It's been a week since Nate broke up with me and the wound is still fresh. Friends and family have rallied around me to cheer me up and offer comforting words, and while in most cases they have proven very helpful, they've also succeeded in providing me with a new blog post: what NOT to say to someone who has just been dumped.
"You'll find somebody ten times better."
- Better is not the point. Ryan Gosling could ask me to marry him right now and I wouldn't accept. I don't want better; I want Nate. I want what I had. That's what was perfect and made me the happiest I've ever been in my life.
"It's Better to have loved and lost than never loved at all."
- Is it? Really? I disagree. Had I known it would end like this, I would have walked away eight months ago and never fallen in love with him in the first place.
"You will be happy again."
- Duh. The point is that I'm not happy now.
"Finding true love takes time."
- How much longer will it take? I thought maybe 28 years was long enough.
"You must first love yourself before someone else can love you."
- I do love myself! I think I'm fucking wonderful. Yet I'm still waiting for someone to love me...
"On the bright side, you can still be friends."
- Oh, so we can hang out and laugh and have a great time and do everything we used to do, except have sex? Yeah, that sounds really awesome. Not to mention I'll have to sit around and watch when he finds someone new. Sounds like a real party.
"At least it's not just you. The success rate for relationships is really, really low. Almost nobody stays together anymore!"
- Wow. Just... wow. Extremely encouraging.
There are, however, some words that have actually made me feel better this past week, and I thank my friends whole-heartedly who have been there for me and said these kind things:
"That fool just lost the best thing he ever had."
- Damn straight.
"You weren't too good for him, but you were far too good for the situation."
- Ahh yes, I can't deny this. Being in a "medium-distance" relationship and stressing about the next time I'd get to see my boyfriend had definitely started to take its toll.
"I know it hurts that he didn't love you, but just remember that I have loved you for 19 years."
- Friends that have stuck around since I was a chubbster wearing stirrup leggnings are the best.
I can assure you that, for the most part, when someone has been dumped, all she/he wants to hear is how much life sucks. And it does suck. A lot, sometimes. But my week of mourning is over and now it's time to let the wound begin scabbing. I know, I know... scabs are really gross and generally unwated, but that's how I view the process of healing from a break-up. No one really wants to go through that, either. I could also form an analogy about how even after the wound heals the scar remains, but... maybe I'll leave that extreme corniness for a future post. Deal with it.
HAPPY 50th BLOG POST TO ME! Thanks for reading :)
Monday, April 30, 2012
Thursday, April 26, 2012
Just Somebody That I Used To Know
My boyfriend of nearly eight months broke up with me four days ago, telling me that he could never love me. He was the best thing I ever had and I'm left aching and broken, with so many questions that don't have answers. The breakup was preceded by my telling him three weeks ago that I was in love with him, to which he responded kindly and sweetly, but said he couldn't say the same... not yet. Over the next three weeks nothing changed within our relationship, we were still as happy as we were before, but I guess that's all the time he needed to realize something just wasn't there for him. Except I don't understand. How can eight months together in a relationship separated by a distance that required a great deal of effort on both of our parts, a relationship in which he sent me flowers for no reason, talked to me on the phone for hours a night, sent me messages just to tell me I was beautiful, romantically surprised me on Valentine's Day, ditched all his friends for me on his birthday, eagerly met my family last month... how does that not amount to love? What is that, if not love? And what is love, if not that?
I once dated a guy through the Fall and he told me years later that the season always makes him think of me because "you were my Autumn." Well, Nate was my Autumn. And my Winter. And my Spring. I thought he was going to be my Summer, too. There were things I was really looking forward to experiencing with him: camping trips, friend's weddings, the rest of our lives... you get my drift.
On Sunday night he held my hand and told me we couldn't keep spending time together as boyfriend and girlfriend because the "spark" (why do guys always use that word?) wasn't there for him and it wouldn't be fair to me, but he cares about me too much and enjoys my company too much to eliminate me from his life. He still wants to be friends. Of course he does. They always do. I told him he can't have it both ways, and that's the hardest part. I'll never see him again. To do so would just be too hard.
