no idea that it’s coming. You have to completely repress all pity, look the cute, adoring, trusting puppy right in the eyes, and shoot it in the head when she trots up to lick your hand. It’s not the kind of thing I enjoy doing.

So I spent a day listening to angry music and looking at pictures of girls I hadn’t slept with. I wound myself up, preparing for the worst. I was the terminator. Pity wasn’t even in my vocabulary.

I met “Dead Girl Walking” at a local bar. “Don’t shoot until you see the whites of her eyes,” I reminded myself.

“I’m so glad you could see me,” She said. “I really need to talk to you.”

Suddenly, my day was picking up. Maybe she’d end things and spare me all the work.

“What’s up?” I asked, playing the part of the oblivious boyfriend. I’d been preparing to kill a puppy all day. If she wanted to take a shot at me, I was ready to act the part to the hilt. I began preparing to cry on cue.

“It’s my best friend.” She sobbed. “He was hit by a truck. Right now he’s in the hospital. They’re saying they aren’t sure if he’ll make it.”

Imagine for a second that you’re a turkey. The week before thanksgiving, you’re hanging out…gobbling, or whatever the fuck turkeys do, when suddenly the door to your pen swings open. You run to freedom. For the first time in your life, you breathe free air, feel un-caged wind on your feathers. It’s the single most glorious moment of your existence as, for an instant, you feel at one with creation. Then, the farmer lops your head off with a machete.

That was me. In an instant I was higher than a hippie at Burning Man, then in a twinkly of an eye, I was brought lower than a raver coming off a night on E.

“He was one of the only people who really understood me.” She went on, now holding me tight. “I just don’t know what I’d do if I ever lost him. Thank God I have you to support me.”

Now, this is where I realized I had two options:

1. Take one for the team, hold her tight, and try to salvage a relationship based on honesty, passion, and lots of hot sex.
2. Shoot Old Yeller in the head when he needed me most.

So I hugged her, ran my fingers through her hair, and then held her at arms length so I could look deep into her eyes. She wiped the tears away and managed a heroic smile as she looked at the one soul in this world she could count on for unquestioning affection, loyalty and support.

“I think we should see other people.” I said.

What the whole experience really taught me was this: I am far more ruthless than I give myself credit for. "I gotta do what I gotta do" was my rationale. Of course, that was also the Nazis said. It’s comforting to know that there will always be an opening for me in the “Ethnic Cleansing” business. Obviously, if I even have a soul it’s long since been condemned to Hell.

On the other hand, what else was I supposed to do? I mean, how long was I expected to date a girl I wanted to strangle? It was probably best to get out then. There’s really no good time to get dumped…although I’ll grant you that this was a worse time than most. Still, imagine how bad it would have been if her friend had died. I would have been forced to marry her.