I'm turning 23 tomorrow. I know what my birthday gift to myself is.

An odd choice for a gift, something that's meant to bring joy, but fitting for me. Because it's still what I want.

I suppose that's what counts, ultimately.

I would like to curl up in a ball and think about him without seeming so pathetic.

It's been over 3 weeks since that last phone call, when I gave him the ultimatum to contact me in a month or not to contact me at all, and there's been nothing. I guess he really intends on cutting me off. Aren't I worth keeping in touch with though? Didn't he find value in the things we talked about? Isn't it hard to restart the process of finding someone out there like me--or maybe he doesn't want to find anyone like me.

Will he have lost nothing by losing me? And if so, why does it have to feel the exact opposite on this side?

A Rundown

1. His summer girlfriend breakup did not go well.

2. He's never been friends with any of his exes--it's an established pattern.

-----

I told him he's the common denominator then, by disengaging with the problems that need to be resolved head-on (and sometimes messily) and letting them fester until his past romances blew up at him.

In short, I dodged a big fucking bullet, and in the end, I didn't buy his bullshit attempts to seduce me into feeling sorry for him and compromising my own interpersonal principles to make him feel better. The onus is on him to continue a friendship with me. If he wants to, he'll resume contact again. If more than a month passes, I told him not to bother at all.

I'm stronger than what I want(ed).

And I'm less fucked in the head than he is.

Hah, a 22 year old girl is more mentally adjusted than a 27 year old man. What does that say about him?

What does it say about me?

In the future, I'll give myself more credit. I did, after all, avoid repeating the destructive pattern in high school.

It's done and I'm okay.

I'm actually okay.

Things I've Been Told

"you’re hard to read"

"it’s difficult to gauge your emotional reactions"

"I can’t tell if you’re mad or just annoyed or…?"

"what does that face mean"

"I don’t know what you’re thinking"

"you keep yourself really distant"

"please tell me what’s on your mind"

Really? I never thought of myself as hard to read—my face gives away so much, I can never hide if I’m upset or happy or excited or w/e over something, but I’m told these things often (and usually by my various paramours or people-trying-to-be-friends-with-me).

But I mean, yeah. I push you away if I feel like you’re getting too close. My walls don’t give unless I think your walls have come down enough too. This doesn’t make me an impossible person to know. It simply means that getting to know me isn’t a light investment. I don’t do superficial whatever-ships with people. I’m a no-nonsense person; show me you’re worth my time and energy.

Does this make me any less worth getting to know?

I would like to congratulate myself on having allowed another guy to eat my brain and my life and all possibility for productive activity.

Thank you so much self, your judgment has always and consistently led me astray.

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I sent him that email this morning, and it was basically a baring of myself. No reply. I haven't gotten a real live message from him since last Thursday. This is--this is...I don't even know what to call this. What the hell do you call this. Can he just tell me to fuck off so I'll stop moping and lying around the house after work like a useless sack of human emotions.

Actually, I wish I had sent him the other version of the email instead, which was filled with profanity and more embarrassing confessions from the heart.

Someone slap some fucking sense into me please.

if you still creep on this blog, then read this

I think one of the most enjoyable things about having a new friend is the process of getting to know them. You share your interests, the music you listen to, the films you watch, the things you write, the principles you believe in, the skeletons you hide. They consume what you reveal, and you return the gesture. With each give and take, you learn a bit more about them in a gradual unfolding that enriches the connection you had decided to make. If they’re as invested as you are, the conversations occur almost every day until you discover that there are never enough hours in the day to say everything you want because tomorrow seems too far off in the distance to wait. You find time to talk to them even when you’re busy because the pleasure of their company is worth it. 