A breakup is like a death in that way. Someone you loved so much and thought would be around forever is all of a sudden just cut out of your life. The stages of grief are very similar to those experienced when mourning a death: 1. Denial; 2. Anger; 3. Bargaining; 4. Depression; 5. Acceptance. I think I'm currently in the midst of denial and hope I can skip over the middle three stages to the last one. Going about every day life is the hardest part right now. It's not possible for someone to remain in your life for the better part of a year (and believe me, it was the better part) and not have them impact pretty much every aspect of your life. I can't shower without thinking of him because he bought me my shower gel; putting on my coat brings him to mind because we were together when the middle button popped off; I put on my favorite necklace and remember the time I lost it while making out in the backseat of his car; I open my top drawer and see his favorite bra and the underwear he bought for me; I put on my shoes and am reminded that I bought them to wear with the dress I wore for his birthday; I can't go in my backyard without picturing him out there playing basketball with my nephew for hours; and my bed, which is usually a safe haven... well, that's where he broke up with me.
And after the death blow, he gave me a list of things he hoped would put a smile on my face: inside jokes, good times we shared together. It was incredibly sweet and he held me while I sobbed. He kept offering to leave if I wanted him to, so I'd tell him to go, but then he'd say, "I can't leave you like this" and hold me again. He had tears in his eyes when I finally pushed him out the door. The next day was the first day in four months that we didn't speak, and it hurt like hell. I ache. The first thing I did, when I hauled my ass off the couch and made myself stop crying, was to collect everything that reminded me of him and pack it into a box: ticket stubs, photographs, dried rose petals, cards and notes from him, lotion he got me... eight months of my life, neatly packed away into a shoebox. Unfortunately, things like my bed and my backyard require a slightly larger box, so I guess I'll have to overcome the sadness they bring me by reassociating happy memories with them.
I know that I will probably love again and someday I'll find someone else... but honestly, I'm not sure I can do better than Nate. We complemented each other perfectly; it was a really, really great fit and in eight months, we never had even one fight. Maybe that was the problem: not enough danger, not enough excitement. But I'm not about to begin analyzing where and when the relationship went wrong; to do so would drive me mad. So for now I'll let myself be coddled by my family and friends, eat whatever I want, listen to my breakup playlist and go to sleep hugging a box of tissues. That's what will get me through the moments every day when I reach for my phone to tell him something funny that just happened, forgetting he's completely out of my life.
I once dated a guy through the Fall and he told me years later that the season always makes him think of me because "you were my Autumn." Well, Nate was my Autumn. And my Winter. And my Spring. I thought he was going to be my Summer, too. There were things I was really looking forward to experiencing with him: camping trips, friend's weddings, the rest of our lives... you get my drift.
On Sunday night he held my hand and told me we couldn't keep spending time together as boyfriend and girlfriend because the "spark" (why do guys always use that word?) wasn't there for him and it wouldn't be fair to me, but he cares about me too much and enjoys my company too much to eliminate me from his life. He still wants to be friends. Of course he does. They always do. I told him he can't have it both ways, and that's the hardest part. I'll never see him again. To do so would just be too hard.
A breakup is like a death in that way. Someone you loved so much and thought would be around forever is all of a sudden just cut out of your life. The stages of grief are very similar to those experienced when mourning a death: 1. Denial; 2. Anger; 3. Bargaining; 4. Depression; 5. Acceptance. I think I'm currently in the midst of denial and hope I can skip over the middle three stages to the last one. Going about every day life is the hardest part right now. It's not possible for someone to remain in your life for the better part of a year (and believe me, it was the better part) and not have them impact pretty much every aspect of your life. I can't shower without thinking of him because he bought me my shower gel; putting on my coat brings him to mind because we were together when the middle button popped off; I put on my favorite necklace and remember the time I lost it while making out in the backseat of his car; I open my top drawer and see his favorite bra and the underwear he bought for me; I put on my shoes and am reminded that I bought them to wear with the dress I wore for his birthday; I can't go in my backyard without picturing him out there playing basketball with my nephew for hours; and my bed, which is usually a safe haven... well, that's where he broke up with me.
And after the death blow, he gave me a list of things he hoped would put a smile on my face: inside jokes, good times we shared together. It was incredibly sweet and he held me while I sobbed. He kept offering to leave if I wanted him to, so I'd tell him to go, but then he'd say, "I can't leave you like this" and hold me again. He had tears in his eyes when I finally pushed him out the door. The next day was the first day in four months that we didn't speak, and it hurt like hell. I ache. The first thing I did, when I hauled my ass off the couch and made myself stop crying, was to collect everything that reminded me of him and pack it into a box: ticket stubs, photographs, dried rose petals, cards and notes from him, lotion he got me... eight months of my life, neatly packed away into a shoebox. Unfortunately, things like my bed and my backyard require a slightly larger box, so I guess I'll have to overcome the sadness they bring me by reassociating happy memories with them.
