Oh, if I had a dollar for every time I heard myself or one of my friends say: but he’s different, or, but there’s just something different about him, we could’ve each gotten top-of-the-line dildos and fucked ourselves right then and there.
I met someone. At first, he was everything I had wanted: dark hair, light eyes, an English teacher, funny, sweet. We used to talk for hours, and I mean that literally: just on the phone. When we weren’t talking on the phone, we were texting. When we weren’t texting we were snap chatting. I felt so lucky – I thought that by some chance, this was it: finally what was supposed to work out for me. He had no idea how he made me feel; I could have written symphonies solely based on the curls of his hair, or the length of his lashes, but he would have never listened to them. He found me to be funny; he said women who were generally funny were hard to come by. He told me that having a sense of humor and being funny were different, which I guess is accurate. I was not myself around him, though. I felt like I could not openly talk about the thoughts that I had about me and him. I was never given a straightforward answer to my questions, and somehow, I felt worse than I did before I asked. By February, about a little less than a month of us talking, something happened. He become the person that he was when it ended, and not the person that I thought I knew when it started. Something had shaken him; something had shifted, and he told me what it was. I remember one night, him texting me and telling me that he felt very upset, and did not want to talk about it at the moment, and would talk to me the next day. The next day he sent me a Snapchat of his shaved head and no facial hair. I suppose he needed a change. When we spoke later on the phone, I asked him what happened. He brushed it off briefly, but then finally said that it had to do with his ex girlfriend. His ex girlfriend was gorgeous – she had red hair, a super nice butt, and was an athlete. She looked wholesome, yet not. He told me he received a package from her; if I’m not mistaken, it might have been something of his that she had, as well as a letter she had written that expressed her feelings of anguish. She told him she had a blog, and advised him to read it. Now, if I am remembering correctly, they broke up once because she cheated on him (I seem to attract guys with cheating exes), they then got back together, and I cannot remember if he broke up with her or vice versa and if so, why. He told me he read what she had written. How badly hurt she was by the breakup. He was so incredibly hurt by whatever it was that she sent him – it was as if he had meant nothing to her. I guess they talked for a while over the phone that night or something. He was in this rut that no one could pull him out of. I tried to be supportive. And I tried to be patient. But there was something inside of me that questioned why it still bothered him so much, and why he was so deeply hurt. I understood, but, selfishly I didn’t. Was I just someone to take up the time? I was nice and compliant and sweet and cute. I have learned, everybody, that those qualities do not merit a girlfriend. After he received what he did from his ex girlfriend, it was like one thing after the other. He was trying really hard to get his teaching license in Florida so he could move, and he was under insane amounts of pressure. He also ended up in the hospital due to something which wasn’t super concerning, but I think he was there for a day or so. It was also the anniversary of his father’s death. He also had to deal with things at home and helping his mom sell their house. Whenever I asked him when the next time we would be able to see each other was, he was never sure. I would make sure I was free on a Friday or Saturday, even if we didn’t have anything planned, hoping that he would say something last minute. I was let down a lot. It sucked only seeing someone once a week, and for them to never agree to any concrete plans. And when we would make plans, he became too tired, or something would come up. If you read back to those months on here, most of those posts were about him: For A Boy Who Doesn’t Care; I Can See the Signs; To the Rain; To the Storm, This is How it Happens; etc. I felt like there was no point in telling him how I really felt, because I made him angry – I made him frustrated. My need to ask questions and understand things has that affect, I would soon find out. Whether it was on the phone or through text, he seemed to somehow always take what I said the wrong way, or he would turn it around on me and make himself seem like the victim, which, I never acted like I was or there was one to begin with, I was only expressing how I felt. To this day I cannot deal with a guy that turns shit around on you; trust me, if I did something wrong I will own up to it, and if not please say something. But don’t just write off someone’s concerns if you don’t care to hear them. One night, while we were in the car, he was upset. I asked him the same question twice; I typically do that out of habit – I don’t mean to, it’s just a thing I do. The second time, he snapped. He yelled. What is wrong with you? Did you not just hear me? No, I want to know if you’re really that dumb to not have gotten what I just said? And yes. It was along those lines. And yes, I was taken aback. And I sat in his car while he went into the gas station near his house and I teared up; I was so angry at myself. I did not deserve that. I do not deserve that. But I still sat in the passenger seat, and stayed. After seeing each other for a couple of months, maybe about 3-4, I tried so hard to work up the courage to ask the pesky question: what are we? Where is this going? Because I truly did not know what it was. I feel the need to know at least what general area it falls under, only because I don’t want to be someone’s fuck buddy or their friend with benefits, however, I find myself there more often than not. But I want to know because if that is what they want, that is fine: I will be the best wingbitch ever (ask Metin), and we will go out and find you that. I am too ‘in my feelings’ to mix sex and friendship, which is probably why Jake and I did not talk for a couple of months after. But every time I asked, his answer was vague. Every time it was how much he cared about me and liked me as a friend. But we weren’t friends with benefits. But we weren’t dating. I had never felt less like me at that time in my life. I kept as quiet as I could. I tried to obey as much as I could. Whenever I spoke, I prepared for the backlash and anticipated the blow since I was used to things being turned around on me.
