The One with the End...

I did eventually find the words I couldn’t say.  I found them and I said them.  And I meant them.  I meant them as much as I could mean them while not really meaning them.  I know that doesn’t make any sense—but then again, my heart never makes any sense.  My head tries to make sense.  But it usually gets quieted by my heart.  They just can’t seem to work together.

My heart fell deeply for someone who told me not to.  I didn’t even try to stop it.  I followed it head first in to the pool.  I was happy to jump. 

He told me again and again that he did not have time for a relationship.  But he wouldn’t leave me alone.  And I didn’t want him to.  Every time he texted me, I answered.  I couldn’t answer fast enough.  And every time he invited me over, I went.  Once a week for 8 months.  Give or take a week here and there.

I could not get enough of him.  One day a week wasn’t enough for me…but it was better than nothing. 

So I found myself again and again making the drive.  In the beginning he would come to me, but it soon became evident that he didn’t even have to bother offering because I would drive to him if it meant I got to spend time with him.  I told myself that I knew what I was doing.

I couldn’t help it.  He was everything to me.  I had met so many men.  So many.  And there was just something about him.  Something in the way he talked about cooking, about music, about anything.  His face lit up with a passion I rarely see in the guys I’ve gone out with.  I could have just sat and listened to him tell stories for hours.  In fact, I usually did. 

We were electric together.  Our conversations would go on all night.  Then when we couldn’t talk anymore we would find ourselves tangled up together for another extended period of time.  And then we would fall asleep attached to each other.  If I rolled over in the middle of the night he followed.  If he rolled over, I followed. 

The mornings were usually rushed.  I always had to be work.  I would be sleep deprived but in the best way possible.  I didn’t care that it took me an extra 3 cups of coffee to make it through the day.  I’d yawn, then I’d smile.  I’d catch myself in meetings drifting off thinking about the night before.  It made my daily meetings bearable! 

Sometimes we had time in the morning and he would make me a cup of coffee and I would sit on his couch and bask in the glow of the night before.  We’d talk about our plans for the day, what was coming up for the week, or anything else.  And then I’d have to go.  He’d walk me to the door the way he always did and we’d hug and he’d kiss me.  And he’d say “have a good week.”  I winced every time he’d put such a long period of time after “have a good…”  I never knew how long it would be until I would see him again. 

And that’s how we operated for those 8 months.  Always on his schedule.  He was busy I rationalized.  He had just started his own business.  I just had two jobs and a life, no big deal.  

Nothing that couldn’t be rearranged.  But he was “BUSY.”  I had to accept the time he would give me or I wouldn’t get any at all.

I told myself that I didn’t mind.  Having one day a week made it that much more special.  The fact that he only texted me every 3 days meant that his texts were precious to me.  They weren’t boring updates of what he was eating, or the chores he had to do that day, or chit chat about how work was going.  Every text meant something.  They were witty.  They were brief.  

They were gold as far as I was concerned.

I had to force myself not to text him as often as I wanted to.  Even when I caved and texted him some b.s. story just to talk to him, he’d always respond.  I would rarely get a full conversation out of it.  Just a few back and forth texts and he would end it with one word.  Or worse, just smiley face.  I knew the smiley face meant “I’m done texting you for the day.”  Usually.  I hate that damn smiley face.

But with him I have never felt so alive.  He made my heart pound and my blood race.  The thought of him made me smile inside and out.  Our time together, albeit brief, made me so happy.  It was so easy.  We were instantly comfortable with each other and it felt like we had known each other for years.  We rarely argued about anything.  If we did, it was always followed by laughs and a round or two in the bedroom.

I never demanded anything of him.  Any time I would get the courage to have any sort of serious talk with him, I’d chicken out.  I can’t even count the number of times I spent the entire 20 minute car ride going over and over the issues I needed to talk to him about.  I’d breathe deep and say “Okay, we got this, we’re sooo gonna say it this time!”

And then I’d walk in to his apartment.  He’d smile.  He’d offer me something to drink.  I’d sit down in the chair across from him.  He’d ask me how my week was.  We’d talk about our weeks.  We’d listen to music.  We’d eat ice cream and give each other foot massages.  We’d tell stories.  Then we’d go to bed and start the cycle all over again.

Every single time I chickened out because I didn’t want to ruin our good time.  It just felt so unnecessary.  All the issues I told myself I needed to talk to him about—they just didn’t matter as soon as we were together.  I knew that if I asked the questions I wanted to ask that I wouldn’t get the answers I wanted to hear and then our fun time would be over.

