It seems so pathetic to return to ex-boyfriend drama when this is a blog about dating, meeting new people, coming out of my shell. But it's so hard for a girl who's already crippled by so much to keep moving forward when they just KEEP DRAGGING ME BACK.
And while this post won't be funny or witty, or probably very optimistic, 1) it will make me feel better and 2) it's important to note when you start to think, 'where the hell did this girl get so many issues from?'
Oh, if you only knew the half of it, folks.
So here's the truncated story.Truce is off. I desperately hoped to preserve something between us, because I thought there was something good there, but I was wrong. As per usual.
It does seem to be the same trend with my men. Dammit! I try so hard. Every girl's got some Daddy Issues chewing on her heels, so I weigh the factors. I do my research. I try to find the nice balance between logic and emotion. And yet, I keep getting screwed by men who love me hard and fast, and then go their merry way.
And I don't mean in the bedroom, because, well...
When I started this blog, I was trying to get over a broken heart. As I said previously, my heart has never really been broken before. I didn't quite know what to do with it. This has been both fun and educational, as I had hoped. A way to be less shy. A way to learn to meet people, and to become comfortable with myself and what I have to offer. A way to get free liquor. Something to write about.
Not once have I made any claims that I'm looking for something major. I'm pretty sure you can quote me on that. Maybe I was, in a way, hoping a little to make Thing Two jealous. Miss me, even. Make him realize what he had done wrong.
Why I cared that much about a guy who, upon our break-up, mailed me a card that said "hang in there" is beyond me at this point.
Almost immediately that wish came true. I received an e-mail from Thing Two apologizing. He said he had just been thinking about me, and happened to re-read our break-up conversation e-mails. You know, the ones where he starts out telling me he misses me, and that maybe we broke up for the wrong reasons, and that I'm always going to be his dream girl... and end with him suggesting I take Paxil. The ones where he tells me I "have a high level of need" and it's "exhausting." That it "takes work, emotionally, to be with me."
This, if I never mentioned, was a long distance relationship. Yes, I have a level of need. Send me a fucking. Text. Message. How hard is that?
Aren't you thinking of me?
Oh, God. And when I send you a picture of my boobs, don't just say, "cool, thanks." Nothing makes a girl feel less attractive than her boyfriend's total lack of interest in her boobs. Especially when this comes with a history of criticizing my sexual abilities and turning me down when I want sex. That doesn't at all make me violently insecure. Not at all.
So he apologized. It was a really beautiful apology too. It literally said all the things I needed to hear--the stuff, hey, that might have kept me from BEING such a needy psycho bitch, had it been mentioned at some point during our last moments. But better late than never.
He realized he was an asshole. He realized he said the wrong things. He reminded me it's okay to be who I am, and yes, he HAD been trying to change me, despite me being very clear about it early in the relationship that being forced to change is one of my bigger fears.
It felt... amazing.
There was no way such a timely e-mail could hit my box, with specifications so exact, unless he had read this blog. And I mentioned that.
He lied. He said he had no knowledge of a blog.
"Blog." Blog is a funny word. So is "tequila..." Teeheeeeeehee. *Drinks*
Now, I know some of you don't know me that well. Or at all. But don't lie to me. Lying to me is the worst thing you can do. Because I know you're lying. Or I will find out you're lying. I'm not stupid.
With that, the warm glow was over because I knew what it was. An ass kiss. A Please Stop Writing About Me, Ass Kiss.
Hmm... Which douche should I skewer today?
We fought. Probably for the first real time, although every god damn time I opened my mouth he accused me of fighting with him, to my mind we actually only had a few fights. This was a good one. Actually, kind of felt good to finally show a little temper after constantly being told I had one.
However, after the anger wore off, I thought about it. He had treated me well. We had been friends. I missed talking to him. That wasn't a door I wanted shut. Maybe we wouldn't date again, but I wasn't ready to let it all go.
So I apologized. I didn't write about him again.
UNTIL NOW CUE DRAMATIC MUSIC.
Picking up where our story left off mid October, we stayed friends... ish. I'm really not sure where the line is, to be honest. I've never stayed friends with an ex. I tried to not text too much, to be cool but friendly. It was... nice. I have been feeling better about myself since getting out there and dating, since getting such nice feedback from everyone about my writing (check "dying penniless" off my list!), and realized that, although things were nice, he and I were not right for each other.