That’s not what’s happening here. For any number of reasons—work, hobbies, the personal—you’re unable to uphold your end of what I thought would be a redo of this past May. Or maybe this is exactly what you had envisioned, and I’ve simply misinterpreted the parameters of this experimental reconciliation. Because of that, I believe the short-lived arrangement we had agreed to a few weeks ago must come to an end. I couldn’t have stressed enough the importance of maintaining some semblance of friendship through this, which has been clearly not the case. You understand why I’m terminating this then. 

Another part of why this isn’t working is that I like you. More than I expected. More than I should. At the time that I told you I was emotionally sound enough to have sex, I wholeheartedly believed I was. I am not. The odd silences and sporadic moments of contact since leaving your house that Sunday night have been distracting at best. I’m not in the habit of sending messages that get ignored. I’m not in the habit of opening up about personal things that are left unanswered. I’m not in the habit of allowing people to take me for granted. 

I didn’t understand why I had suddenly been the one to initiate conversations again when prior to Labor Day Weekend, you had all been for repairing ties with me by stepping up yourself. I didn’t understand the abrupt change in mood and response rate in early September until I learned about your depression. That is to say, what you’ve been struggling with puts much of your behavior in an understandable context, but it doesn’t excuse the way you’ve been treating me—which is when I realized I’ve been expecting more out of what was meant to come without any strings attached.  

I’m not used to feeling this vulnerable, and telling you so. 

Suffering from depression in addition to a heavy workload and band obligations have affected your emotional/mental health while reducing your social activity. Please take care of yourself then, but don’t string me along anymore. It’s been a long time since I’ve felt like I matter this little to someone. I have to look out for myself too.

He sought my warmth, and I didn't mind.

Out With It

I wish I could just resume whatever was happening with him back in May instead of constantly having to draw and redraw these new boundaries/parameters that wind up blurring and getting crossed anyway. Potential dating! Kidding, now it's cut-off-ties-and-move-on. No wait! He's apologized, and I've extended the hand of friendship without any expectations to sleep with him again since he has a girlfriend. Kidding, now he's broken up with her and has been hankering for time with me. But wait! We should redefine this nebulous thing we've started up again. And on and on and fucking on.

I feel like there's bait dangling in front of my face, and he keeps lowering and yanking the hook. I've been talking bullshit for the past few weeks here when I should have just owned what I feel instead of pushing down everything like I always do.

Yes, I do like him. Quite a bit. And I would like a more serious arrangement with him, but I'm convinced/certain that he doesn't want the same, especially considering that he just got out of a summer relationship barely a month ago. I'm ashamed that I would still have feelings for someone who's hurt me the way he has. I'm angry that I can't concentrate on much else. I'm humiliated that I've let myself become more invested in some whatevership than the other party. I know better than that.

Mostly, I'm terrified of feeling more vulnerable than I have in years.

What If

Last night I imagined us taking our time to undress each other in your room. I slid your shirt over your head; you unbuttoned my blouse with such careful fingers. Late sunlight slanted through the window as my skirt pooled on the floor next to your jeans, and the sky had turned deep blue once my knees hit the back of your bed, sending me in a slow, arcing tumble onto sheets that you’d just washed. They smelled like you: fresh laundry, sharp and clean, with traces of the body you wear them out in. I pulled you down.

The rest comes in hazy patches of memory tinged with too much longing. Mostly, I remember our every movement executed as if underwater, my hand fluidly curving over your ass, and hooking my leg over your shoulder seemed like a minute-long task. I remember your weight fully pressed on me, chest to chest, while you buried your face in the crook of my neck until your beard rubbed my skin pink and tender. Without any music in the background, I could hear the choked groans you tried to hide, and my own catches of breath startled the stillness in the air.

I looked into your eyes at one point, letting every wince and lip bite show from how completely you were filling me. You would shift forward, and the bed would pitch along as well to the aching, steady rhythm we set. Time started and stopped, started and stopped. When it was all over, I clung on tight with my eyes squeezed shut, picturing another image within this dream, and let go before those few seconds stretched into something too tense to unravel. I think I decided to stay for the night because for this moment only, I had enough time.