Dancing with a broken heart
It’s season for love, joy and celebration. But for Trevor Ashley, this year’s Mardi Gras has been a solemn occasion. Here’s why.
I fucked up. Really, really badly. I fucked up bigger than I have in a long time. I hate myself for it. But let’s rewind a bit.
One night a couple of months ago, I had a fantastic night at the Opera House seeing a show, and then Tora called and said for me to come up to Stonewall for a drink. Why not? I was on ‘holidays’ of sorts. Met up with Tora, had a drink and a laugh, and a guy and his girlfriend (a lovely lesbian) approach me to tell me how much they enjoyed TrAshley in December. Perfectly lovely, funny and friendly. She disappears and I am left speaking to this guy. He was funny. And sweet. And adorable. Cute as a button. One thing lead to another and we started dating.
It was a very intense period. We both fell really quickly and hard. We spoke all day, everyday. There was not a way we would not communicate: text, Facebook, IM, Twitter, Skype, Viber, Grindr and by carrier pigeon. You get the drift. He came to see my play in Melbourne. We were all over each other constantly. And to be perfectly honest, I’ve not been happier in a long time.
Sure there were some issues, my being away so often was concerning to him, for example. I understand this, especially at the beginning of a new ‘thing’ it’s sometimes hard enough to know where you stand with the guy, but to have him off gallivanting around the globe in the first few months would be daunting. I don’t know if I could do it myself. Me being the gallivanter just saw it as an adventure – one that hopefully he could share.
My friends have always given me advice about my intensity and complete disregard for ‘taking things slow’ and ‘not jumping in too fast’ which I have really tried to adhere to. Unfortunately this time I failed miserably at this, and was having wedding invitations printed about three days after we’d met. I asked him sometimes, “Am I too much?”, and he’d laugh and say, “What do you think?” The answer of course was a resounding yes.
The long and the short of it was that I fell in love with him. Big time. And really, really hard. So that’s what makes what I did next completely baffling to me.
We were out together at Stonewall one night, drinking and laughing, which ended up with us heading to the Shift where we drank some more, and then eventually we went to ARQ. We probably got there at 3am, and both of us were smashed. I more than him, of course. He went off to dance, and while he left me on the couch I made out with someone else. In fact, I almost went home with that guy, in fact I would have – had he not seen this and ran past me devastated. Once again, I was very drunk. In fact, I don’t really remember this happening. I next remember us arguing in the park near my house. We were both a mess. But that’s no excuse. I take full responsibility.
The sad thing is, that ended it. He says there were other reasons too, of course, but for him there was no going back. To me it’s completely heartbreaking. I had to even delete him on Facebook as I found myself Facebook-stalking him hourly.
So once again: I’m single at Mardi Gras. I know it sounds like I’m falling apart, and in a way, I am. Try singing Sondheim’s 'Losing My Mind' on stage (in Perth' of all places) when you’ve just broken up with someone – it was a sob fest. But there is some good that’s come out of it; I guess I realised that I still have the capacity to fall for someone in that way. It’s been a long time since it’s happened to that degree and even though it’s rough and emotional and intense, it’s a feeling that I never want to lose.
So this Mardi Gras the theme is ‘Generations of Love’. I wish you all the best and hope you fall in love over and over again this week. I myself will be sitting this round out, but I’ll be back on the merry-go-round with you all again soon. Good luck.