Here’s what really happened -- in my reality.
March, Week 2:
March, Week 3:
March, Week 4:
I came up with many excuses such as,
BUT if that were the case, wouldn’t he write to say that he wasn’t coming and ask that we postpone our meeting for the following month instead?
BUT if that were the case, why not tell me he found it. I really can’t see anything here that would bother him. I mean, yes, it’s his life too that I’ve poured out into the world but I’ve always felt that this blog tells MY story, not his, and therefore really isn’t any of his business. I write about the ways we didn’t work, but mostly in an indirect way, and I try, at least, to explain that we share responsibility for what happened to us. I don’t mean to paint a picture of him as a super villain and if he thought I did, I would hope he could ask me about it. OR, maybe he found the blog, got pissed off, and decided I wasn’t even worth talking to for any reason, ever again, even if it was to say that he was pissed.
Well, no matter the reason for why he didn’t contact me, I never heard from him. And this, my friends, broke my heart all over again -- at least for a little while.
I was sad, angry and heartbroken. And then I became more angry than anything else. "How could he do this to me?", I thought. What would propel someone to dick over someone they loved for so many years? If indeed he was scared of seeing me or talking to me, then why not just say so and say he wasn’t ready yet. That I could I understand. That I could accept. Dicking me over just to be a dick? That I can’t accept.
So for most of April I felt like I had a flashing neon sign permanently over my head that read, “FUCK YOU,” that went off whenever I thought about my ex.
Kinda like this:
But then again, despite being angry, I also felt like he had given me some kind of gift. What gift, you ask?
The gift of being a True Asshole.
I know this sounds weird, but maybe he took the saintly way out by hurting me to help me. It reminds me of those scenes in sentimental movies where the little boy has to give up his beloved dog because he can’t care for the dog anymore and knows that the dog will have a better life living on the family farm than with him and he goes, “Go on! Get out of here! I don’t want you anymore!,” while choking back the tears as the dog runs away. I felt like that dog.
I felt like he was telling me, “I’m just going to hurt you if we see each other. It’s going to be painful and re-open old wounds and will most likely hurt us rather than help us. So go on. Get out of here. I don't want you anymore.” Maybe that’s why I never heard from him. I’d like to think this is the reason. Maybe he did what was best for me.
I also know his limits and quite honestly, expecting him to tell me that a meeting between the two of us would be hurtful or that he wasn't ready for it, is totally uncharacteristic. He never confronted me much before about deep emotional issues when we were together, why would he now? And as my mother once said, “He’s got his head so far up his ass that he can’t see daylight... so I don’t know what you expected.”And so, I never heard from him again and this I believe had to be the best thing. Because when all is said and done, I loved him for about a decade of my life, good or bad, right or wrong, it was love, it was real, it was my life -- and to see him now might bring all that back to me in a way that makes me forget why were apart in the first place. (And I really don't want to forget.) Maybe he knew that. Or maybe he doesn't give a shit. Maybe he was afraid of what would happen to him if we were to meet. Or maybe he truly doesn't give a shit. Whatever his motives, he never contacted me and I have not heard from him to this day. And I'll never know why.
So what did I do in March, besides wait by the phone? Well, in addition to flinching every time I got a text thinking it might be him, I did a lot of things. I ran my first race. Remember? That was a huge and incredible accomplishment. I am so infinitely proud of that and it got me hooked on running and racing.
What else did I do in March, you ask? Well, friends, I began to seriously date. Yes, date. And I like to think, that with or without closure, March was a success in so many ways.
Dear Followers, our regularly scheduled blog will now resume. As you can maybe tell, I’ve had a busy a few months and I really needed some time to make sense of everything that happened (and didn’t happen) before I could write it all down. Now that I’ve done this, I’m happy to pick back up where I left off and catch up with my blogging family (The Rules of Breakup, Champagne Before Breakfast, It Never Rains in Seattle, According to Me, and The Secret Dreamworld of E) along with many other wonderful bloggers and readers whom I’ve missed dearly.
Now that I’m back, I plan to regal you with tales of my foray into dating as a 32 year old girl who hasn’t dated since she was a 19 year old girl, how I’ve tried to honestly come to terms with my lack of closure, and what life looks now -- moving forward and moving on.
Much love to all of you out there. Thank you for reading.
-- Le B