Twin Flames Anonymous Part 3: The Avoidance Olympics

Say something, I'm giving up on you
I'm sorry that I couldn't get to you

--Say Something, A Great Big World & Christina Aguilera

I know that this is going to sound like a massive cop-out, but I don't even remember much about my journey back to the UK. I was on that damn plane for the best part of around seven to eight hours across the Atlantic and I can't even remember most of it. I don't know if this is common for those who go through this experience but there are still massive gaps in my memory from around this time. 

Landing in the UK was bittersweet. I was happy to see my family again, especially my infant nephew, who had been born on my birthday, just eight days before I left for the US and of course, my grandmother. It was upsetting to see her in such a fragile state, but I'm still glad I got to see her again. 

Beyond that, I felt like I had returned to a world that I just didn't belong in anymore.

I spent the weeks that followed having quality with my family, reconnecting with old friends and revisiting old haunts, yet nothing seemed to quell the sense of panic and anxiety I was feeling, like I hoped it would.

It was as though my heart, head and mouth were on completely different pages. My heart said 'go back', my head said 'no, you have to stay put' and my mouth just blurted out whatever was most convenient at the time. This made me feel so distressed that as a result, any attempts at communication with me from my Love either went ignored or very poorly responded to. 

It seemed as though an invisible wall came down between us and he was on one side trying to get my attention, and although I heard him, I couldn't respond. 

Many times I'd find myself hovering my fingers over the keyboard of my laptop either completely unable to type out a response whatsoever or writing out responses that I couldn't bring myself to send. When I think of what I would be prepared to do now for just a crumb of a scrap of a morsel of communication, this is incredibly shameful to admit. 

Many Twin Flames who have experienced this claim that it's their doubt and fear that their twin doesn't truly love them that caused them to 'shut down', but for me it was the exact opposite. It was my unwavering belief and faith in his love for me that made feel as though I was safe to behave the way I did. He once told me that, 'There wasn't anything we couldn't get through if we just talk about it' and I fell back on that to justify my douche-y, hurtful behaviour.

In spite of this, on the Fourth of July, I saw an American flag in someone's front yard and this unleashed the floodgates and I spent the whole day in tears, just missing him and longing to be with him. It was supposed to be our first real July fourth together and I hated that I was missing out on that experience with him. I pounded out an email to him begging his forgiveness for a previous email I'd sent, where I'd told him I didn't think I could get married if my family weren't there to see me, and to please get in touch because I missed him so very much. 

He replied that he was 'flummoxed' by my behaviour (and rightfully so) but I reassured him that I was definitely going to return, even if it meant that I had to get a job in the UK to replenish my funds, I was definitely returning. 

And I meant it. I really did.

I even paid the deposit on the apartment we had newly rented just days before I left, in full faith that I would be back soon.

Now, I don't know if Twin Flames can control when/if/how they go silent or 'shut down', all I know that this behaviour lasted all of around four to six weeks maximum before I literally couldn't stand being apart from him anymore. I was sitting on my bed in floods of tears, absolutely beside myself with confusion when, what I can only describe as, a 'whoosh!' of love just came rushing to the surface and I just had to connect with him. 

Suddenly, nothing and no-one else mattered; I just wanted to be with him. I craved him. If I could've flown away to a desert island and spent my life with only him, I would have. 

Immediately, I threw open my laptop and typed out a hurried, but excited email. I asked him if he was angry with me and could he please get in touch as soon as he could. 

And I didn't panic too much when it went unanswered.

Instead, I just wrote another, asking him if he wanted to Skype seeing as though it'd been so long since we'd seen and talked to one another? Again, it went unanswered. And again, I didn't worry too much; I knew how hard he worked, how crazy his hours were and I hadn't exactly been the most consistent communicator, after all.

After a week of unanswered emails, I decided to call him. But his phone went straight to voicemail. Over and over. I left voicemail after increasingly tearful voicemail, desperate to reach him. 

In desperation, I emailed our landlord, explaining that I was trying to arrange my return to the USA, but was struggling to locate my Love to make firm arrangements and could he please let him know that I'm trying to get in touch.

