Between your expectations and reality.
It wasn’t quite a surprise to me but two months ago I was back in London for work. I felt really conflicted about this trip because I knew there was a big chance that ‘London’ would be a synonym to ‘trying once again with him’. Despite that, I backed up myself with pretty good professional reasons and an extra undeniably good reason: The other option was going to Colorado. And I look pretty Mexican. And Donald Trump is still the president of that country.
So London was the choice. But from the moment I heard the first “mind the gap” traveling to my return flight, my stay in London was marked with strong and opposing feelings. It was an everlasting seesaw between trying to see him and not screwing up my trip. I wanted badly to see him, I’ve longed for it forthe past few months. But on the other hand, our interaction was always so problematic that it made me wonder if seeing him would take away the whole focus of the trip. I was hoping to enjoy my time with my UK friends. And also to rock my work presentation, and not be distracted by some unresolved love affair.
However, on my last days in town, after I did everything I wanted to do, I shot him a quick text, “I am working in London this week…” to which he replied almost instantaneously, and the butterflies were all crazy inside. Then he continued by confessing he wanted to see me, and he also asked if I could come over, because he wanted to cook for me; which sounded a bit charming but truth be told, I knew the question meant, “Are you sleeping with me?” (especially after I got there and found out I needed to cook the steaks because he picked something he didn’t know how to cook). It didn’t matter much. On that day I thought everything was very romantic and appealing. He didn’t cook the dinner, but compensated for it by playing guitar for me.
I enjoyed the night as much as I enjoyed our best nights. He wouldn’t stop saying how pretty I was. Or that he needed to kiss every inch of my body. Or that he didn’t want to let me go when we noticed we needed to stop cuddling if we ever wanted to sleep because it was a seriously hot summer night. But above it all, that night felt open. We were very at ease with each other even though we hadn’t spoke for months before — seven months to be precise. It felt so real to be told all those nice things. It felt like I mattered … before the sun rise. Then, after a cup of black unsweetened coffee, we said goodbye early in the morning and soon I had to fly back. To be a thousand kilometers away again.
It seemed, however, that this time we could pull it off; we kept talking, there was no random dropping me off of the cliff. Everything sounded rather normal, even if a bit foggy as usual. A month later, we had our first fight, which was serious but we found resolution after a day of back and forth texts. The fight ended up with him saying he will come here. He will start planning his holiday. I felt excited, although I knew I shouldn’t trust that this would become a reality.
And my suspicions were right.
A few days later and things didn’t feel quite the same. The abyss started to appear again between us. I just could not deal with it anymore. I pointed it out. He said: “There is an easy way out. We should keep the talks ‘friendly’.” I did not understand this well enough, but I accepted. ‘Friendly’ conversation followed, with some flirting here or there, but nothing much. I also realized that he was often online but not replying my messages.
“Someone more interesting, ugh?” I told him one day not containing my jealousy. He ignored my comment. The reply was a random thing. Life went on. I was flying anyway for holidays. I didn’t want this to piss me off.
During my holidays, I did not have much time to check my phone, so I could not evaluate if something was really going on. On the surface, it all seemed normal. There was even a goodnight with kissy emoji. And a shared picture from a day I felt particularly cute, getting a “Nice! Thanks for sharing!” in reply, so I assumed everything was sufficiently okay and the harsh week was just a phase. Until he dropped the bomb, out of nowhere, on a Monday morning, just below a picture he shared saying, “Saw this glass of wine and thought of you”. The blast said:
“I spent a lot of the weekend with this girl I’m seeing at the moment. It might be something, I’m not really sure yet.”
The conversation that followed was waves of heartbreak in many forms: disappointment, betrayal, sadness, anger, hatred, deep sadness, even deeper sadness. That annoying feeling that although I could rationalize, still popped up emotionally: “Why not me? What do I miss?” We have been on and off for about two years, and he was never willing to even try to commit to me. But now he claims that he met a new girl and has been on a few dates and neither of them is seeing other people at the moment…and between all the bad things I can think off, the one that hurts the most is “I was never good enough for him, and he never liked me.”
This feeling of not being good enough always haunted me throughout my life, and it was never completely resolved. But I have been able to keep it quiet and live not so miserably. But his message opened the Pandora’s box of my internal fears. Quickly I would be again in the position of, “I won’t ever find someone to love me. I never did. And never will.”
I was shattered. Completely shattered. But every friend I talked to was relieved this was finally over for good. They couldn’t stand this guy anymore. But I, even if I knew we had more than one hundred problems, deep down, I was still wishing he had picked me. Not her. In the back of my mind, the feeling of “Not The One” was ticking all the time, but I tried to enjoy my holidays the best I could. Even if sometimes I would indulge in self-deprecating feelings, I had enough people around to pull me back from the sea of dead hopes and not let me drown.
Unfortunately, a few days ago I came back. A Friday night. The house was completely silent. Sepulchral silence. The flight back was long and I felt so tired I directly laid in bed (and in bad)…I started to imagine how he was spending his Friday night. What are the other things he never did to me he was surely doing for her? And it broke my heart even more. And I cry myself to sleep, thinking there won’t be enough epoxy to ever hold my heart in place again.