I know that I will probably love again and someday I'll find someone else... but honestly, I'm not sure I can do better than Nate. We complemented each other perfectly; it was a really, really great fit and in eight months, we never had even one fight. Maybe that was the problem: not enough danger, not enough excitement. But I'm not about to begin analyzing where and when the relationship went wrong; to do so would drive me mad. So for now I'll let myself be coddled by my family and friends, eat whatever I want, listen to my breakup playlist and go to sleep hugging a box of tissues. That's what will get me through the moments every day when I reach for my phone to tell him something funny that just happened, forgetting he's completely out of my life.
Thursday, January 12, 2012
Disappearing Act
For the past two years I've been recording my strange dating encounters on this blog in the hopes of somehow reaching an understanding as to how men and women interact. Unfortunately, I am no closer to reaching that understanding than when I started. This is true not only in dating instances, but even in friendships with men. Maybe I should stop trying to be friends with men I've dated...
I first wrote about Matt on 9/2/10 in The Curse of the Fourth Date. To refresh your memory, he broke up with me on our fourth date but asked if we could still be friends. He explained that it just wasn't the right time for him to get involved in something that could become serious, but as the friendship continued maybe something "serendipitious" (his word choice) would happen and we'd end up together. I doubted this would actually be the case and went home that night with no plans to see him again.
But he kept calling me. He kept texting to see when we could hang out again. So I finally swallowed my pride a month or so later and met up with him for gravy fries and beer. The month after that he invited me over for dinner, which he cooked: spaghetti, complete with home-made noodles and self-canned tomato sauce. We spent time together pretty frequently in the following months: bar trivia nights, beer chugging contests, dinner, concerts, walks in the park with ice cream. Though he sometimes sent me mixed signals (texting me early on a weekend to tell me to get out of bed and come have breakfast with him, occasionally picking up the whole tab when we went out, etc.), I was genuinely happy being his friend. Not only had I given up hope that anything would come of it, I didn't even want it to. We were in a really good place.
He came over on Easter to paint eggs with me. After hours of painting eggs, he stuck around to talk. For two hours, we just talked. About work, family, what we want and don't want from our lives. Even for our close friendship it seemed deep and serious, yet effortless. It kind of felt like a turning point.
And then he dropped off the grid. He stopped returning my calls and emails. At one point he apologized, explaining that he was sucked into a black hole at work that would probably continue throughout the month.
The month ended and still... nothing. So I stepped back and gave him his space.
Four months passed until I saw him again. We had tickets to a concert purchased months previously, but when we met up at the show we picked up right where we left off and had a great time. There was one slightly awkward moment when an older couple we were chatting with asked us how long we'd been together and when we explained that we were just friends they reacted with surprise and said, "Well, you should be together!" Their opinion echoed that of my family and friends. Everyone who saw us together thought we were blind to the fact that we belonged with one another. I regret to inform them all that they were mistaken.
I've talked to Matt only once since then, when we randomly ended up in the same train car. We chatted for two stops, agreed we should get together in the near future, and then I got off the train at my stop. That was six months ago. I will never understand what happened, why Matt was my best friend for nearly a year and then all of a sudden decided he didn't need me in his life anymore in any capacity. He dropped me cold turkey and it hurts. I miss the bastard.
Despite it all, I still don't believe that Harry Burns (When Harry Met Sally) was correct when he said that men and women can never truly be friends. For the most part, maybe he's correct; when I analyze the majority of my friendships with (straight) males, we've either dated or one of us has tried to score with the other at some point along the way. I have but one exception to this: Jake. He's been in my life for ten years and though I find him handsome and he thinks I'm pretty, neither of has ever wanted the other. Not remotely. And I know this because we tell each other everything and he would tell me. So Harry was only mostly right. But he was right about Matt.
