“Knowing my luck in this department, I will be all kinds of alone again by Valentine’s Day.”
- Me, in my December 30th, 2015 post Different Days
I am such a wise woman. Or maybe I’m a psychic and I don’t even know it. Or maybe I’m a pessimistic asshole who will always give herself depressing self-fulfilling prophecies. Or maybe, just maybe, I know myself and the state of my dating life too well.
In any case, the truth of the matter is that Max and I are done. We didn’t really have much to begin with, but he served a purpose. At the very least he served as a good distraction, a reason to get dolled up, my ass off the couch, and out the door. At the very most he was a reminder to me that Kevin is not the only guy out there who will ever be interested in me. At the heart of it, Max was exactly what I needed him to be in the moment: a rebound.
Of course, that didn’t save me from being hurt just a little bit when a couple of weeks ago he had “the talk” with me. He finally brought it up, which in a lot of ways was a relief, although I knew immediately that I was ultimately not going to be so thrilled with the outcome of the discussion. He told me that he did really like me, that I was really awesome, and that he really liked how calm and non-crazy I seemed to be about everything (proof that he never read this blog). He said he thinks I am a super cool girl, and that we have amazing chemistry, both sexually and otherwise. However, with all the awesome that he thinks I am (which I am fucking awesome) he said that he doesn’t often think about me when we aren’t together, that he isn’t ever dying to see me, and at the end of the day, he doesn’t think that we should be in a relationship together (womp, womp). So, there in his house, we sat on his couch, and agreed that for now we keep things as is. Status quo and whatnot. Which in the moment, there on his couch, I was fine with.
After all, I still was messed up over Kevin, I didn’t know what the fuck was going on with Erik, and I was still talking to a few other guys online. Was I really in the position to get back into a relationship with someone? No. I didn’t think so. So I did what any girl in my position would do. I agreed to continue with this same dating scenario, had great sex with him, then went on my merry way.
But when I left his house, I felt different. I didn’t have the euphoria that I usually felt when leaving his place after one of our dates. I felt, I don’t know, empty I guess. I felt like while he said he wanted nothing to change, I felt as if everything had. He had essentially just friends with benefits zoned me. Another guy that I liked had told me to my face that he didn’t like me enough to be my boyfriend. I think I would have cried in the moment had I really realized what had happened. In the moment I think my brain was instinctively protecting my already broken heart, kindly shutting off that part of my brain that would register what was actually happening.
After that I tried to be ok with the status quo. But after that night, I barely heard from Max, and within a week, I hadn’t heard from him at all. This radio silence meant one of three things: 1) He was dead. 2) He was in a coma. Or the most likely one, 3) Having “the talk” and telling me that he liked me but doesn’t want to be my boyfriend and then ghosting the fuck out on me was his way of letting me down as gently as he could, while trying not to come off as an asshole.
Guys, let me tell you something: IT’S OKAY TO LOOK LIKE AN ASSHOLE FROM TIME TO TIME. You fuckers telling us some bullshit about how you still want to spend time with us and then ghosting out on us doesn’t make you any less of an asshole. In fact, we think you are even bigger assholes, and we also think you are fucking cowards for not telling us the truth. If Max would have just told me that he didn’t want to hang out anymore, would that have sucked? Yes. But would I at least respect him a little more for telling me the truth, not leaving me wonder what the fuck happened, because he decided to have a pair of fucking balls? Absolutely.
So, I did the only thing I could. I sent him a simple text saying that I have a feeling he isn’t interested anymore, so I’m giving him his space. I told him that if he ever wanted to see me or talk to me again, that he knew where to find me, and I told him to take care. That was a week ago, and I haven’t heard a single peep since. Oh well. C’est la vie I guess. I wasn’t expecting him to be the one, I just liked him. But looking back he served his purpose. He helped me see the light after the darkness with Kevin, and for that I will always be thankful.
I was not however thankful for the absolute fuck show that last Wednesday turned into. After I sent that message to Max, I got a text from Kevin. Kevin it seems has a delightful knack of contacting me when I least expect it, and knocking me on my fucking ass. By this time it was already 9pm, and to be honest, I had been an emotional basket case the whole day, because of the stuff with Max. So when Kevin messaged me, at first just to chat, but then soon turned into him telling me he misses me, and wanted to see me, I was past the point of basket case. At that point I was fucked right up. Against my better judgment, I agreed to see him. He came to pick me up and we went for a drive to talk. This talk ended up just making me more confused. Kevin cares for me, and some days he wants me back, other days he thinks that us being apart is the right thing. And here I am in the middle of it all, not knowing what the fuck to think, how to feel, what to do. It’s been a week since that happened, and I still don’t know.
All I know is that I have to keep going. I have to keep living any way I can, I have to keep dating, I have to keep kissing all these fucking frogs, hoping to find my prince.
I just wish it wasn’t such an incredible fuck show to find him.