The landlord (who didn't live locally) emailed back to let me know that he'd sent someone over to the apartment and there'd been no answer when they'd knocked at the door, which just sent me into a tailspin -- suddenly I wasn't so much concerned with getting in touch with him as much as ensuring his wellbeing.

Later, he emailed me to let me know that my Love had been located, was fine and had 'probably' been instructed to get in touch, and that's all the information he had. I thanked him and anxiously awaited contact. Surely, now that my Love knew how hard I was working to get in touch with him, he would talk to me?

Strange as it sounds, by this point I was anxious but wasn't panicking too much. I knew he had an aversion to online communication and really only used it because of me, so up until that point, I convinced myself that I just kept 'missing' him, and I was convinced, so utterly convinced, that once I'd explained what had happened, it would all blow over and we could move forward.

It wasn't until he appeared as a 'recommended friend' on my Facebook profile and he rejected my friend request that the panic started to truly set in. He didn't even use Facebook so the fact that he had an account was new to me, and now I knew for sure that he had in fact been at a computer and that he was purposely avoiding me. 

I wrote him a letter, on Playboy bunny notebook paper (an inside joke) in a feeble attempt at lightening the mood between us. I sent it using overseas tracking and I watched everyday via the USPS website for almost two weeks only for him to not even pick it up from the post office. 

I did the same a second time and the same thing happened. 

As a last resort, I attempted to contact his family, who were just as in the dark about his behaviour as I was. His mother told me that she had gone to our apartment and either, he was always out, or he just refused to come to the door. I knew he wouldn't like me talking to his family without his knowledge but at the time I justified it by telling myself that he knew I was trying to get in contact with him, so he should have just talked to me in the first place.

And though he said nothing, his silence told me everything my Ego wanted me to know, "He's not fighting for you because you gave him nothing to fight for or hold onto! You're a failure and a screw-up! Who would want to fight for you? Who wants to hold onto a failure like you? You're not worth it!"

I knew in my heart I was none of those things and prayed for a chance at redemption, a chance to do it all again, but with none of the anxiety and fear that had anchored me down for longer and deeper than I had ever realised. 

I knew I'd acted like a colossal douchebag, but didn't even douchebags deserve a chance to explain their side of the story? Didn't even the douchiest criminals in all of history get a fair trial? Where was my fair trial?

I kept telling myself, "If I could just get him on the phone, if I could just get him to read my email, if I could just get him on messenger then I can explain and everything will be okay." After all, wasn't he, in fact, the one who told me that there wasn't anything we couldn't get through if we just talk about it?

The silence was merciless, unrelenting.

I don't even believe in 'God' in the religious sense but even I dropped to my knees on several occasions, praying for mercy. But there was none. No mercy, no relenting, no moment of, "Clearly she's deeply sorry for her actions, I should probably put her out of her misery now."

Trying to communicate with him was like repeatedly ramming up against a brick wall, like he had just... turned to stone.

That man would've won Gold medals in the Olympics for communication avoidance for all the gymnastics he performed trying to avoid talking to me.

"But thiefofstars," I hear you cry, "if you were so desperate to get back to him, why didn't you just book a flight to go back?"

Well, eventually, that's exactly what I did.

After a failed attempt at getting in touch with him via his workplace, I just bit the bullet and booked a flight and emailed him to tell him so. Things weren't looking good, but at least I would have some answers. I hadn't even received a break-up email or phone call from him and I held onto that as proof things could still be turned around.

After all, I hadn't left out of a lack of love for him; I hadn't even left because I didn't want to be with him. It had all been one big, misunderstanding brought on by a lack of communication... and you don't just throw away a ten year relationship just because of a lack of communication, right? 

All that was needed was an open, honest heart-to-heart, I told myself.

I don't know whether it was the flight I'd booked or the attempt to reach him at work that did it, or whether something I'd said had finally pricked a hole in his communication bubble, but the morning after I'd booked the flight, I woke up early and powered up my laptop. 

And there it was, just perched casually in my inbox. After spending the entire month of August tying myself in knots trying to get in touch, was an email from him.

Apprehensively, I opened it and the colour drained from my face as I read what it said.

'It's probably best you don't come. You don't have to be afraid of me. I'm not angry, just very disappointed, sad, depressed.'

It was brief, scolding and almost parental in tone and all of my worst fears about myself realised. 

(To be continued)