I first wrote about Matt on 9/2/10 in The Curse of the Fourth Date. To refresh your memory, he broke up with me on our fourth date but asked if we could still be friends. He explained that it just wasn't the right time for him to get involved in something that could become serious, but as the friendship continued maybe something "serendipitious" (his word choice) would happen and we'd end up together. I doubted this would actually be the case and went home that night with no plans to see him again.
But he kept calling me. He kept texting to see when we could hang out again. So I finally swallowed my pride a month or so later and met up with him for gravy fries and beer. The month after that he invited me over for dinner, which he cooked: spaghetti, complete with home-made noodles and self-canned tomato sauce. We spent time together pretty frequently in the following months: bar trivia nights, beer chugging contests, dinner, concerts, walks in the park with ice cream. Though he sometimes sent me mixed signals (texting me early on a weekend to tell me to get out of bed and come have breakfast with him, occasionally picking up the whole tab when we went out, etc.), I was genuinely happy being his friend. Not only had I given up hope that anything would come of it, I didn't even want it to. We were in a really good place.
He came over on Easter to paint eggs with me. After hours of painting eggs, he stuck around to talk. For two hours, we just talked. About work, family, what we want and don't want from our lives. Even for our close friendship it seemed deep and serious, yet effortless. It kind of felt like a turning point.
And then he dropped off the grid. He stopped returning my calls and emails. At one point he apologized, explaining that he was sucked into a black hole at work that would probably continue throughout the month.
The month ended and still... nothing. So I stepped back and gave him his space.
Four months passed until I saw him again. We had tickets to a concert purchased months previously, but when we met up at the show we picked up right where we left off and had a great time. There was one slightly awkward moment when an older couple we were chatting with asked us how long we'd been together and when we explained that we were just friends they reacted with surprise and said, "Well, you should be together!" Their opinion echoed that of my family and friends. Everyone who saw us together thought we were blind to the fact that we belonged with one another. I regret to inform them all that they were mistaken.
I've talked to Matt only once since then, when we randomly ended up in the same train car. We chatted for two stops, agreed we should get together in the near future, and then I got off the train at my stop. That was six months ago. I will never understand what happened, why Matt was my best friend for nearly a year and then all of a sudden decided he didn't need me in his life anymore in any capacity. He dropped me cold turkey and it hurts. I miss the bastard.
Despite it all, I still don't believe that Harry Burns (When Harry Met Sally) was correct when he said that men and women can never truly be friends. For the most part, maybe he's correct; when I analyze the majority of my friendships with (straight) males, we've either dated or one of us has tried to score with the other at some point along the way. I have but one exception to this: Jake. He's been in my life for ten years and though I find him handsome and he thinks I'm pretty, neither of has ever wanted the other. Not remotely. And I know this because we tell each other everything and he would tell me. So Harry was only mostly right. But he was right about Matt.
Wednesday, November 2, 2011
The Loneliness of the Long-Distance Dater
One of the hardest things I’ve ever had to do, as far as men are concerned, was cut Eric out of my life. It should have been the easiest, considering he’s a lying, cheating, manipulative, date rapist sack of shit. However, he was a date rapist sack of shit who always called just to ask how my day was and never failed to offer uplifting words when I was down (except when he was the cause of it). I can honestly say he’s the only guy to draw a smiley face on his penis in magic marker to cheer me up. The point I’m trying to make is that cutting him off was difficult for me, given his positive traits, but should definitely not have been, given his sadistic, sociopathic traits. (I know what most of you are saying: “Any idiot could do that.” Well, it was tough for me, so back off!)
The other hardest thing I’ve ever had to do, as far as men are concerned, was be best friends with a guy I was in love with for two years, hoping he would realize he was also in love with me. He never did and I’ve since realized we would be absolutely terrible together, but at the time it caused me great agony, especially when talking him through various break-ups and heartaches.
Right now I am going through something that is right up there with those two experiences. And I’m going to write about it because I don’t think I can jinx anything at this point; it’s all in the very fragile hands of that wily bitch, Fate. I also write this with the blessing of Nate (whose name I am changing because I’m still a little bit superstitious, a lot bit respectful of his privacy, and hey, I’ve never dated a Nate!). When Nate found out, on our second date, that I write a dating blog, he admitted that it was somewhat strange that he might end up on it, but said, “If I say or do anything that inspires you to write, but all means, use it.” And so I shall.