And that was the last thing I wanted.

I can’t even say that right now I’m okay that it’s over.  I’m trying to be.  I really need to be over it.  But it’s one of those sorts of things that will stick with you forever, I think.  Even though it was such a short time in the grand scheme of life, I believe he was one of those people that I will never forget.

He made me feel things I had never felt before.  He introduced me to so many things I never would have known about or experienced without him.  He just had so much life experience.  I felt like I was learning things and changing my views on things I didn’t realize were changeable.  

Everything he said just made so much sense.  It was like we were a cult and I worshiped him.

While I understand that sounds crazy, I haven’t had anyone in my life longer than a couple months since I was in college.  I meet men.  I fall for them.  Something happens.  It’s over.  Nothing has lasted any longer than a couple of months.  No one has stuck around long enough for me to be that crazy about them.

But he did.  Even though he wouldn’t commit to me, he didn’t commit to anyone else either.  Well, as far as I knew anyway.  Even if he was sleeping with other girls—which I can only assume—he always came back to me.  That had to mean something, right?  Right?

Yeah…that he knew that I worshiped him and would do anything for him and wouldn’t ask for anything in return.  That’s what it meant. 

He told me to date other people.  We talked about my sorry excuse for a dating life, but only in the context of how the date failed.  I never said out loud “my date didn’t go well because he’s not you” but I think we both knew that very well.  Since February I had been failing at trying to meet someone else.  January was when he told me he wasn’t looking for a relationship and February was the beginning of an end that took another 6 months to materialize.

I did see other guys.  I did go on dates.  I slept with a couple of them too—although I never told him about that.  I don’t know if he just assumed, the way I did, that I slept with other people during that time or not.  It doesn’t really matter.  It’s not like he would’ve been jealous the way I would’ve been.  And he never told me about his turns either so it was a don’t ask, don’t tell policy with us.  Except for every time I’d go out with a guy and inevitably break it off and go running back to him.

It was like he knew that telling me to go out with guys would only bring me back to him.  Of course I compared them all.  Of course none of them were nearly as interesting as him.  And if they were, I never found out because I was too busy thinking about how they weren’t to actually find out the truth.  I sabotaged every single one.  Over and over.  And I told him so.  And he didn’t say anything about it.

He let me fall for him.  He told me not to, but then he didn’t do anything to stop it.  He kept inviting me over knowing that every time he would go days without talking to me, was agony for me. 

He knew I would rub his back anytime he asked, so he asked often.  Didn’t really return the favor except maybe once.

He knew that he could go days without talking to me and that whenever he had time he could guarantee I would be there anyway.  No matter how long had passed in between.

He knew everyone in my life knew about him when he most likely didn’t tell anyone about me.

He knew I wanted to go out with him.  Go to dinner.  Go to the movies.  Go fucking anywhere!  But he was always “too busy” for those things.  But he’d invite me over for the night and we’d spend enough time together to have done all of the above. 

He knew if he asked me for something that I’d give it to him. 

He knew that I wanted to be more than what we were.  That, I did say out loud once or twice.  And he would say “I enjoy spending time with you…I would like to keep seeing you…but I don’t have time for a relationship.”

Everyone in my life told me I deserved better.  He probably knew I was hearing that and ignoring it.  My friends saw that I was happy, but they also saw that I was miserable.  I don’t know how life can be so cruel as to have you feel two such strong emotions simultaneously.

I’ve never had anyone in my life before that I enjoyed spending time with the way I enjoyed it with him.  Maybe because we weren’t in a relationship we got to live that beginning part where you don’t discuss where things are going and you just enjoy each other over and over and over.  It was some of the best parts of a relationship without actually being in one.  We had passion—boy did we—and we even had a smidgen of intimacy.

But there was no commitment.  Anyone who took a psych 100 course knows that there needs to be passion, intimacy, and commitment for consummate love. 

Passion and intimacy are “fatuous love.”  That is what I was.  Completely fatuous.  For those of you who aren’t wordsmiths like myself, some synonyms for fatuous are

synonyms:

silly, foolish, stupid, inane, idiotic, vacuous, asinine;

Yeah, that was me alright. 

