I last saw BV about a month ago, when I bumped into him at one of my regular bars.  I hadn’t seen him since we’d broken up six weeks earlier.  I hadn’t heard from him until the day before that when he commented on a checkin from days before.

The day after I saw him, he left the country for a week and I headed into two weeks of events and parties.

I had sent him a message while he was gone.  On March 19, the day the events ended he reached out with someone minimal.  I texted him on Tuesday when I was — completely sober — but at a show I thought he would have enjoyed.

No response.

On Wednesday, we had a perfectly normal (by which I mean strange) conversation via fb message that then went sideways.  It started with him reaching out and was little jokes about music that flew back and forth and over each other.

Within a very few minutes, he said worrying words:

BV: havent slept in 2 days

me:  have you eaten?

BV: nope

BV: listen to edward sharpe and the magnetic zeros……..u will understand……just posted on facebook

[he posted a video of Home.  Which, frankly, is not fair.]

me: i love edward sharpe

BV:  call me……gotta jump off computer. going to a movie…….[theater within walking distance of his building]……gonna drink 7 beers

me:  cell or house?

[I called him. No answer on his cell.]

me:  i am going to be downtown at 430. you drinking before that?

BV: Drunk

me:  where?

We exchange a few more messages through fb as we switched to text, trying to coordinate our schedule.

me:  called you, as requested. call me. [plan] 2:34 PM

BV: It’s raining 4:07 PM
Me: It is. Where are you? 4:09 PM
BV: Home now 4:12 PM
BV: It’s wet out 4:14 PM
Me: En route downtown. Where should I meet you? 4:14 PM
Me: Well true 4:17 PM
Me: I am busing in. Get.out at [intersection next to his building] 4:17 PM
BV: Trying to my neighbor to spot me 100 4:35 PM
BV: Need cash. Card is not working properly 4:36 PM
Me: Once I get down here the rain stops. So lucky. 4:37 PM
Me: That sucks. Keep me in the loop 4:38 PM
BV: Will do 4:40 PM
Me: At the [Chic Hotel Bar] 4:40 PM
BV: Waiting for some dough. My debit card is fucked 4:43 PM
Me: I’d float you if I could. Signing bonus for new gig this week. There’s some free event going on here St 5 4:48 PM
BV: What’s st 5? 4:51 PM
Me: At 5 sorry 4:55 PM
Me: Meet me at [venue at CHB] 5:26 PM
BV: Wanna bang later? 5:47 PM
Me: Yes. This party sucks. Where are you bow? 6:01 PM
Me: Where are you now, was what that was … 6:34 PM
Me: Bon, you still alive? Awake? 7:36 PM
Me: Okay I am going to be heading home in about 45 minutes. Text me if you want to hang 9:23 PM

And that’s it.

We’ve not connected today.  I shot him a message asking if he’d slept when I saw he was online on facebook.  No response.

When he says he hasn’t slept or eaten in two days, that means he’s on a binge.  It is what it is.  That he reached out to me means he’s scared and depressed.  I am not his first call — not anymore, anyway.  I am his last call.  I am the one he calls when he realizes it’s gone too far, that he’s in trouble.  When we have been separated by time before (pre-breakup), I showed up to save him when he asked.  The first time, he was coming down off three days of not eating and not sleeping.  I showed up, fed him, and slept with him and next to him.  He stopped using for a while.  The next time, it was about depression and not drugs.  I had him meet me, we talked, and then we had an incredibly fun night.

When he feels compelled to tell me “havent slept in 2 days,” he needs me to show up.

I had decided I would give him 90 minutes.  I was meeting friends at 6, so meeting him at 430 meant I could manage him through his crisis and still make my plans by 6 . . . or 7 at the latest.

I do know how to manage him, which is why I get the call.

I am aware, as well, that he propositioned me.  I treated it as an autocorrect fail.  I was, at the time, standing in a drizzling rain, one block from his building, trying to get him to invite me up.  I would have said yes to anything that made that happen, knowing full well nothing would have happened.

I wanted to see him to make sure he was okay and to help him get okay.  My preference was for him to meet me out, but I would have gone up to his place if that’s what it took.

I had no interest — at all — in sleeping with him.  First, sticking to my long-held rule, if I am seeing LP, I can’t  have sex with BV.  That’s the thought I have going through my mind.  Not just don’t want to, but can’t.

But being in his space would have given me a better opportunity to see for myself how he is and how he is living.  I’ve spent a lot of time there and I can tell when he’s okay and when he’s not, despite the fact it always looks like a perfectly maintained hotel suite.

It also would have meant we had more time to talk, far from any friends of ours who’d inevitably wander through, etc., and without distractions.

I never heard back from him.  I still haven’t.

I am concerned.  I am not terrified.  I do not think he is in imminent danger.

When I headed home after hanging out with JerkFace and friends around midnight, I looked at his windows — something I really never do — and they were dark, which they rarely are.  To me, that means he left when it was still light out.  It also could have meant he was sleeping.  Likely, he left, he was stupid, he was still on a binge.

I am downtown on Friday again for a considerable period of time, and I will be barhopping with my friends two blocks from his building.  I will likely text him to check on him.  I am unlikely to hear back.

I do still love him.  I am not in love with him, and I don’t think I ever was.  I will save him again when he asks me.  I am glad he still calls when he is in trouble because I would hate for him to think he was completely alone.  He trusts me, as he should.