Nate and I have been "talking" for three months, dating for two months, and have not seen each other for one month. We were set-up by a mutual friend via email and shortly after we began dating and realized we were really into each other, forces beyond our control forced us into long-distance dating for the indeterminable future. Long distance relationships are difficult enough. Now imagine long distance dating: still getting to know each other’s proclivities, figuring out each other’s comfort zones, not yet sure how he feels about me and unable to see him to put insecurities and fears to rest. Phone calls are superb for heart-to-hearts and text messages do wonders for flirting, but both can only convey so much, and a great deal can be misconstrued without the benefit of face-to-face communication.
The worst part is simply not knowing when we might see each other again. I think if I had a particular date on the calendar to look forward to it might not be so bad, but at this point it’s impossible to know. It’s a very strange feeling to miss someone so much whom I’m just beginning to get to know and yes, it’s only been a month that we have not seen each other, but knowing this could continue indefinitely… that’s the kicker. At least I know that we’re on the same page, because we’ve discussed how to proceed: just go with the flow. What else is there to do? We each agree that something is there that is worth preserving, worth working toward and that what we have could really go somewhere special.
So here I am, working damn hard to make this work, and I don’t even know what “this” is. It’s not a “relationship” in the “boyfriend/girlfriend” sense of the word, but it’s something deeper than “hey, I’m dating some guy and I hope it works out” because we’ve both put in a hell of an effort so far working toward a potential future together that may or may not even be possible. It's agonizing.
The other hardest thing I’ve ever had to do, as far as men are concerned, was be best friends with a guy I was in love with for two years, hoping he would realize he was also in love with me. He never did and I’ve since realized we would be absolutely terrible together, but at the time it caused me great agony, especially when talking him through various break-ups and heartaches.
Right now I am going through something that is right up there with those two experiences. And I’m going to write about it because I don’t think I can jinx anything at this point; it’s all in the very fragile hands of that wily bitch, Fate. I also write this with the blessing of Nate (whose name I am changing because I’m still a little bit superstitious, a lot bit respectful of his privacy, and hey, I’ve never dated a Nate!). When Nate found out, on our second date, that I write a dating blog, he admitted that it was somewhat strange that he might end up on it, but said, “If I say or do anything that inspires you to write, but all means, use it.” And so I shall.
Nate and I have been "talking" for three months, dating for two months, and have not seen each other for one month. We were set-up by a mutual friend via email and shortly after we began dating and realized we were really into each other, forces beyond our control forced us into long-distance dating for the indeterminable future. Long distance relationships are difficult enough. Now imagine long distance dating: still getting to know each other’s proclivities, figuring out each other’s comfort zones, not yet sure how he feels about me and unable to see him to put insecurities and fears to rest. Phone calls are superb for heart-to-hearts and text messages do wonders for flirting, but both can only convey so much, and a great deal can be misconstrued without the benefit of face-to-face communication.
The worst part is simply not knowing when we might see each other again. I think if I had a particular date on the calendar to look forward to it might not be so bad, but at this point it’s impossible to know. It’s a very strange feeling to miss someone so much whom I’m just beginning to get to know and yes, it’s only been a month that we have not seen each other, but knowing this could continue indefinitely… that’s the kicker. At least I know that we’re on the same page, because we’ve discussed how to proceed: just go with the flow. What else is there to do? We each agree that something is there that is worth preserving, worth working toward and that what we have could really go somewhere special.
So here I am, working damn hard to make this work, and I don’t even know what “this” is. It’s not a “relationship” in the “boyfriend/girlfriend” sense of the word, but it’s something deeper than “hey, I’m dating some guy and I hope it works out” because we’ve both put in a hell of an effort so far working toward a potential future together that may or may not even be possible. It's agonizing.
Monday, October 10, 2011
Anxiety and Dating: A Girl Just Can't Win
Today is World Mental Health Day and, as such, I've decided to be straight up with y'all: I suffer from Anxiety and Obsessive Compulsive Disorder. It doesn't make dating any easier, believe me. Every girl (and guy, if he's being honest) begins to obsess when she/he realizes she's totally smitten with a new potential mate. Now take this obsessing, this "Is he thinking about me right now?" ; "Is he just fooling around or does he want something more?" ; "Who is that girl in his Facebook picture?" ; "Why isn't he calling?" ; "Is he going to break my heart?" -- take this, and multiply it x10. Obsessing complusively. A need to obsess, with no rhyme or reason, on a scale that escalates the more attempts are made to control it. This obsessing has viciously caused me to ruin more than one potential relationship by leading me to actions such as bringing up what I like to call the "Changing of the Facebook Relationship Status" Talk on a 4th date (Sidenote: this could be where the Curse of the Fourth Date originated). Why would I do something so stupid, so prematurely? Because ambiguity makes me anxious, therefore causing me to obsess.
