Just as I apologized to the people of Twitter for word-vomiting a series of angsty and cryptic tweets on Monday night, I shall now apologize to you, my loyal bloglets, for my quasi-hysterical and extremely vague previous post. Especially since you have gotten exactly zero information about everything leading up to that. And only a small handful of you probably even know what the everloving fuck I was talking about.
As with most situations involving tears and angst, it's about a boy. It's always about a boy, isn't it? It's always the worst thing for me to be hurt about, because it makes me feel weak - when really, it makes me human. God forbid. I have developed an aversion to being the kind of girl that gets shattered over a boy, because blah blah feminism blah blah I don't need anyone. I've convinced myself of a lot of things, over the last few years. You have to, when you've opted to be alone and to stay out of the fray. I've been watching the playing field from the sidelines because I didn't want to get involved. Too much drama, too much heartache. I was finally whole and I intended to stay that way. Anytime I felt my guard slipping, I ran as fast as I could the other way. None of that for me, thanks. But recently (and we'll get to this more later), for the first time in a long time, I didn't find myself running away... I found myself wanting to stay. I would have stayed, too, but a whole bunch of things unraveled quickly and finally the logical part of my being stepped in and said, "enough."
It was the right thing to do. For everyone. For me, so I could stop myself from getting hurt even worse, stop myself from getting even more emotionally invested. For him, so he could have space to clear his head and figure out what he wants, without me around, without me in the way. Because it suddenly became painfully clear that while he didn't know what he wanted, it wasn't me. There was too much confusion, too much to question, too much other stuff in the way. I don't really feel like I had a choice. I did what I had to do, and I know it was the right thing, it was, it really was, but... goddamn, this hurts. I forgot how much this part hurts. I was hoping, also, that if I was the one to walk away, it would hurt less. Maybe it does - maybe this is the "less." Maybe I ended up caring far more than I should have, far more than I would let on, far more than I would want him to know. I already feel foolish enough as it is. The writing was on the wall the entire time, and I insisted on being blind to it.
And I will be okay, I know I will. I've had plenty of practice from bouncing back, from being rejected, from being unwanted. I know, deep down, even if that voice in my head wants to tell me otherwise, that it has nothing to do with me. It's someone else's struggle, someone else's demons, someone else's everything. I just got caught in the crossfire.
If I were being honest with myself, I should have seen this coming, should have known that this is how it would end. Maybe I did know all along, and just chose not to listen. It doesn't matter. What's done is done. It was the right thing to do. I had to let him go.
So let's rewind a bit. I guess now that I'm at the end, I can start at the beginning. I can tell you the things I didn't tell you before, because I was keeping them to myself, because I didn't want to jinx anything... but now that there's nothing left to damage, I guess there's no reason to hold that same embargo on my thoughts. So I will. I will tell you. Not everything, because you don't need to know everything. But I will tell you just enough. Just enough so you know why it hurts.
Like a lot of people of our digital generation, we met online... It's kind of interesting to think about, because we never would have met any other way. His circles and my circles don't overlap, we have no mutual friends in common, which is unusual for the almost incestuous pool that is the greater Des Moines metro area. I was aloof in the beginning, like I always am. Cautious, guarded. Ready to run at any sign of a red flag. But that bastard charmed his way in and before I knew it, I had that stupid smile on my face (you know the one) whenever my phone dinged at me with a new text message. And in the beginning, he would text me every day - but not in a way that felt at all claustrophobic. He would text me goodnight and I thought it was cute. He was smart and funny and sweet and he kissed me the exact way that I loved to be kissed. He would hold me in such a way that I didn't really ever want to be let go, and he would kiss my head as I was curled up next to him, and softly stroke my hair and brush it out of the way (the hair-stroking is my own personal kryptonite, by the way. It makes me melt. And I never told him that. He just did it, on his own.) He's a writer, and a good one at that, and I adored reading everything that he would write. I'll still read his weekly column. If he doesn't unfriend me on facebook, I'll still follow his links to the other places he writes. He has the same quirky sense of humor that I have - one that I've had a hard time finding in a lot of guys around here. He referenced one of my favorite comedians on the second time we hung out - one that's relatively obscure outside of my circle of college friends, or at least I thought. It was all the little things like that. Little things that I will miss, and little things that kept me holding on even after I started wondering if I should let go.
Because there was someone else, someone he wasn't quite over, and it was part of the bigger, more terminal problem. I was willing to patiently wait, while he figured things out. I tried to pretend it all away, tried to pretend I couldn't see that elephant in the room. Because sometimes it wasn't there. Sometimes it was just us, and it was perfect when it was. But ultimately... ultimately, I was fighting a losing battle. I'm not going to go into much more detail than that, because that's where it becomes his story and not mine, but... I knew I couldn't win.
And I sat curled up in the blankets on my bed and stared at the blank wall across from me, little tears streaming down my cheeks, and I knew what I had to do. And when it was over, the little tears became big tears and I had myself a nice ugly cry (a nice long one, ugh) and then I began to write this post. Because that's how I heal. That's how I deal with the sad things and the things that hurt. I don't care who reads this. My heart is on my sleeve, and that's okay.
But, God, just once, just once, I would like to be the one that someone was hung up on. I don't know what that feels like. To truly be wanted, to be someone's everything, even for a little while. I've never had that. I'd always been a placeholder. And while that wasn't necessarily the case here... I was collateral damage, I guess. I know he wanted to want me, but there's too much else in the way.
I don't know what he's thinking, if he's sad at all, disappointed, if he hates me, if he even cares. Maybe he's relieved. I'd probably be relieved, if it were me. Maybe we'll be friends, once the smoke clears and it doesn't hurt to think about him. Maybe he'll be like all of the other boys of my past, and I'll never really talk to him again. Maybe he'll be just another name on the list. I don't know. I don't want to think about it. I'm going to focus on the right now and keep myself pulled together.
I know there are a hundred billion other guys out there, but there was something about this one that I wanted to hold onto a bit longer. I have a hard time imagining that I will find anyone else around here that will pique my interest in quite the same way, someone else who will give me shivers instead of butterflies. I'm sure that person is out there, but I don't want to look for him right now. He'll find me, if he's meant to. I'd probably just run away, anyway. I'm not very smart about this stuff.