I never wanted to go out with him to begin with. One day, quite un-suspiciously he sent me a Facebook friend request. I run sort of loose with my social media regimen, preferring to think, "The more the merrier," so I accepted and thought nothing more of it. Until he messaged me.
'Hey! Been following you. Enjoy your posts, not sure how we became friends, but thought I'd say hello."
Lame. Great, dude. Ignore.
"Hey! I swear I'm not a stalker." (WHY DID I NOT UNDERSTAND THAT RED FLAG???) "Blah, blah, blah, the weather is great, blah, blah, blah, you seem like a nice girl, blah, blah, blah-bity blaaaaaahhhhh de blahhh."
+ 4 more messages.
**Weeks go by**
Then one night in July, my Saturday night plans cancel last minute. I am in my bathroom putting finishing touches on my makeup, looking cute, with nowhere to go. And all of a sudden this pest of a guy doesn't seem like so much of a pest. He seems more like an opportunity to get out of my dull-as-bricks apartment. Okay homie, you wanna go out? Let's go out. Much to my surprise, he accepted. We met downtown.
Me: A wounded bird, full of fits of fury, with no real strength.
Him: A subway charlatan. A performer who doesn't need the money, but who pretends to be disabled to gain sympathy.
Apply liberally, for three to four months. Shake. Distribute again.
Now that we're all up-to-date, know that it gets worse. Boy dumps girl, but says he wants to stay friends with girl. Girl and boy stay "friends," but awful, messy friends. Friends where girl still likes boy and does stuff for boy and boy lets her and sometimes does stuff for girl and it all feels very confusing, except that boy insists that no, it isn't confusing at all and that GIRL must be confused because he is a straight-shooter who is ANYTHING but confusing.
Put in a blender, WIRRRHHHH and WHIRR and WHIRRHHRRR. Then add a pinch of other people he's dating. Cry into blender. Whiiirrrrrrr again. Apologize to the whole recipe, sincerely. Swear you can handle baking.
Ask everyone to taste the recipe. "It really isn't THAT bad, is it?" I mean, I liked the way it tasted... and I have a sophisticated palate... don't I?
Test it for months and months and months.
Wear everyone's patience thing as crepes.
Realize, definitely THAT recipe. Is garbage.
Recently, I met a woman named Lindsey. I only spoke with her once, but in that brief meeting she and I connected in a way I haven't connected with another woman (whom I didn't already know) in many years. And this is why I say, often, that catharsis is a dish best served to groups, because it was only through speaking to her that I found my release. I'd felt so isolated in my un-reciprocated love for this person... this "fake" boyfriend, that I stopped talking to my friends about it. I'd started to think that maybe I was the only dumb dummy who'd ever let themselves be dragged through the mud like that. Maybe I was so stupid in still caring for this person that it really was a problem with me? Or worse... maybe this "love" I felt was real and I should pursue it? Maybe no one really understood and if I just. stayed. with. it...?
The simple act of listening to her tell me that she'd felt the way I had. That she had been there before, done that, been burned... obsessed upon an unobtainable goal... and that HE wasn't worthy of it... that anyone in that situation isn't worth your obsession... broke the spell for me.
She will almost certainly never know that what I wrote tonight is about her - but I want to make clear that it IS ABOUT HER and not ABOUT HIM. Every time I think of him now, I think of her too. She wears glasses and she has a bob cut of lightly waved brown hair. She has tattoos on her arms. She wore black jeans and she spoke the truth. She hugged me and told me how to ask for a higher vibration.
Hey Lindsey - you cracked the case. Thanks.