Disclaimer: I initially posted this Saturday afternoon. I took it down after continuing developments occurred Saturday night that show that I was hasty in my assessment – again – but I decided to put it back up because it’s still the way I was feeling when I wrote it, and I’m interested in people’s thoughts on the subject.
No woman ever hates a man for being in love with her, but many a woman hates a man for being her friend.
— Alexander Pope
When you know there’s someone out there in the world who digs you, who thinks you’re smart and funny and cute, who wants to be with you, you feel different. You walk taller, smile more, have a little spring in your step. At least I do. It’s a kind of validation, whether you agree with the concept or not, that you’re desirable, and it makes you feel good, and I don’t think there’s anything wrong with that.
But what happens when the bottom falls out, when – for no discernible reason – he doesn’t call, and when you call him, he appears to blow you off? You know in your head that it can’t be you, because you haven’t done anything: you’re the same girl you were the night you met him, and the day he arranged to have drinks, and the day he had to cancel and seemed disappointed about it.
I don’t know about you, but when that happens to me, it’s a constant struggle to keep my head up. I feel sad, of course, and disappointed. But I also feel embarrassed to talk about what happened, like I was foolish to ever believe that he would want to be with me and everyone else knew it and didn’t say anything. I know that’s ridiculous, and I thought long and hard about whether embarrassed was really what I felt, and decided that it is.
I could still be wrong about him, I suppose. I could be overanalyzing his last email – terse, not so friendly as the others, very matter-of-fact – telling me he couldn’t meet for drinks Thursday because he was heading out of town for the weekend. But there was no, “Sorry I haven’t been in touch [even though I’m the one who said ‘I hope next week will work’],” no, “Let’s try again next week” like he’s said before.
I assume, then, that I’m supposed to take the hint and understand that he’s done with me, but if that’s the case, I feel cheated. I feel like he owes me an explanation about what changed between last week and this week. I know I’m in the minority on this – more than one person has told me that, although it would be good manners for him to explain, he doesn’t “owe” me anything – and I’m certainly not going to send him an email asking why, but this makes me mad. I trusted the things he said to me, which isn’t easy for me, instead of listening to the little voice in the back of my head that said “Don’t get caught up in this.” And there you go.
You know what the sad thing is, though? This isn’t the first time this kind of thing has happened to me, and I never seem to learn how not to jump in head first, how not to get my hopes up, how to keep my expectations low. And I probably will not learn anything from this, either, quite frankly. But like my friend says, “It’s going to be wrong a lot, and it’s only going to be right once. Luckily, it only has to be right once.”