My avid readers might recall the Boy, the Boy from my Boy meets Girl tale from late last year. After it ended quite suddenly and without explanation, I quit the dating apps and gave myself until the new year to have a break and reset.
As it happened, I had no sooner logged back on 2 January and Boy appeared in my Facebook inbox. With some cajoling for an explanation, he revealed he had been struck with a bout of depression, something I can only too readily relate to. He feared I hated him and I assured him I did not. Certainly our last contact had left me confused when I thought things were going pretty well, but I was so exhausted at that point that I let it go and walked away.
Taking a break was the best decision I probably made all year and it was with great reluctance that I downloaded Tinder again earlier this month. Of course, I didn’t have to do this, but at some stage I need to get back on the metaphorical horse that has bucked me off more times than I care to remember now.
Anyway, there he was in my inbox, trying to explain and all but asking for another chance. Wary though curious, I agreed to meet him for breakfast in a few days and in the intervening period we chatted via Messenger much as we had before when things were good.
Our breakfast date, last Friday, went well. We caught up, talked non-stop, laughed and joked and I was genuinely pleased to see him as he appeared to be pleased to see me. A chaste kiss on the lips and we both agreed we’d like to do it again.
The plan was to do something this coming Friday but he had expressed some anxiety about it. He is still struggling with his mental health and we had some frank and open discussion about it. To put him at ease, I gave him a get out of jail free card, a one-time use to cancel the date with no questions asked.
I didn’t actually expect him to use it but it turns out that if you throw something out into the universe, it will return.
Last night he messaged to tell me he’d been thinking about that get out of jail card. He was worried about hurting me, despite thinking it might go well. And then the kicker: he’s not sure a) that he’s ready (well, that I already knew) and b) what he wants. That’s the clause that hurt.
It seems I can’t escape this idea of not being wanted. And, on the face of it, it makes perfect sense as an explanation. Why would someone want to be spend time with you if they don’t want it (a relationship) or you? But for some reason this phrase has morphed into a kind of torture device on me. J used it when he dumped me via text message. A used it last year when he dumped me just hours after meeting my family.
And I do get it. He’s not ready. But part of me is just like, for fuck’s sake: you contacted me. Months of me being quite happy taking a break. I had moved on from the confusion of how it ended last year, and you decide to pop back into my life. I gave you the benefit of every doubt I had. I sympathised and emphasised with what must have been a difficult time for you and now, to my own detriment, it’s messed with my head.
He told me that it’s not about me but everyone says that and it rarely is the case. I wished him well and said goodbye. I can’t make someone want me, fuck knows that’s been reinforced by Married to me over and over, and I’m not about to try. I’m not angry at all but I am sad, sad that for whatever reason I haven’t met that person who wants me yet.