Yes, I take medication to keep it in check. That just subues the OCD; it doesn't make it *poof!* disappear. I'm stuck with it. I've found I need to be with someone who understands anxiety and irrational obsessing, yet is completely mentally stable. Someone who is sympathetic and a calming influence yet doesn't totally freak out or say I'm over-reacting when I go batshit. I've tried the alternative -- dating someone who understands because he suffers from similar afflictions and it just doesn't work, not for me. At least one of us has to have our shit together at any given point in time.
There have only been two occasions in which I've told a guy I was dating about my disorders. Although it's extremely important to be completely open about myself and my insecurities when seeing someone, it's not exactly the easiest topic to broach. "Sometimes I feel like a crazy person. Still want to go out with me?" If you're a regular reader of this blog, you are well aware that I'm already pretty good at making men go running for the hills on my own, without the help of bringing mental disorders to light. And aye, there's the rub: just thinking about initiating a conversation in which I discuss OCD and anxiety makes me so anxious that I have to stop thinking about it.
I just started seeing someone a month ago. Everything feels different with this one. I feel the electricity with him that I've been missing with pretty much every other guy I've dated, even the ones I was really into. He makes me feel like I'm in a movie. And although he gives me the good, happy kind of butterflies, as opposed to the "oh my god I'm going to throw up because I'm so scared" butterflies, I'm not worried. I don't spend my time wondering where he is and what's he doing when we're not together. I'm not anxious about other girls or whether or not he's thinking about me. I'm actually confident that he's into me and wants to be with me. This confidence is new to me and scarier than anything else I've experienced so far, because it makes me susceptible to an even greater vulnerability than anything I've ever known. In this case, the lack of anxiety is making me anxious on a whole new level. A girl just can't win.
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Monday, October 3, 2011
Dear Diary 10/3/95: Scientific Evidence regarding Lovesickness
10/3/95: I think I finally know what everyone means by "Lovesick." I have a terrible feeling in the pit of my stomach kind of like a roller coaster ride whenever I think of Chris. But when I think of [insert name of gross kid here], I keep feeling sick, but this time as if the thought of him will make me puke! So I know that since when I think of people I despise the roller coaster goes away, what I feel for Chris must be love.
P.S. I made seventy-five cents off of Ian today. O.J. was found innocent. Ian thought he was guilty.
P.P.S. I need Chris!
There you have it, folks. Lovesickness: it's a real thing, as proven by me, sixteen years ago. I'll collect my Nobel Prize now, thank you.
Oh, and that damn Ian never paid me my 75 cents. I could really use that laundry money.
Tuesday, September 13, 2011
Facebook and the Ghosts of Crushes Past
Facebook has proven very helpful recently in helping me keep track of the ghosts of crushes past (figuratively speaking; they aren't actually dead). On the same day that my now married (not to me) one-time love of my life joined Facebook, an old crush friended me. Said crush (let's call him Jared, because that's his name) was a class below me in high school and I don't think we ever exchanged a single word... in person, that is. Back in '98, Mark Zuckerberg was a mere boy of 14 and AOL was the hottest method of communication. It was super easy to do a search for someone, discover their screen name and start a friendly conversation. The summer after I finished sixth grade I spotted Jared at a carnival in his blue and orange Adidas wind pants and I was smitten. I didn't know who he was, but I was in deep smit. When the school year started up again I discovered his locker was right outside my homeroom, and the daily sightings only served to increase my desire for him. At some point during my infatuation, I IMed Jared on AOL. I pretended I had no idea who he was, but was simply commenting on a quote I liked in his profile. I am not proud of this, but I was 14 and the hormones of 14 year-olds hardly make sense. We chatted from time to time and I worshipped him from afar, but nothing ever came of it.
