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Deep Rapport Story

Author: Sean Newman

If you want someone to really connect to you, you have to tell them who you really are.

We all have a story that defines us. It changed us into men. And it drives us to what we really want in life.

We don't want to tell anyone the story, because it shows us at our weakest. But that is what makes us strong.

Today, I'm telling you my story.


I'm 30. Three months before, I gave a $10,000 diamond engagement ring (princess setting, Bostonian cut 1.1 carat center stone) to the most beautiful girl I've ever locked eyes with across a crowded room.

Our second date I met her at the Harvard Square T stop at noon. She got in my truck. I asked if she wanted to come on over and hang out with me and my dog. We drove a mile to my place.

11 hours later, we got off the bed to get something to eat.

Of course we fell in love! I could see her lips when I closed my eyes. I could taste her tongue when I was thirsty.

We spent time with her family. She agreed to move out of her parents' house and move into my apartment so we could practice setting up house.

Playing house.

And it's been going bad.

It's weird. I remember how happy I was supposed to be when this happened. I mean, she was beautiful. She was sweet. She loved me and tried to treat me well.

But she also got sad, sadder than anyone I'd ever seen. She worked as a nurse, and would switch between day and night shift. When she was on days, it was good. She'd work all day, then come home and we'd have dinner, sit on the futon and she'd turn Dateline on the giant, old-school TV we got from her grandparents' house and fall asleep cuddled against me with bridal magazines sprawled on the coffee table.

I moved that TV in by myself. It must have weighed 200 pounds. But I swear by god, I got it all the way in by myself, bit by bit.

When she worked nights, she'd drag down. She tried to sleep in the daylight, but always found something to keep her busy in the day instead. Vacation photos. Wedding plans. Friends. Family. Anything other than a full nights' sleep. And she'd get tired, and sensitive like her skin had worn thin.

It was October. Cold and dark by 6 PM in Boston. I'd drive home and park outside the house, looking in at the the light, knowing she was in there.

I could still see her lips. Stretched kinda tight. I couldn't remember the taste of her tongue.

I'd sit outside in the truck with the engine running, radio on. Lights off. Quiet as could be. Some kind of in-between place where I wasn't home quite yet.

Eventually I'd make it all the way inside. And when I did, I'd look for the quickest excuse to sneak to the kitchen and pull the bottle of Dewar's off the top and fix myself a drink. One in the glass, and one straight into my belly from the bottle.

One night we fought. I don't remember why. I never did. I should say she fought. I listened and dropped my head, and sat very still. She may have cried. She may have yelled. She may have screamed "I wish you'd hit me when I get like this."

The truth is I don't recall what she said. I recall only turning away and walking into the bedroom. I closed the door, left the lights off, and crawled into bed, pulling a pillow over my head like a child blocking out the sounds from his parents' room.

I didn't sleep. Two hours passed. I heard noises outside the bedroom door. Dragged myself out of bed, pretending to look sleepy. She wasn't in the living room. I walked down the hallway and saw the bathroom door open.

There were some empty Harpoon IPA bottles on the sink. A few pieces of yellow legal paper scattered. I picked one up, and it read "Dear Mom and Dad, tell Meggie I'm so sorry."

And she was in the tub. She was wearing a white parka. Nothing else.

She was face down.

I don't know how long I stood there. I don't know what I thought. My arm shot out and grabbed the hood of her parka and pulled her up.

She turned over. Eyes opened slowly. She looked at me with a blank expression and said, "leave me alone. Just go away."

I stayed with her that night. And then the next day it was as if it never happened. We never talked about it. I never told anyone. I put the yellow legal paper in the bottom drawer of my desk, and two days later, it was gone.

We stayed together one more month. Made it through Thanksgiving, and then one nice night at our apartment when she invited her Dad, Mom and sister over to celebrate my birthday.

But we were dead already. One week later, I told her to get out.

I've never completely forgiven myself for that night. I know, intellectually, it wasn't me who made her that sad. I know there was something there I couldn't fight against with the strength of thousands.

But still I remember the look on her face when she got sadder and sadder. I remember watching a beautiful girl get ugly.

And I remember the image of her in the water.

I hope I never forget.

Someday, I will have a family. I will have a woman who drives me crazy and makes me glad I'm a man. I will have beautiful, strong, polite and cheerful kids who make everyone around them happier.

And I'll take my time. Now I know what it's like to do it wrong.

If it takes forever, I'll wait to do it right.

Sean Newman

Check out the Physical Confidence Course on how to get women drawn to you by your attractive body language.

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