Apartment Anxiety

Derek and I signed a six-month lease on a two-bedroom apartment, but I didn’t trust Derek’s long-term commitment. I demanded separate closets and bathrooms. I didn’t want my dishes, pots and pans getting mixed up, so I shoved Derek’s stuff into different cabinets. Like a student practicing a fire drill, I mentally rehearsed my escape — just in case. I had one foot in the door and an eye on the exit.

All I had was six-months of security — a signed rental agreement. Even though I prepared for the day the fire alarm would sound, I constantly pushed for commitment. I wanted intimacy and a way out at the same time.

“Where’s our relationship going? Are we just going to live together? Do you see a future?” I complained.

“Sure I do. I want to marry you someday. But how can we? We don’t have the money,” Derek said. “I don’t know how else to prove to you I’m committed. I left my friends and moved in with you. I say I love you every day. I come home every night. What more do you want?”

Living together is too easy for you. How about marriage? An engagement ring would help.

The truth was, I hated the living arrangements. But it was my way of controlling something, since I couldn’t control our future.

Whenever Derek and I argued, I shut down, pouted and slept in the second bedroom. I waited in the dark for him to come and make up. Instead, Derek fell asleep. He wasn’t interested in knocking down my protective walls — at midnight. Great, Derek is probably getting sick of this. What’s going to happen when our lease expires? Will we stay together? He’s probably going to leave me.