No matter how many times someone tells you they love you for who you are, if they try to change you, they do not. And I deserve someone who does.
And thank God I realized this before the plans to move out there to live with him took effect. About two weeks before we broke up, when shit got real and we started looking for apartments, I had started to panic. Honestly, I wasn't that sure that he loved me enough for me to give up my entire life and move to California. I was giving up everything for someone who seems lackluster at best. So I got needy. I demanded attention. I demanded reassurance.
JUST TELL ME I'M PRETTY!!!
It didn't come. If I had gotten that, I would be apartment hunting right now. I may be dumb, but I'm not trapping myself across the entire fricking country with no money and no friends for a man who promises that he loves me the best of everything, but who I for some reason always pictured yawning when I finally bitched and twisted his arm into him telling me so.
So things were good. Clearly we weren't meant to be together.
I'm not so stressed and angry. I've been feeling more... myself. Remembering who I am and what I actually like, what I stand for, what sets me off. What I have to offer. Although I still have moments of loneliness where I will text and facebook everyone and anyone when I can't get a hold of my bestie, I was in a good place.
Well, that got shit right to hell.
I won't go into serious details because you probably stopped reading anyway. I had commented on his facebook picture today, and he deleted the picture. I asked him about it and he told me that it had been on a date, and "ex comments felt a little weird."
I wasn't thrilled, but I wasn't surprised either. I'm not an idiot. I'm a girl, and we can read body language like a fortune teller reads tarot cards. I knew there was someone interested in him, and I figured, at some point, that would lead to him dating her.
Because he just loooves getting into long relationships.
I'm a cool, mature person. Pssh. I can handle that. It's been two months. Not long, maybe. Maybe I would prefer it if he had stuck to his guns about how he just couldn't imagine dating anyone but me for a little while longer, maybe made it seem a little better that I had been about to move in with him in a matter of months. Hm. But, okay. I'm realistic.
Oh, by the way, she loves your blog, he told me.
Mmk. Well. Nice to meet a fan. Not really sure how the subject of my blog came up with the girl he's now seeing, but hey. I appreciate readership.
And that's when he told me that the reason he had been so angry about my blog is because she reads it.
Hang on. Flash back here. Because I'm pretty sure two weeks before I started this blog you were still asking to get back together and complaining of a broken heart. Which would put it a solid one month after we broke up and two after we almost reunited.
Erm, okay, yes. I have a dating blog. Holy black kettle, right? But I really, legitimately am not taking this seriously as a way to find a mate. Maybe I didn't stress that enough. This is for sheer fun and experience, so those of you raising your eyebrows at me, just... chill out. I've had two serious boyfriends in 26 years, didn't I mention that?
And one of them (the only one I loved, incidentally) just told me he started dating someone a month after we broke up. Two weeks after we almost got back together.
Plus this is MY blog and I am the heroine of my own story. Everyone has their own side of an issue, but not everyone BLOGS ABOUT IT.
So what did I learn from this.
1) That he WAS lying with his apology.
2) That he WAS lying when he told me all that shit about how much he loved me.
3) He really DOESN'T think my boobs are all that great (They. Are.).
4) That I am easy to get over.
And now I'm facing the eternal dilemma, the one I have deftly managed to avoid to this point.
Now I get to look myself in the mirror and ask, what's wrong with me that I am so quickly forgotten?
How's about NOTHING! So goooo fuck yourself.
Everything good I have left of you is tainted by your demonstration of just how little I actually meant to you. I may be going on dates, but I'm still recovering from a major break-up. To me, they are separate. This experiment in no way made it "better" that I was left because I just wouldn't settle down for you. That you made me feel like I wasn't good enough.
That somehow I turned into the crazy one because I wanted to stay with you so bad I lost all sanity trying to squeeze what I needed out of you. Somewhere down the line, you switched. I never changed, but you did.
You built me up onto a pedestal, and then you kicked it out from under me. And shrugged when I acted surprised.
In a year or so I'm sure I'll smile and hope he's very successful and happy, with that girl, with another, whatever... but at this point? I'm more hoping he runs his car into a billboard.
Such as this one.
The one good thing about this is that I finally get those scenes in movies where the heroine breaks a plate and cries off her mascara. I used to think it was a total overreaction, but you know what? It really fucking sucks when someone makes you feel... disposable.
Although I have now discovered breaking a plate is really not all that exciting or rewarding.
That is a major life disappointment.