Ok… so this has been tripping around my head for days and I think I might finally be ready to just get it gone so that I’m not dwelling on it any more.
First – I want to say thank you. For all the car wreck that was December, the time before that – May through to Nov I don’t think I’ve had as much fun with another person ever. You made me remember what it was like to be scared and to try new things. You took me places that I would never have gone on my own and you steered me through my fears and held my hand.
Yes. I had coveted you.
Yes – I had probably established more feelings for you than I expected. Believe it or not, my bravado and sexpertise is all cover for feeling so intensely shy and inadequate. I thought that I would be able to be that person for you – the one to practice with – to reconnect with – to experiment with. To be fair, I think we were remarkably successful in widening your world view and introducing you to far more than you had ever been exposed to. I found(find) you deeply attractive (waaaay out of my league attractive) so I got caught in the giddy school girl head space of being enjoyed by a handsome man. There were lots of firsts. For both of us. I thought that I could keep playing with you and others and that all would be ok.
Except you were nice to me.
You talked to me about mundane things like work and kids and NFL and not just about fucking. That’s where emotion happens. That’s where it creeps in – in the mundane trivial things. Of all the boys/men I have played with, you made effort. That was my sticking point. You were nice to me.
And yes – that meant that you got away with far more than a sane person should tolerate. To stay over because going to your tinder date from my place was closer … yeah…
I don’t actually know if you like me though. Isn’t that stupid. I talk about you in a “general” sense at work. I would grin quietly to myself over a sense memory, or the cheeky text you would send and think of you, fondly. I even told my Mum about you. But I never got the sense that it was like that for you. You were far better at keeping it separate. That should have been my sign. And perhaps it was. Perhaps that is why I waited so long before being ok to introduce you to R.
And yes – you handled that really badly. But here’s the kicker – someone who knows me well enough would know that staying over when she was home was a huge deal. One of the biggest steps. That you had agreed to doing that, and then to leave me that night – you have to know somewhere in there that it was mean. I’m glad you apologised, but I’m not sure just how much of that is my fault. I think perhaps I was a doormat. Encouraging you to call her in my house – letting you spend hours on the phone in my room. I’m glad that I told you to just leave – to drive safe. Because every single fibre of my being was screaming to tell you to stay – to beg you not to leave. I’m glad I didn’t because that would have just embarrassed me. So I’m relieved that I didn’t. Because you wouldn’t have stayed. I know that now.
I am jealous of C – in the way that the most broken part of me can be. Here she is – trauma survivor, abuse survivor, single mum with kid…. what am I? Not broken enough? I suppose I don’t have a brain tumor. But seriously – that was a pretty intense kick in the teeth. But I think she is for you what you were for me – someone you have coveted for a long time.
I wish you success, happiness and I hope that she’s worth it.
But I started with thank you – because before all of this, I would never have expected to feel so broken hearted. I didn’t think I was capable. For 10 years, I spent my life believing that I was unlovable, useless and settled with. You came along and wanted parts of me. You desired parts of me and your body responded to me in a way that was hard to hide. You wanted me. And I wanted you. And you broke my heart – which meant that the part of me that I believed had most atrophied isn’t.
Thank you for breaking my heart, because it reminds me that I have one.
Now to pick myself up, dust myself off and take another valium with my gin. They don’t call it mother’s ruin for nothing.
Good bye, Sy. I loved you.