My sophomore year of high school we finally had a class together, but never exchanged a word. Actually... I think he bumped into me in the hall once and said, "Oh, sorry," but I'm not going to count that as real interaction. And then, two days ago, Jared friended me on Facebook. All those years ago, I must have meant something to him after all! Just kidding. I am not so disillusioned anymore that I take his friend request for something other than, "Hey! I recognize that person's name!" But of course, I accepted.
There's another crush from the past that I have searched for on Facebook numerous times. Chad was the foster son of a woman with whom my parents were friends. He'd had a lot of sadness in his life and from the moment I met him, I subconsciously felt the need to "fix" him. I didn't realize this until years later while being psychoanalyzed by my mother. Chad was three years older than me, but we really connected. It didn't seem to matter that I was 15 and he was 18, which is kind of a big difference during teenage years. He didn't reciprocate my feelings, much to my chagrin, but that's something I'm grateful for now since it would have been illegal. But we got along well and always had a really good time together. When he went to college I wrote him letters and when we inevitably lost touch I was sad, but recognized it as just the way things go as people grow up and move on with their lives. And I realized that Chad, especially, might always be running from his past.
But with the advent of MySpace, Chad and I were able to reconnect. And from there we began speaking on AIM on an almost daily basis. Sometimes the conversations were very flirtatious, bordering on racy, but that was okay because by this point I was 21 and he was 24. He swore he never knew about my crush on him, but I think he was feigning ignorance to be nice. In high school, I once wrote his name in glitter pen and stuck the paper to the refrigerator... and he happened to stop by later that day. And got a drink from the refrigerator. But I digress. We hadn't seen each other for about five years and decided to meet up. We had a really nice dinner together and he paid, and though we never labeled it as such and there was nothing physical other than a hug, it very much felt like a date. I like to think it was a date.
Chad joined the marines shortly after that and it was the last time we saw each other. That was six years ago. I look for him on Facebook all the time and last night, I finally found him. He had accepted the request by this morning, along with a message that said, "Oh shiiiiiiit! Look who it is! How have you been?" Alas, he's married now. Also not to me (I'm noticing a trend here with my loves from the past). But he looks extremely happy and successful, and I can't ask for anything more! It's just nice to be back in touch, albeit through Facebookland.
My sophomore year of high school we finally had a class together, but never exchanged a word. Actually... I think he bumped into me in the hall once and said, "Oh, sorry," but I'm not going to count that as real interaction. And then, two days ago, Jared friended me on Facebook. All those years ago, I must have meant something to him after all! Just kidding. I am not so disillusioned anymore that I take his friend request for something other than, "Hey! I recognize that person's name!" But of course, I accepted.
There's another crush from the past that I have searched for on Facebook numerous times. Chad was the foster son of a woman with whom my parents were friends. He'd had a lot of sadness in his life and from the moment I met him, I subconsciously felt the need to "fix" him. I didn't realize this until years later while being psychoanalyzed by my mother. Chad was three years older than me, but we really connected. It didn't seem to matter that I was 15 and he was 18, which is kind of a big difference during teenage years. He didn't reciprocate my feelings, much to my chagrin, but that's something I'm grateful for now since it would have been illegal. But we got along well and always had a really good time together. When he went to college I wrote him letters and when we inevitably lost touch I was sad, but recognized it as just the way things go as people grow up and move on with their lives. And I realized that Chad, especially, might always be running from his past.
But with the advent of MySpace, Chad and I were able to reconnect. And from there we began speaking on AIM on an almost daily basis. Sometimes the conversations were very flirtatious, bordering on racy, but that was okay because by this point I was 21 and he was 24. He swore he never knew about my crush on him, but I think he was feigning ignorance to be nice. In high school, I once wrote his name in glitter pen and stuck the paper to the refrigerator... and he happened to stop by later that day. And got a drink from the refrigerator. But I digress. We hadn't seen each other for about five years and decided to meet up. We had a really nice dinner together and he paid, and though we never labeled it as such and there was nothing physical other than a hug, it very much felt like a date. I like to think it was a date.
Chad joined the marines shortly after that and it was the last time we saw each other. That was six years ago. I look for him on Facebook all the time and last night, I finally found him. He had accepted the request by this morning, along with a message that said, "Oh shiiiiiiit! Look who it is! How have you been?" Alas, he's married now. Also not to me (I'm noticing a trend here with my loves from the past). But he looks extremely happy and successful, and I can't ask for anything more! It's just nice to be back in touch, albeit through Facebookland.
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