I did say goodbye...twice.  I decided while I didn’t want to give him up, that I did deserve better and the longer I allowed this to go on, the more fatuous I would become and eventually I would lose myself altogether.  I would lose the excitement I feel for my future.  The idea of marriage and family.  The thought of spending the rest of my life with someone.  So I finally got the guts and sent a ten page text that I sobbed through the entire time that I was typing.   

He said “I wish things were different.  I really like you.  I like being with you.  But you deserve someone who has time to spend with you.  You’re incredible.  You’re sexy & smart & funny & beautiful.  Don’t ever sell yourself short.  Don’t settle.  I know it doesn’t always seem like it but I like getting texts from you.  I’m sorry I don’t have a lot of time for responses.  I’d like to keep seeing you but I know that’s not fair to you…I’m sad but I know this is best for both of us right now.”

That broke me.  Why if he felt that way would he just not do something about it?  If I was so incredible, sexy, smart, why didn’t he make time for me?  I’m sorry, but It’s a bunch of bull shit that someone “doesn’t have time” for something if they feel strongly enough about it.  I know people who have made relationships out of FAR LESS than that.  With less time and more distance. 

I made it maybe two weeks. 

And when that text came (I don't know who broke first, probably me)…as it inevitably would…I showed up.  And I told myself I was stronger than I was before.  This time around I knew it was nothing.  We were just two people hanging out and enjoying things while we were in the interim of life. 

But I learned things about him that hurt me like they shouldn’t have.  I had no claim staked.  There was nothing I could do.  I couldn’t be hurt, I kept telling myself.  But I was.  So I did it again.  I said goodbye again.  But this time I meant it.  I knew I did.  I told him he was breaking my heart over and over and I honestly had reached my limit. 

I told him that I knew he knew how I felt and that I couldn’t be his go-to person anymore.  I wanted my power back!  And instead of the long drawn out text I got the first time around…all I got that time was “I’m so sorry Alicia.  I never meant to hurt you.  I’ll leave you alone.

And he did.  And I held strong.  For about a month I held it together.  And then I quit my job and had nothing but time to think.  I didn’t cave.  It wasn’t me the second time.  He texted me after about a month and asked how I was.  And I told him the truth.  I said “I’m getting by.”  I wasn’t happy, but I was just about over being sad.  But of course I had other problems.  And he had solutions.  And so I found myself at his place again.

The only way to keep my wits about me this time was to go into everything like it was a transaction.  No feelings.  No strings.  No hurt heart.  I thought I had this nice wall built. 

I thought I did.

But you know how these things go.

This time there was no grand gesture “good bye” text.  I went to his new place and we hung out.  For the first time in 8 months we didn’t sleep together.  We talked all night.  I slept over.  I left in the morning.  We said good bye, but made no promises to see each other again.

And that was it.

It’s been about a month.  Neither one of us has texted the other.  I think he would’ve responded if I had texted, but I think he also knows when I don’t that I am…otherwise engaged.  There wasn’t really any closure there, but let’s be real…I had closure twice and that didn’t help anything anyway.

Is it over for good this time?  I guess so.  It’s probably better that there was no official good bye.  I’ve never been good at good bye’s. 

Will I be able to move on to someone better?

I certainly hope so.

I have failed every time I’ve tried.  But I think I’m in a better place.  I don’t put him up on a pedestal anymore.  I see the things about him that I was blinded to when I was really “in it.”  There were things he would say, things he wouldn’t do, times I could never have relied on him in any real manner.  I see now just how much advantage he took of the situation and how much I let him do it.  Can you really take advantage of someone who is happy to do it?

He was like a magician.  And whatever we had was just smoke and mirrors. 

What concerns me is how strongly I felt for someone who didn’t feel that way about me.  How much of my heart I was willing to hand over.  How much of my life I was unwittingly willing to change, bend, and move around, for someone who never offered me the same.  Someone who had no intention of letting me any closer than arm’s distance.  Someone who found it so easy to enjoy the things I was willing to do for him all the while never planning on doing anything like that for me.

What concerns me more is if I’ll be able to feel that way for someone else.  Will I ever meet someone I feel that way about who feels that way about me too?  I have met men willing to be that person for me, but I find myself frustratingly feeling nothing for them.  Or at least, not feeling enough of it.  What is wrong with me?  Why do I keep giving myself to these guys who will take take take, but never give back?

And then when I find someone willing to give it all to me…I don’t want it. 

My heart is broken.  I can’t trust it right now.  I only hope that someday it finally realizes what I deserve and will accept nothing less.  But that is another blog entirely…