June 11th, 2016, Kevin and Shannon took me to see the conjuring 2. He was supposed to come over my house to see me on my birthday. At this point, we had been ‘talking’ for about 5-6 months. We got back from the movies around 9. I wished him a happy half birthday, and he told me thanks. He told me he wasn’t sure if he could make it – he was tired and had to get up early the next day. A part of me had already expected that to happen. But it doesn’t mean it hurts any less when it does. I did not expect anything from him and especially if someone isn’t technically ‘mine’, how can I? I just wanted to see him. I remember him coming to my neighborhood twice in a 7 month period. The other times, I came to him. And yes, in some senses I am old fashioned and think if you’re going on a date or something it’d be nice for the guy to actually pick you up. The end of June came, and he was going to drive to Florida to move there. I worked so. fucking. hard. on this mixtape that I made him specifically for the drive there. I could hardly contain my excitement and I wanted to play it for him beforehand. He told me no, and he wanted to wait so he could be surprised. He periodically checked in with me on the way up there. He said the CD was packed away, and he would listen to it when he got there. I think I asked him almost daily if he got a chance to listen to it yet. A word to the wise: when a woman stops telling you something like she misses you, or stops asking things, it is because she is tired of hearing the same answer or tired of being disappointed by your minimal response. After a couple weeks, I asked him again if he had a chance to listen to it. He said no, and that he realized he had forgotten it at home. This doesn’t seem like that big of a deal, and to him, it wasn’t. But I worked really fucking hard on that playlist. And it is because I pay attention to the small details of peoples’ lives am I able to make them something beautiful. It meant a lot to me that he have it and listen to it on the way to Florida. I made it for that reason specifically, and for him to maybe think of me. Only for him to have forgotten about it completely, leaving it behind in Illinois. I had never once asked him for anything. And a word of advice to women: when you are being honest with a man and expressing your thoughts or feelings, if he invalidates them, responds condescendingly, or turns it around on you, walk away. As soon as you can. Because guess what? When he was stressing out about work and school, my grandfather died. My 3 month old niece died. Both within 2 months apart. My uncle was diagnosed with cancer soon after that. I was promoted at work and that consumed my life. And just a lot of other shit. I was not doing well mentally. At all. My self harm was not at its peak but well on its way. And whenever I tried to express things, they were shot down. He told me he was going through a stressful time. And I understood. I always understood. But he did not understand that I was, too. And I tried to do what I could to give him what he needed. As significant as I tried to make him feel, the more insignificant I felt. In both his eyes and mine. And I tried so hard. Why? I think I tried to prove something. I tried to prove that I was worthy of being with. That I was not the type of woman to cheat, or intentionally hurt him. Here’s some advice for any girl reading this: that does not work – trust me. This situation with him affected me more than I like to admit. I was patient and waited for him to tell me I was good enough to be someone he saw himself with. Just like I waited for Nick to tell me I was good enough to love. From what I have gathered and from what I’m still learning, waiting is kind of bullshit. Let me wait for this guy to see how great I am. No. Fuck. That. If he does not see how great I am to begin with, what is the point? If you have no interest in being with me, actually being with me and being mine and me being yours at some point if things seem to head in that direction, then don’t. I will be your wingbitch, tell you to never settle for mediocre blowjobs, and leave it at that. I appreciated sex with him, because he was the first person to ever make me squirt which I feared I could never do. But, he was confident – cocky. Sure his penis was pretty, but no, I do not think that he needed magnum condoms, but he said they were the most comfortable for him. I do not believe we were ever fully sexually compatible. I wanted to believe we were. He liked my blowjobs, but they were weird for him. Or he was weird for me, and not in the good way. When I think about people that I have been sexually compatible with, only a few come to mind. He took pride in his abilities sexually. He said he could tell when women faked orgasms, so I did not even bother. I felt like even during sex I was doing something wrong, or not good enough, or whatever. Which, criticism can be good and helpful, but I do not know. It was just. . .strange. I felt like I was not completely myself. But at the time, I thought it was the best thing? I thought I felt so comfortable? I do not pay any mind to guys that tell me they read what I write: it is only when they reference things that have to have been read to reference, or ask what I meant by that one sentence back in 2015? Wow, I think, if they take the time to read something that is important and personal to me, maybe they will take the time to actually get to know me. Or something along those lines.
