Whether we like it or not, most of what we learn about love comes to us through TV shows and movies, where drama is the name of the game. In movies, the love plot is almost always, in some way or another, about the repulsively titled “chase”: a tumultuous journey that ends in either a first date, marriage, or children. In TV shows, we get to see relationships play out over a longer period of time and they typically fall into one of two categories: perfect, happy couples who have their squabbles, but ultimately love each other (like Ben and Leslie in Parks and Recreation), or, dreadfully unhealthy relationships as a result of which both parties are made unfathomably worse as people (like Ron and Tammy II – also, Parks and Recreation). I would posit though, that sticking to these two formats ignores a third, important type of couple: the healthy but unhappy couple – two people who care about each other, who were in love with each other once, but aren’t in love anymore. The other person still matters to you, but you don’t love them the way you once did. I mention this couple because a year ago I came to the realisation that just because you’re not miserable, doesn’t mean you’re happy.

 

At the time, my then girlfriend (let’s call her Kathy) and I had been dating for a little over 2 years. We went to the same school, but only really got talking after our physics teacher decided to reorganise the class after the Christmas exams of 5th year and we were put next to each other. We started talking, a little more each day, and, then, towards the end of the term, we went out for coffee. We worked. In so many ways, we just worked. We both wanted to take things slow. We could make each other laugh. We both studied a lot, but still liked going out. We both just loved spending time together, no matter what we did. By the time the end of 6th year had rolled around, we genuinely loved each other. We had seen each other through some dark moments but never looked on each other with judgement or anger. We knew how to lift each other up. We had our fights (some pettier than others), we got on each other’s nerves sometimes, but at the end of the day we knew we were happy and healthy and loved each other. We were Ben and Leslie.

 

It is a cliché that very few couples survive the move from secondary school to college, and, as such, it is often brushed off as an inevitability. Like all inevitabilities though, it doesn’t feel that way when you’re living it. We went to different colleges. Kathy went to RCSI, I went to Trinity. Even though they were close, we were suddenly thrust into different worlds. We no longer could meet up for a 15 minute chat during a break, or study together. With conflicting schedules, we met up less and less, and slowly I started to realise that I didn’t mind. Neither of us wanted to grow apart; we made a point of having a weekly date, doing something fun, making the time for each other. On TV when people break-up, there’s a reason, whether it’s salacious – like cheating, or tragic – like different plans for the future. In a sit-com, when somebody asks about a break-up only to be told: “We grew apart,” the phrase is used to cover up the juicy truth. I have spent the best part of 2 years now trying to figure out what changed between the end of 6th year and the start of college and all I can say is that we grew apart.

 

I can’t tell you the precise moment I realised we were on course to break-up. There were a few small moments, signs of stress here and there: feeling apathetic about an upcoming date; people asking me how Kathy was because, “We haven’t heard you mention her in a while;” leaving a text unread because I wasn’t in the mood to respond. When I do look back though, I usually settle on the first time I actively didn’t want to answer her call. During the first few months of college, we talked on the phone at least three or four nights a week, but there came a night when the phone rang and I wanted nothing more than to just let it ring out. I let it buzz for a few seconds longer than usual, before I answered and we continued on as normally as we could.

 

After the call, I went into a tailspin that lasted months. I lay awake at night, trying to discern what about the relationship made me unhappy, but I never could. I googled “How to know if you should break up with someone,” multiple times a week, but that mostly presented clear and unambiguous situations like: “If they cheated on you, break up with them,” which was less than helpful given that neither Kathy nor I had actually done anything wrong. Whenever I saw her, I tried to figure it out, but I never could. She was kind, funny, generous, clever, caring, and we worked together. It should have been so easy to keep loving her, but for me, it just wasn’t. 

 

And then, we broke up.

 

I suppose the reason this type of story is rarely shown on our screens is the same reason why, despite trying to write about this for a year, I have been largely unsuccessful: there isn’t a satisfying end to this story. Kathy and I broke up because we broke up. There are small lessons about myself and about relationships in general that I learned from the whole experience, but there’s no monumental truth. I don’t know why I was unhappy, just that I was. I will say, however, that sometimes just being unhappy is enough of a reason to break up. I wasted months of my life, and months of Kathy’s, because I felt like without pinpointing a reason, breaking up would be wrong. I convinced myself that, if there was no discernible problem, I was just throwing away a good thing because I was being difficult. I know now that breaking up with Kathy simply because I was unhappy was definitely the right choice.

 

In the months following the break-up, I watched a stage recording of the Stephen Sondheim musical, Company. The musical is a series of vignettes about Robert, a bachelor, visiting his friends, all of whom are in relationships. There is one line in particular that has stuck with me: “There’s a time to come to New York, and a time to leave.” I think that’s true of relationships too. The good times that Kathy and I had together were truly wonderful, and I have memories with her that I will cherish forever. But, sometimes, even if you’re not sure why exactly, it’s time to leave.