Fuck, man. What am I doing? What was I thinking? What did I think would happen? He told me he didn’t know if he was going to for sure move to Florida. Which obviously did not help, because I thought there was some possibility. So yes I stayed knowing that there was a possibility of him leaving, but he always played it down. He made it seem like it was just an option and not permanent. And he still reads this. And he’ll still like my Instagram pictures from time to time. The last time we had any form of communication was when he texted me back in April of 2017 and asked if the post that I wrote, Homes, Houses was something I actually wrote or if someone else wrote it. But there is absolutely no point in speaking with him. Some people will never understand where you’re coming from, not even because they can’t, but because they don’t want to. That was a really fucking shitty time in my life. And I’m not blaming him because it wasn’t his fault by any means, that’s not what I’m saying. The timing in general just wasn’t right to begin with. I wrote a post about him entitled The English Teacher. I have since made it private. At the time, I was so smitten. But he had an upper hand because of it. Very rarely did he tell me that he missed me or couldn’t wait to see me. I felt like I fished for reassurance and validation in a sea that had long been dried up. The reason why I felt the need for validation and reassurance was, I guess, because I need an exact answer. I could not sit and wait for him to decide whether I was good enough to be with. And, to anyone reading this, I would imagine you know what that feels like; it is not a good feeling. I cannot sit and wait for you to only talk to me when you want, when it’s convenient. I cannot wonder whether I am someone who is worthy of your time. You cannot talk to me about the lies, deceit, and infidelity of your past, and how that has affected you, only for you to reminisce about those people. You cannot tell me that I have made you feel incredible, in more ways than one, and then act like I’m not shit.
I wrote a post long ago entitled For Anyone Who Dates Me or something. I meant what I said in there. But I am starting to think I should accept the fact that people do not feel as deeply as me. And no, I do not mean that I fall madly in love with any person I’ve talked to. But if I actually text/respond back to you frequently, take it as a compliment. If I make or bake you something, you’re welcome. If I take the time to write something for you, I hope you feel whatever it was. It is important for me to invest time with someone that actually wants to be with me, wants to do things with me. Tell me what you love. Tell me what you hate. Tell me what has kept you up at night. Tell me what you’re passionate about. Tell me what happened to you in elementary school that one day. Tell me the name of your first pet. Does anyone remember Ryan? I never said his name, but he’s the one that broke things off out of nowhere because I liked horror. I remember he gave me a plush shark after our first date. The first time I decided to give him a blowjob was on the 4th date (I know, crazy) when he got me flowers for no reason, got my favorite wine because he somehow remembered, and we watched the Addams family. No, I am not suggesting that I need things like that. Everyone expresses things differently in their own way. He obviously did not know my favorite flowers – no guy does except maybe 2. I have met one guy since I’ve been 21, that has said some things to me, in detail. Where I told them how I ate my pizza rolls and they thought it was adorable. My niece was sick one night, and I nonchalantly mentioned it to him. The next day, he asked how she was doing. I remember exactly how I felt in that moment: surprised; appreciative. No guy besides Jake or Luke would ask that; no guy I was interested in would ask that. But this one is different, I thought – about the person I had met that I told my pizza roll story to, which isn’t the person I originally started writing about on this post. But I would soon realize, again, that there is absolutely no amount of star alignment, or Gods’ smiling down upon you from the heavens that will make something work if you are not ready. And the thing that sucks the most, is sometimes we don’t even know that we’re not. Whether it’s that we don’t love ourselves, or we are still healing from old wounds – the universe is a fucking savage; but I still believe it has our best interest at heart.